I survived school conferences on Thursday. Right away, that should amaze everyone.
Especially because I just confessed to having misplaced the instructions for how to schedule the stupid things. So I spent Wednesday on the phone like an executive secretary from the Mad Men era trying to make appointments with all the teachers. And I did. And we went.
And the boy is doing better.
But the real boast is that I saw Harold Ramis sitting in the hallway talking on his cellphone, and not only did I not eavesdrop, I didn't go all SQUEEE!!!! HAROLD RAMIS!!!
Because, as I explained to my son that evening, Harold doesn't need a 52-year old suburban housewife going all fangirl up in his grill, yo.
I did tweet about it, though.
Oh, and I posted to Mamarazzi. I discovered that we'd been out-snarked by, of all things, Mad magazine. You have to go there to check out the graphic. Click on it to embiggen--you'll want to read it.
Anyway, I feel like a genius for basically repackaging such superior snark.
Also, today we're flying to New Jersey to attend a B'not Mitzvah. Which, I know, you're thinking "Poppy spelled it wrong, it's Bat Mitzvah."
And you would be wrong! For B'not Mitzvah is the plural of Bat Mitzvah.
I'll bet you didn't know that, did you? DID YOU?
See? My awesomeness is actually surpassing itself. Which should be impossible, but somehow, isn't.