Summer break

The video that you see above is simply a few minutes of a day with Av. I apologize in advance that it will not play on the page, if you click it it will open up in a new window and you can watch it. Apparently they thought they should make Flip videos impossible to use on Blogger. Bastards. Just about every day is just like this, the toys or random objects she plays with change, sometimes she says new words but for the most part this is essentially what you get when you sit down to play with Av. As a bonus, in this one she is also eating a freeze pop. Enjoy the video and don't be afraid to laugh at her, I certainly am not.

After some thought and a lot of frustrating writer's block moments I came to the conclusion recently that this blog just isn't going to work in the summer time. Av spends way too much of her time with Monica for me to learn any real parenting lessons and my life is just a little bit too leisurely at the moment to get real fired up over anything significant enough to blog about.

When I worked at the newspaper summer was always the toughest time of the year. That is when you would struggle all day long to formulate one story by deadline and it was usually something lame like 'Kids clean up park' or 'Local group saves money for fundraiser.' Of course, I worked at the Item (or as we called it sometimes the 'Lynn Herald'- in reference to the Boston Herald and its outrageous headlines) so usually the header would read 'Passionate pupils plow park problem' or Group gets going with great giveaway.' Ah, alliteration, a headline writer's best friend- and a reporter's arch nemesis. I was always that reporter who put suggested headlines at the top of the stories, too. I am sure that pissed off the guys at the copy desk but if you didn't do it chances are they would only read the first paragraph of the story and slap an inaccurate header on there anyway. Even worse were they days when you would come in to find an alliterated pun draped across the front page. Guess who had to field those phone calls? Yeah, it wasn't the copy desk.

I have been thinking a lot about being a reporter lately, probably because I don't have a real job and a lot of places around here are hiring right now. I almost sent my resume out the other day and then I remembered that 'competitive' wages and benefits mean around 30 grand a year and basic health insurance. Then I remembered how much I hated covering city council meetings and how much I liked not having to wake up and go to work in the morning. Ill find a real job someday. Honest, I will. Hell, I'm going to have to because if I don't I'm likely to have a nervous breakdown soon.

So that is all from me until September. Of course, there is always the chance that I will become passionate about something and post it up hear in the mean time, and I have a lot of videos of Av so check back now and then anyway because I am sure I will post them. It is just important to me that the blog not lose focus or become stale, and I said from the beginning that I wouldn't force it, so I am not going to. Hopefully, when September comes back around and Monica is back to work this little break will have done me well and I will have hoards of new material to lay on you. Until then, here is one last musical selection from one of the best ever, R.L. Burnside, the most progressive Delta Blues artist of all time. Enjoy.

Episode 98: Bravery, anger and an ice luge

The joke around our house has always been that Monica must have been pregnant for like a year and a half before Av was born because she pretty much walked out of the womb with a full head of hair and some pretty advanced motor skills. I don't even remember a time when she couldn't walk or at the very least crawl. Because of this, Av has actually had a lot of problems lately, mostly because she is just so damn clumsy. She has been walking forever but she can't really seem to climb on things or walk up stairs without tipping over or requiring a massive amount of help. I think it is because she doesn't understand how to manage her center of gravity.

Sometimes she starts running and goes too fast to maintain control of her giant head, tipping over into the ground, or the wall, or a table- kind of like she is blackout drunk. It is pretty humorous when it happens, especially because she rarely gets hurt. She does always cry out of embarrassment though.

A few weeks ago she finally managed to get in to her kid-sized Toy Story chair all by herself, a major accomplishment considering her track record, but today at the park she upped the ante, pulling off some stunts that completely shocked me. I don't know if the chair gave her a lot of confidence or if she has just become really brave lately but today she decided that she was going to climb up all of the playground stairs by herself. All the way to the top of the slide. Normally she wouldn't be able to do this without holding my hand and would probably give up and make me carry her. Today, though, she climbed up the first step on her hands and knees and just kept going like she has been doing it her whole life. I was impressed. Later she impressed me again when she climbed on and walked across one of those wooden playground bridges. She didn't even lose her balance when I stepped on it behind her to make sure she didn't fall. It may not sound like much on the surface, but given her clumsy past I was pretty impressed.

