HOLY SHIT. I am in the throes of being deeply discombobulated. This is a real time report (or would have been, had I not given up and abandoned it until another day, this day, which is today, right now. Which makes this part “real time”, I guess. Or not. Oh, fuck it.) My daughter, who is twelve, is having her birthday party tonight. I was JUST twelve. Not temporally speaking, of course. But it seems like I was just twelve. And they are doing all the shite I DID as a twelve year old, but they are doing it up Twenty-First Century style. Youtube changes everything. And I am baking brownies for them, because I am The Mom. HOLY SHIT.
Now they are making a video and writing some sort of rap. They are rapping, about God Knows What. Here is an overheard bit of conversation that occurred between two young party guests and Qwanty, Jr., courtesy of the Brain Scientist:
Young party guest: What rhymes with hair?
Other young party guest: Mare!
Qwanty, Jr.: Sare!
The BS reported this to me, confused: How are they possibly going to work that into a song?
How indeed. And seriously, junior. Sare? SARE? Jesus, child. That’s not even a word. It is at best an acronym. And frankly, I don’t think you know that.
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