Almost Dorothy Meets Mr. McNugget

Today is the happiest day of my life. Mom and Amanda B. promised they would take me to meet my father who I thought was dead because mom said he was dead. I knew she was a liar. Anyway, he is not a dead dad, but mom still claims he is a dead beat, which must mean he likes really really really slow music. Supposedly, mom says this, my dad works as a Chicken McNugget engineer. He operates the machine that mechanically separates the meat from the chicken’s body and then reassembles the chicken bits into a nugget using phosphate salts and some chicken skin to hold it together. So cool. I’m never going to eat a McNugget again.

I’m not sure what to wear–a dress, a suit and tie, a top hat, or boa? I’m so excited I almost forgot to pee this morning and had to go in the garden because it was just too late. I was in the garden picking flowers to make a bouquet to give to my father. I assume he likes flowers because I love flowers and since we’re related I know he will love flowers too. I’m very excited. So excited I decided to redo my Little Mermaid’s hairdo. She’s got a mohawk now and looks real butch.

I am afraid. Afraid that dad won’t like me, or love me, or even hate me. I’m afraid he’ll put me through the chicken processor and turn me into “The Boot” McNugget. I’m afraid he’ll look at me and laugh at me and call me a boy-girl or a billy goat or worse, a child-beast, or a butt-ugly duck. I’m not a child even though I am small. Every day I get bigger and bigger. Today I’ve grown a mile.

Mom and Amanda  B. say don’t worry because they got my back, which means they’ll probably be making fish faces behind my back. Make me look like a freaking fool. I can’t trust them. Especially mom. Not after what she’s done. Telling me dad was dead when he was really just killing chickens for a living. In any case, I know he’s just a man, a possible dad, the father I’ve never known who is also a guy who makes chicken parts whole again just like I want to be whole. Again. I looked in the mirror this morning and saw my possible father’s reflection. I told him I don’t want to be a McNugget anymore, chicken parts, alone. I want to go home, I told him. I want to go home.

McDonalds Chicken McNuggets

Dragon Slayer

I’m getting busty but in the wrong places. Too many Oreo cookies and television. I’m obsessed with Rachel Maddow and Sponge Bob reruns. I’ve got the runs too. It’s been a tough week considering I still haven’t caught H1N1 yet. I’m gonna get vaccinated as soon as I can but I don’t have $24 yet. Mom says she’ll sell herself if she has to to get me vaccinated. “I can work over that guy with the shiny car down the street.” The other moms in the neighborhood hate mom because mom will do anything to survive even if that means preying on one of their husbands, or significant others. One time she blackmailed the neighbor’s husband because she caught him having sex with a man at the pub where she works. She swore she wouldn’t tell his wife if he bought me a school uniform and mom a six pack and cigarettes, the good kind. Mom has no shame. I’m not ashamed of her except when she wears those black fishnet stockings to the Unitarian Church on Sundays. “Attention is good,” she says. “I took marketing in collage you know.” I didn’t know. I didn’t even expect mom to be the kind of woman who went to college but she’s an extraordinary woman even though she’s almost toothless beneath the dentures. She can fillet a yellow fin snapper. She can slay a dragon with her own bare hands. She can, I swear. If you don’t believe me, ask my father.