So far my week at home with the baby is going much better than Monica's week at school. While she is saddled with a 9-hour day and tons of homework I am having a blast playing and talking to Av. It is amazing how different she is after just three or four weeks of not watching her. She talks so much more and, I hate to admit this, but she is a hell of a lot more fun than she was in the spring. From about February to June she was pretty much a fresh whiny brat, but now that she can communicate what she wants a little bit better and doesn't seem to have any random emotional breakdowns she is much easier to get along with. I am told that this is the calm before the storm, though. From what I hear once she hits 2-years-old it is all over until she is like 25. Sigh.

You might see me on the news

As many of you know, I am a pretty neurotic person. There are so many strange, nonsensical things that make me stressed or anxious and I have so many quirks and compulsive habits it is a wonder that I haven't been locked up. Or at least that is what my mom, girlfriend and most of my friends tell me. To me I am just leading a normal life but, whatever. For example, I have most recently been called neurotic because I am constantly in fear of getting fired from my job. I don't necessarily do anything wrong, but it is a restaurant and sometimes people at restaurants just get fired for no reason. Not to mention, as I have vented about here before, we get those bullshit secret shoppers that judge us and I just know one of them is going to screw me one day. Paranoid? Yes. Nonsensical? Of course. But you know what? It could happen. Sometimes if I have like three or four days off in a row I will go to work and pretend to check my schedule just to see if the managers have anything to say to me. Sure, it's crazy but it gets me through to the next shift.

Anyway, as a result of the stress and anxiety that comes from this I have tendency to be kind of a loose cannon. I get frustrated easily and as a result, very angry very quickly, often times without warning even to myself. I used to be much worse, especially in college when the stress of classes and not having any money combined with that whole 'becoming an adult' thing earned me the affectionate nickname 'Angry Dan.' When I worked at the newspaper my fellow reporters used to make fun of me for how angry I would get after talking to certain people on the phone. You want to talk about stress? Try writing three stories a day that appear in a newspaper, with your name on the top and phone extension on the next page. No matter what I wrote it was guaranteed that I was coming in the next morning to six voicemails. Usually there was one or two for every story. No one is every happy with what you wrote, no matter how accurate it is. In fact, the calls increase with the accuracy, because when the story is true people go in to all out denial mode. So, as a result that poor old Nortel phone got slammed down many a time and that poor, defenseless back door was kicked open about once a day. God am I glad I don't work there any more.

(As an aside to that, the worst days were always the days that the TV listing was moved, or the once in a million day when the crossword puzzle is accidentally left out of the paper. Those are the days you don't even answer your phone because you know it is going to be a delusional old lady on the other end screaming "WHERE IS THE TV LISTING?! WHY DID YOU MOVE THE TV LISTINGS?" "Ugh, lady, I don't know. I did it just to fuck with you" SLAM.)

Since Av was born I have kept my outbursts and anger to a minimum. She has helped me keep things in perspective and I am careful not to get mad about anything when she is around. Still, though, there are some things that just sour my mood and, unfortunately, there is usually someone at the other end of the phone that feels my wrath. I have been known to lose my patience with large corporations like Ticketmaster or Comcast in the past (always for good reason, mind you, like when Ticketmaster mailed my tickets to the wrong address and tried to charge me $17 to fix it, or when Comcast sent me a promotional offer and then raised my cable bill $10 after I signed up for it because I wasn't a 'new' customer). I am sure I am flagged in many a call center data base, and frankly, I don't care, I am sick of getting screwed over by every corporation that I have to deal with. (T-Mobile, I'm looking at you.)

The latest victim of my wrath is a very nice African American musician named Lamar McLaughlin. Lamar, who plays piano and drums, supports his career by selling cars at Commonwealth Motors in Lawrence. He is the nice gentleman who sold me my 2007 Chevy Impala. Well, since he has sold me said Impala almost one year ago I have had a number of problems with it. One of the rear door handles is coming off, I had to have my transmission flushed, I had to have the trunk latch adjusted about a week after I bought the car and, most recently, my check engine light has come on effectively preventing me from getting an inspection sticker. I have taken the car to my guy at Midas three times. The first time he ran the code and determined that the Co2 leak that the car said I had was not there. He inspected my entire fuel system. No leak. Still, the light kept coming back on. Once the light was reset for a third time it finally stayed off. I took my car back, he hooked it up to the emissions machine. Fail. Still says I have a leak. So, I have no leak, the light isn't on, but it won't pass inspection. Cool.

