Sound of a Funky Drummer

I am an enormous pain in the hinders.

On the other hand, I am also a tuition-paying student at the Flava Flav School of Elusive Charm.

Flav and me? We tote our clocks; we sport our grillz; we hook up with statuesque Nordic types; we view life as a cost-effective backdrop to our own VH1 reality show; we throw down internal rhymes while honing prosody, cadence, and speed. In fact, we can only be distinguished from each other by the fact that he looks like a crack-addicted tambourine player in the subway, and I look like the long-lost Gabor sister exiting a particularly-harrowing roller coaster ride.

From the School’s monthly newsletter, I’ve also learned that Flava and I share a dislike of getting up in the morning and becoming functional human beings. Sure, we has the kids, but we can’t be bothered to raise them until at least mid-morning. Until 10:30 a.m., we just have to tape one of these

on our faces and put a like sign over the vodka and matches, hoping the wee ones are literate enough to decipher the message. If not, the resulting combustion of fire and booze is simply framed, for the benefit of the police, as “science.”

Truth is, it’s fortunate that Flav is a semi-absentee dad. And it’s fortunate that I married the anti-Flav, the stand-up guy named Groomeo.

See, His Groomishness lets me have a lie-in whenever possible. Like the other day, after I’d been up ’til 2 a.m. grading online class assignments (and, admittedly, playing some Webkinz games to earn enough Kinz cash to redecorate the apartment of my birthday-gifted elephant, Cornucopia), I got up the next morning for about 45 minutes with the fam–throwing water and food towards the children–and then went back to bed. Up again at 11 a.m., I felt a fair bit refreshed. (Across the continent, I pictured Flav peacefully wiped out on a slightly-tatty heart-shaped waterbed, mouth wide open, sawing logs with dem toofs of his.)

At 11 a.m., although I was actually upright and speaking in staccato phrases, the kids were all bickery, with thirty seconds of harmony between them being a far-off dream. At one point, two hours into my wakefulness, they were fighting about whose turn it was on the big red balance ball and on what part of the floor the balance ball should sit when it was someone’s turn and for how long that someone should be allowed to stay on the balance ball and why it wasn’t fair that someone else would always get longer and a better spot on the floor when it was time to be on the balance ball and how they never actually got a turn for anything or a good spot for it, and it was all I could do not to dial 1-800-Flav and get my mentor on a jet to Duluth.

Cuz, Maynard? We may be podunkish here, but truth is that my city of 80,000 happens to be situated perfectly for refueling between California and England-type-lands, which means, hand to heaven, celebrities like Bono sometimes sit on our tarmac for the gassing up. And if Bono can do it, you better believe Flava could situate his wiry buns on some big, cushy seats and sip pomegranate martinis while coming to my aid. As a bonus, the flight attendant would help him re-set his clock when they landed, taking into account the time difference.

At any rate, as the kiddles impersonated Richard Burton and Liz Taylor at their finest that morning, I was hard pressed to be the adult–or even the Sandy Dennis–in the room, in the face of such a quarrelsome duo. I tried a bit of talky-negotiation, but they just ramped up more.

Exasperated, I finally proclaimed, “Well, then, you’re both being buttheads, and you deserve each other” before marching up the stairs, where I turned to Groom and asked, “Would you call that my finest parenting moment of the day so far?”

Assuring me it was, and that I could hardly be expected to feel more kindly toward the ingrates, what with my having been up ’til 2 a.m. the night before playing Atomolicious so I could afford to buy my elephant a new reed-and-lily-pad desk, the Groom patted my arm with great affection.

Which is why I’m thinking it’s fortunate I married him and not Flav. Were we the sole adults in charge, FF and I would’ve grated the kids into a bowl of grits (protein-fortification!) years before.

And then we’d have called in the cameras before picking up our spoons.



