Why you shouldn't leave me in charge of your kid.

Last night I had this really hot, sexy dream, and, strangely, it was entirely in French.

I don’t speak French. Well, not very well anymore. I took three years of it in high school, and haven’t used it much since, so if I was stranded in France and had to use my French to ask how to get back home, I would more than likely end up with a pencil, some cheese, and maybe the location of the bathroom. And some very badly conjugated verbs.

In spite of my sorry skills dans la langue francaise, one my very favorite movies is Amelie (thank god for subtitles). If you haven’t seen it, do it. You will not be disappointed.

It is simply wonderful. Sweet, funny, charming… a perfect film.

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Well, my “oh, happy day! your period is here!” card backfired on me. Since she was having a meltdown because her friend couldn’t go on vacation with her, Celestia thought Margie and I got the card to make her feel better.

Damn it. I had to hug her.

Thank god she’ll be gone next week.

I have to give her Highness of Insanity props, though. She went all kinds of apeshit on this bitch at Trader Joe’s yesterday. We went to pick up things for our office lunch today, and when we were putting the stuff in my car, she said the parked car next to mine was running, but there was no one in it.

I looked, and noticed two little feet kicking in the backseat. Someone left their kid, in a car seat, locked in the car with it running. ALONE. I went crazy. She said we should call 911 and report it, but I said let’s wait for the retard and let him know what a fucking ignorant assfuck they were for leaving their goddamned kid alone in a running car in a busy parking lot.

While we were standing there, I noticed this woman run out of Trader’s and into Starbuck’s, which is in the same shopping center. Her dumb outfit stuck out in my mind, and in my head I made a little joke about her.

About five minutes later, that lady came up to the running car. Celestia got right in her face, and told her that she is lucky we didn’t call the cops and turn her in, that leaving her kid in the parking lot in a running car is about the stupidest fucking thing you could ever do, and started screaming at such a high pitch I am pretty sure only dogs could hear her.

The woman offered up a list of excuses. We shot them all down, and just yelled at her like two red-headed pit bulls. People were starting to stop and stare, and the manager of one of the stores came out to calm us all down, but when we told him what the woman did, he started going off on her, too.

After a few minutes, and her final excuse of, “I do it all the time,” I was so disgusted I told her that I hope someone takes her kid away from her and pours cement in her vagina so that she can never have anymore. Then we left.

I can’t believe someone would do that. I can’t even wrap my head around it. Jesus.

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Thank god it’s Friday.

Tonight I have a big date with RAM, where we will be hanging out at my place, eating macaroni and cheese (haute cuisine!), and watching Finding Nemo for the eighty kagillionth time and The Incredibles, which I haven’t seen yet, but am looking forward to.

We will also play the Memory game, in which he’ll kick my ass because of the sick photographic memory little kids have, and listen to Bob Marley and dance around, and then I’ll ply him with enough sugar to amp him up and drive his parents crazy all night when they pick him up.

I have brainwashed this kid into loving all the things I do, and it drives his parents crazy.

For example:

“RAM, who’s the best driver in nascar?”

“Jeff Gordon.” Everyone I know hates Jeff Gordon, and has tried to get this one out of his head, but it’s not working. My idiot friends don’t realize I worked in childcare for ten years. I have mastered the art of brainwashing.

“What’s the best movie ever?”

“Raising Arizona.”

“What’s the funniest part of that movie?”

“Get that diaper off your head and put it back on your sister,” at which point we both laugh hysterically.

He also loves Caddyshack, but I suspect it’s only because he gets to see boobs. He almost pisses himself when they put the candy bar in the pool. The kid knows comedy. His parents don’t know we watch that one when I babysit. Animal House, either. One day, we were hanging out at Kay and DMX’s bbq-ing, and our friend Briton, in a beer-induced stupor, fell out of his chair. RAM walked up to him, totally deadpan, and said to him, “fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life.” He’s 5 ½. The kid’s a fucking genius.

They know what a flake I am. They take the risk when they put their kid in my care.

“What’s the best song?”

(He sings)”Don’t worry, ‘bout a thing, cause every little thing, is gonna be alright. We like Bob, TT.” Damn right, we do.

“RAM, who’s your favorite person in the world?”

“You are, TT.”

That’s the raddest kid ever. And, in spite of all of my bad influence, he is also the most polite and well-mannered kid around.

Say what you want about my qualifications as a child-care provider, being childless and all. But I quit working at the YMCA over five years ago, and every kid that was in my group still keeps in contact with me, and the parents love me enough to still buy me gifts for my birthday.

Kids love me.

And why the hell wouldn’t they? I let them watch movies with boobs and food fights.