Unfortunately for Lamar, he happened to send me the following email the very same day that the Midas mechanic told me I'd have to drop my car for the day so they can run smoke through my gas tank and try to detect a microscopic leak that the more traditional tests may have missed. Something that will no doubt cost me more in labor alone than I make in a week. Here is what Lamar's note said.

Dear Daniel,

Can you believe it has been a full year since you purchased your Chevrolet Impala? I hope this year has been a good one for you. Please remember that at our dealership your satisfaction is our number one priority.

If there is anything I can do to make your experience here more pleasant, please do not hesitate to let me know.

Kind regards,

Lamar McLaughlin

Nice note, no? Well, like I said, he picked the wrong day to send it. Here is my response.

Lamar,

It feels like it has been so much longer than a year since I bought my 2007 Chevrolet Impala. Mostly because I spent so much of that year in the waiting room at Midas. I do like that my satisfaction is your number one priority. Perhaps you can satisfy me by explaining how in less than a year I have spent hundreds of dollars on this car in repairs. Or why the door handle fell off, or the trunk latch broke just weeks after I bought it. Also, I could use an explanation as to why I have had to put my car in the shop three times this month just to get it to pass inspection, which it still hasn't done. If my satisfaction is your priority you shouldn't have sold me this piece of shit car. Good luck getting me to set foot on your crooked lot again. Thanks though.

Good luck screwing over your next customer,

Dan

Yeah. I woke up this morning, two days after I sent that note (which he obviously never responded to) and my radio was broken. Luckily for Lamar, it was just a loose fuse. If it wasn't, he may have seen some retro Angry Dan- in person.

And I thought I could drink

I am not the type of person who is going to shay away from, or not own up to the things that I did in college. Most notably, a copious amount of drinking. In that time I tried everything from keg stands to beer funnels to power hours. I like to think I am a fairly well-versed binge drinker. I also like to think that those days are behind me, for the most part. That is I liked to think that before last weekend when I was thrust back in to the drinking game and pretty much put under the table by a bunch of old people. I'll explain.

Monica and I were lucky enough to find a babysitter last Saturday night so that we could attend her uncle's 50th birthday party. The day was great, the setting was beautiful- on the beach in Hull- and the food was excellent. Surprisingly though, one of the activities at the party was an ice luge. For those of you who do not know, an ice luge is a drinking device designed to propel super-cold liquor in to your mouth at a high rate of speed. Kind of like a ski slope. I have seen one at college parties but never used it as I prefer to drink beer. Imagine my shock when I found out that there would be one at this party where Monica and I, well past college age, were the two youngest people in attendance.

The both of us had scoffed at the luge for most of the party and had no intention of even attempting it, saying over and over that we were 'too old' for that sort of thing. Apparently, though, that was not a good argument. As couple after couple of aunts, uncles and cousins stepped up to the luge we were slowly put to shame and the final dagger came when Monica's grandparents, well in to their 70's, stepped up to the luge and downed about three shots each- of whiskey- with no problem. This pretty much sealed our fate and we were forced to do it, and I am embarrassed to say that the over 70 crowd made us look really, really bad. This makes my family sneaking beers in to the nursing home look like snack time at a preschool.

As proof of this story here is a picture of an old guy named Ed taking a solo luge. This guy was up there like four times. Unreal. I can't wait until Av is like 17 and she sees the pictures of her parents, grandparents and great grandparents all at the bottom of an ice luge. Yeah, that teenage drinking lesson may not go so well.

Episode 97: Back in the saddle again

Over a month after Monica finished her last day of school and took over primary parenting duties for the summer I have once again been thrust in to the position of stay at home dad this week while she suffers through what I can only imagine is a torturous week-long graduate school class.

See that? What you just read? That is a solid, text book newspaper lede. As well as proof that the programming I received in journalism school and my subsequent half-decade in the industry has permanently damaged my writing style, but I digress. I have been kind of looking forward to this week, mostly because I feel like I have fallen out of favor with the baby since Monica has been home so much. It isn't that she doesn't like me, she still does, but she doesn't really seem to get upset when I come and go like she used to, and that is not good medicine for my already fragile self-esteem.