By Jocelyn

There's this game put out by the American Girl company called "300 Wishes"--I really like playing it because then I get to marvel, "Wow, it's like I'm a real live American girl who has 300 wishes, and that doesn't suck, especially compared to being a dead one with none."


  1. I caught a Flav show at the Pageant here in St. Louis a few years back. The show was amazing: choreographed time travel. Too much fun.

  2. Only you could artfully weave a reference to “Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolf” into a post about bickering kids and elephant webkinz (I too stay up late to play Cash Cow 2)…
    Add those to the many reasons I luvz you.

  3. Hold on. I’m still trying to digest Flava Flav, Virginia Woolf, Webkinz, and that red ball. It’s all so seamless. How do you do it?

    Oh and I’d pay to watch Girl & Paco impersonate George & Martha.


  4. Why is that man wearing a kitchen clock on his stomach? Has he been to see the Wizard of Oz, or is he just a friend of Dorothy?

    Oh, and weirdly, I’m reading Albee’s play at the moment.


  5. “I look like the long-lost Gabor sister exiting a particularly-harrowing roller coaster ride.”


    I know you don’t know what I look like but could you please write me a description of myself?

    I got VD just from watching that horrible show of his.

  6. What mother could do any better? And seriously, is there any other time to play on the computer but 2 am? Absolutely not! You had to do it.

  7. Plus it would be embarrasing to have to go out in public with someone earign a crown and a giant chestwatch.

  8. When is FF gonna figure out that his trend-setting ways just aren’t catchin’ on? Not cause a giant clock isn’t GORGEOUS or anything, it’s just that it is HEAVY and would get in the way. I’m sure if he tried any other trend, it’d catch like wildfire!

  9. That crown makes him look like the Burger King. I’m not sure if that’s the look he was going for.

  10. My hubby’s like yours, and he lets me sleep in on weekends after staying up until 2 playing Harvest Moon on the DS. I just have to get to the bottom of that mine and get lots of gold and silver. So, where’d you get the sign? ‘Cuz I think I need one of those too.

  11. Flav talks a big game, but when it came time to support me emotionally, his alarm went off and he was gone, leaving only the smell of Courvoisier behind.

  12. Wait till they are teenagers…if they’re not grits by then.

    Sometimes those fights are ridiculous and I just want to bang their heads together. It’s ironic that they (8- and 13-year-olds) would be at it with each other and start name-calling, but if some kid insults her sister, she’ll stick up for her in a heartbeat.

  13. I’m jealous. I want some sleep too!
    I already have 2 kids who can make a simple game sound like world war 3, as for groom have you ever considered having him cloned, you could make a fortune.

  14. Oh Lord, I think I peed a little. But think, if you had married FF you wouldn’t need a mirror, all you’d have to do is check your hair in his grille. 🙂 That’s gotta count for something.

  15. Sweetie – today I listened to a three way feud that included slamming doors, returned gifts and telephone calls to allies. It was spectacular. And this happened on my ‘work day’ while holed up in my (sadly not sound-proofed) home office. I waited until I heard there was blood or alcohol involved and when neither transpired, considered myself blessed and kept working.

    Flav. Thanks for the introduction. I have one child slated for that wardrobe.

  16. So you wear a giant clock? Is that it? You sleep in and wear a giant clock around your neck? doesn’t that clock have an alarm?

  17. The few times I’ve seen a tiny bit of FF’s show, I’ve been completely disgusted. I’d also like to comment on the ‘Rock of Love’. You know where mentally ill skanks compete for the ‘love’ of one washed up third rate alleged rock star. Who are these women? From where do they spring? How does anyone sink that low without actually killing themselves? Icky.
    (btw -congrats on bagging the anti-FF. Yeah and my kids never had ridiculous fights either, heh, heh)

  18. Oh Jeebus – I am adding you to my blog roll!

    I LOVE Goobers Lab – especially at 2 in the morning. It’s a tough job – but somebody’s got to do it.
    All the gardening too. Must go water and rake virtual crops…

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