For as much as I was looking forward to this week, I have also been a little bit nervous about it because I feel like I am out of practice. Thus, I woke up this morning and quickly formulated a plan for the day. Scoot out of the house before Monica gets out of the shower, hit up some errands, feed the ducks and be ready for story time at the library by 10 a.m. So ambitious. And proof that I really am out of practice. Of course, my plan took a wrong turn right from the beginning, considering that she woke up super early this morning. Funny how she magically started sleeping until 8-8:30 as soon as Monica started getting up with her, yet the first day of my return to dad duties she is up at 7 again. It is like she did it on purpose.

Once awake, she refused to eat breakfast and yelled at me until I made her a bottle (yeah, the weening off of the bottle is going real well) and then promptly busted open the bathroom door to find a half-naked mommy brushing her teeth. So much for sneaking out of the house. All in all, the morning actually went quite well from there. Monica and the baby had a little bonding time and we were able to sneak out without any tears. As a result of her waking up early, however, she passed out in the car on the way to story time, so my entire morning schedule is now shot. It's cool, though, I will never complain about a nap. At this point I am just trying to make a conscious effort to actually teach her something today. Monica has set the bar high.

In which T-Mobile becomes the focus of my blind rage

I hate cell phones. I have mentioned this here before. I hate them so much that up until this weekend I was still using a phone that I got in 2005. A phone that is in such bad shape it once caught fire in my pocket. It isn't that I hate having a cell phone, I need one to feel normal, in fact. What I hate about cell phones is how just because we live in this new world of information and file downloading that I now have to pay out the ass for a phone that does all of that and I am shunned if I do not. To make matters worse, once I get the phone I am expected to pony up an extra $30 a month just to use the additional features. I call people, I send text messages. That is it. That is all I want. This seemingly simple desire for a basic phone has been the cause of much stress and anger for me over the past few days, and there is a little, pompous acne-faced blond boy at the T-Mobile store that is going to feel the wrath of my revenge. I am just not quite sure how yet. Here is the background.

On Friday night my 2005 spontaneous combustion phone finally decided that it had enough. The screen was fading in and out more than usual, and after a little bit of surgery to repair the problem I thought I had it solved. Unfortunately, whatever I did made it so the phone no longer received any sort of signal from the tower, even when I was standing outside. Finally ready to give in and buy a new phone, Monica, whose phone also sucks, and I went to the T-Mobile store in Swampscott. Now, I will start out by saying that I already have a bias against kids who work in cell phone stores. They are arrogant, pompous, pushy and misleading. They are the ones that try and stop you when you are walking through the mall. They are the ones that give you attitude if you aren't up on the new technology. Hate, hate, hate. Thus, as you can probably predict, I went in to the T-Mobile store with a bit of a confrontational attitude. I was going to give the kid a chance, but the second her tried to sell me a Blackberry I was going to put him in his place. It didn't take long for the confrontation to begin.

Despite the fact that we were both looking for the same thing, two different kids decided that they needed to help us. The kid helping me did not get off to a good start when he looked up my account and said in an annoyed, condescending way "So, what is wrong with the phone you already have?"

I took the broken fire phone out and showed it to him at which point he informed me that it was not the phone that my account said I had. I told him that the phone on the account was the last in a long line of phones from T-Mobile that have either broken or just flat out not worked. His response? "Well that is because you buy cheap phones." It is at this point that I turned on the kid. Monica said I was a dick. I was. But he deserved it.

"That's because I don't need to Google anything on my phone. I call people and I send text messages. That is it. All I want is a simple phone that isn't going to break."

Acne face then, with attitude, informed me that I still had time left on my contract, and that I wasn't eligible for any sort of upgrade (which doesn't seem at all right, but whatever). So, without any more options, he reluctantly walked me over to the cheapest flip phone that they had and told me I could have it for $50. I was about to just do it when he chimed in with this tidbit.

"You know, they have the same phone at Walmart for $30 and you won't have to extend your contract. You should probably just do that because it isn't worth it buying it here."

Wow. Really? I had no idea that you could buy phones at Walmart without extending your contract. And that cheap, too? This is great. Cool. Now I don't have to deal with this little shit anymore. So, happy that we were going to save some money, the two of us left and agreed to take the kid's advice. Bad move.

I went to Walmart yesterday in search of this magical $30 phone. What I found was a display of Blackberries and LG phones all selling for around $300. In fact, the cheapest phone that they had was $285. Unless, of course, I wanted to extend my contract, then it was only $175. Irritated, I left and went back to the T-Mobile store. Since it was Sunday they were not yet open so I decided to pop in to a nearby Radio Shack to see what they had. That is when I spoke to this nice old assistant manager who pretty much told me the kid was full of shit. He told me that you can't buy a phone at a store like Radio Shack or Walmart without extending the contract and that it works exactly like a cell phone store. In addition, independent retailers don't ever carry those bottom line phones because they can't offer the same sign up deals as the cell phone carriers , so the only way I could get the cheap phone was to buy a pre-paid phone, pay $30 to activate it and stick my sim card in it. Effectively costing me twice the money.

"That's the thing about customer service," he said."You have to be careful with electronics. That kid just lied to you because he doesn't make any money off of those cheap phones anyway. Just being honest."

Ohhhh, it is on now, punk.

Bordering on violent, blind rage, I headed back home to stew for an hour before going back to T-Mobile and possibly putting this kid in a coma. That is when I remembered that I have a perfectly good Motorola laying around that just needs a charger. Back to Radio Shack. So, for about $30 total, I was able to get the new charger for the old phone and go on my way. I figured this way I will never have to renew my contract and I can stop using T-Mobile whenever the damn contract runs out. Nice. But there was still the matter of that acne-faced punk at the store. I sat in my car for about 10 minutes preparing my speech for the kid when it dawned on me that going in there and ripping this kid a new asshole wouldn't accomplish anything. Instead, I was going to rip his boss a new asshole. I walked in the door and got about half way through the store when the kid looked up and saw me.

"Hey, what's up man," he said, cheerfully. He either realized that I was back and probably pissed or he is just a dumbass. I opened my mouth to ask for his manager and let him have it and I immediately lost any strength that I had. "Ahh, fuck it." I said aloud and walked out. That probably got my point across right there, but I am not done. I don't know what I am going to do, but this kid is going down. I will find a way.

Music.

So, I have a love-hate relationship with this band, Built to Spill. Meaning that I love about 12 songs and hate pretty much all of the rest of them. But those 12 songs are kick ass. This is my favorite of the bunch, live.

Episode 96: Female real estate agents, you have competition

For most of my adult life I have believed that female real estate agents are the most evil, manipulative, dishonest, disrespectful and downright rude professionals in the entire world. Worse than lawyers, worse than advertising reps and worse than politicians (although, all are pretty close).

My reasoning for this is based solely on years of apartment hunting and little else but, frankly, that is enough. In my experience, these estrogen-infused snobs have always treated myself and whomever I was looking at the apartment with like we were just moving out of a crack house and we were surely going to pocket the rent and start a fire in the living room. One woman demanded that we put an $1100 deposit down on an apartment just for the right to think about it for a few days. Another once told Monica that not having a washer and dryer on site is better for us because it will 'motivate us to do chores.' Perhaps the most egregious action was taken by the woman who helped us in to our current apartment. After calling everyone under the sun for reference checks, she got a hold of my boss at the newspaper. Not expecting her to tell me what sort of questions she asked, the agent grilled my boss on my work ethic, my status within the company and my reputation away from work. Completely, totally inappropriate. This woman would also not give us keys to the apartment until I had changed all of the utilities in to my name, which despite her insistence is not, in fact, a rule, and has still failed to return my calls requesting keys to the back door and the basement bulkhead.

Some of you may be wondering why I am singling out women here. Quite simply, my experiences with male real estate agents have been much better. In those cases, the information was delivered in a straight forward manor, the only background checks were the standard calling of the old land lord and a credit check and, most importantly, none of them spoke to me like I was a drug addicted 14-year-old who had no business looking for an apartment.

I go on this tiny rant for a reason. That is that I no longer think that these female real estate agents are the most evil people in the world. No, that distinction can now be pinned to a new group: secret shoppers. Living life seemingly for the sole purpose of screwing people out of jobs and getting things for free, secret shoppers have long been the bane of my existence at work, as we are forced to jump through ridiculous hoops when helping customers in the remote chance that one of them may be in the building. Still, I had never really thought about how much I despised these people until yesterday when we took the baby to a place called Monkey Joe's.

For those of you who are not familiar, Monkey Joe's is essentially Discovery Zone without the piss-filled ball pit. For a kid, the place is magic. It is basically a series of inflatable bouncy bounces and a few video games. There is pizza and you can win prizes. Monica and I took Av there yesterday to play in the toddler section and she had a blast bouncing around the play area and horsing around with other kids. I really don't think I have seen her have that much fun in a long time. Maybe ever. For us, the trip was cool, too. I mean, there is literally nothing to do for an adult there, but they let us in free and only charged $5 for the baby. So, we pretty much got to kill a few hours and let Av have some fun for only $5. Cool.

At one point during the visit a woman came up to Monica and started to ask her questions. After a few short "why the hell are you talking to me?" answers., the lady revealed that she was a secret shopper and was having trouble with some of the questions. Monica gave the place a good review, but the whole situation irked me. It made me think back to work- back to having to recite some useless speech every time someone sits down at the bar just in case they might be shopping me. Seriously, who gives two shits that we have other locations? They are at this location. If they want to know where the other ones are they can ask. Or maybe read the menu. Or the coaster I gave them. Or the signs on the wall. Surely they don't need me to tell them that seconds after they have sat down. Unless they are secret shoppers, of course. Or how about the fact that handing the menu to them and pointing out the specials isn't enough. I am supposed to suggest one beer and one dish to them before they order. Well, you know what? I am pretty sure that everyone has different tastes, so I can tell you what my favorite beer and my favorite burger is, but if you're in the mood for fish and chips and a glass of wine it doesn't fucking matter, does it? How about you put on your big boy hat and if you have a question or want to know how something is you just ask. We are adults here. I am a bartender, not a babysitter.

Sorry. As you can see, I am very passionate about this. My point is this: Where the hell do these people get off going in to mine- or anyone else's- place of business with their judgmental attitudes and their criteria? This doesn't happen to doctors, or lawyers or anyone in the corporate world, for that matter. That is because those people have respected jobs. That is what this comes down to. Those people- shoppers I am talking about- have no respect for anyone. I don't know how it works at Monkey Joe's, but if we don't get certain things right on shopper reports, or just get a bad score, our jobs are in jeopardy. Luckily, our managers are somewhat understanding of certain situations, but I have seen people lose their jobs over something like that. Furthermore, nine times out of ten the shoppers don't fill out the reports correctly, raising the question, how much can they really be trusted? I mean look at the situation yesterday. That lady has probably never worked with kids in her life and she wasn't even smart enough to figure out how to answer the questions on her sheet. It is the same thing in a restaurant. I am willing to bet that most of those people that come in to judge us have never waited a table in their lives. All they want is a free meal. That is just wrong. The end.

As for Av she had a blast at Monkey Joe's, just like she had a blast on Sunday when we took her to the farm to pick berries. She is really beginning to understand the concept of most things now, and really seems to have a grasp on how life works. Throughout the past few weeks what I have really noticed is how much better of a parent Monica is. Maybe it is just the teacher in her, but she has the ability to talk to the baby and teach her things at the same time. Pretty much the entire day is an enriching experience for her. As I have said before, I look at myself as more of a supervisor. Eye candy, even. I am good for playing and emergency supervision, but Monica is in charge and we all know it, especially Av. I think it is going to be interesting for the both of us next week when Monica takes her graduate school class. Then it is back to dealing with me from 8-3 every day. Lucky Av.

I couldn't not post this picture. This only happens in the ghetto.

Episode 95: The art, or lack there of, of being cheap

As a father, a semi-employed one at that, I make somewhat of a concerted effort to try and save money in certain areas. For example, I have a 5-year-old cell phone that is held together with duct tape. I rarely buy clothes and and when I need to make a semi-large purchase, like an appliance or a piece of furniture, I tend to frequent places like Walmart, Walgreens and the Family Dollar (or simply 'F-Dollar' as we call it here on Roslyn Street).

I try to save money in other areas, too. Winter is a constant battle amongst the family as I try to keep the heat turned down and the thermostat stationary at 67. Likewise, I am always entering rooms and turning off air conditioners in the summer time. I am that annoying guy that turns off all of the lights behind you when you leave a room. I think that I am being fairly smart. Most other people just call me cheap.
(As an aside, I will say that I gave in this summer and allowed three, yes THREE air conditioners in the house. One each in the two bedrooms and an un heard of third AC in the living room of all places. I fought tooth and nail, but it is 96 degrees outside and I'm pretty comfortable so I will concede this loss).

The way I see it, I spend enough money in a day buying food for my kid, paying bills that always seem to go up and making sure I have enough left over to cover any various bank fees that always seem to randomly occur.( I will never understand the logic behind charging me money because I don't have enough money in my checking account. That seems counter productive. Who has a consistent $5,000 balance these days anyway? Ohhh, people who work more than four days a week. I get it. Screw you, bank). I don't need to be donating any more of it anywhere else.
As a result of this frugality (is that a word? Spell check says it is, so we'll go with it) I have begun to notice that my quality of life has recently started to decline. For the most part I can usually deal with something when it is cheap and crappy. Sure, it's annoying when my cell phone screen fades out mid-text, or when it catches fire in my pocket. Yeah, I would much rather sneakily play late night video games on a Playstation 3 or a WII, but I can't justify spending that money when I have a perfectly dusty PS2 and a plethora of games from 2005. All of these things still work, why upgrade?

My problem I guess is not with the older things that are hanging around, it is with the newer things that I buy that break right away. Nothing pisses me off more than buying something, using it three or four times and having it break in your hand. Infuriating. Here are just a few examples of things I have purchased in the past few weeks that have already shit the bed. Consider this a public service. Buyer beware.

1. Kitchen trash can: Walmart- $14.
Below you will see a version of the trash can that I purchased for the kitchen. The one that we had was a stylish red color, something that admittedly added to my desire to purchase this particular style of trash can.
As you can see, the trash can has a locked lid that is opened by pressing that little raised lever on the front of the can. This is essential because when you have a 1-year-old, they think everything is a toy. Especially trash. This feature combined with the stylish red color convinced me that this particular product had a place in my kitchen. We are always looking for stylish additions anyway. As is usually the case in life, style did not indicate substance, and within a few weeks the spring in the back of the trash can had flung off in to the abyss and the button no longer worked, meaning that we had to manually lift the entire snap on lid off of the trash can whenever we wanted to use it. Now, the snap on lid was so ineffective that the baby was able to rip it off every time she went near the trash, but somehow after the spring broke the lid became air tight and impossible to lift off. The manual trash disposal went on for a few days until Monica finally lost it and screamed something along the lines of 'Every time I use this f-ing trash can I get so mad I could murder someone." We have a new trash can now, needless to say.

2. Walmart brand mini-grill. Walmart- charcoal $15, gas $35.

I list the prices for both charcoal and gas because I was eventually forced to buy them both, mostly because I am an idiot. The charcoal grill came first because, well, it was cheaper. I convinced myself that the smokey taste of charcoal was better and proceeded to have the most tedious, frustrating grilling experience ever. Charcoal grills suck. They don't stay lit, they take forever to heat up, they are smokey and they cook everything unevenly. Picture me, 50 feet from a public playground, sweating like a fat guy at the beach swearing under my breath at a hot dog that is scorched on both ends and still frozen in the middle. Meanwhile blinding smoke is bellowing out in to my face, getting blown over to the playground and everywhere else. There was half-cooked burger falling through the cracks and at one point I think I actually had more match sticks than charcoal in the bottom of the grill. Charcoal grills suck. Did I mention that? It was so bad that I left it next to the trash can at the park.

Below is a picture of the gas version of the grill. These are literally Walmart brand grills, so I should have known what to expect, but they were the perfect size and price that I was looking for. When it came to cooking the food, the gas grill was much better. The igniter switch worked and it stayed lit, with a minimal amount of smoke. The problem with this grill was shoddy design. The grill racks are too far apart so cooking hamburgers or chicken breast is virtually impossible, they just fall through the cracks. As soon as I went to lift it up one of the handles broke, and the top warming rack is so flimsy that it kept falling on top of the grill rack until I smartened up and used some pliers to bend the ends. I'm still holding on to this one, but it is literally falling apart around itself.

In addition to the grill (s) falling apart, one of the most vital grill tools has been giving me trouble, too. To match my stylish red grill and stylish red trash can, I bought some stylish red tongs to use during grilling. These were also a Walmart product priced at $4.99. Maybe I just have super human strength but I'm pretty sure I don't, so imagine my surprise when while in the act of flipping chicken the entire back end of the tongs came apart, spraying plastic pieces and screws all over my deck. Again, I should have known better than to buy tongs with a plastic handle, but they seemed sturdy and they were a stylish red, C'mon. Imagine my joy when I had to finish grilling on the Fourth of July with two forks instead of tongs.

3.Polar Pack. F-Dollar- $12.

This one is so generic I couldn't even find a picture of it. Due to the size of our apartment, we have the smallest full sized fridge that you can buy. Because of this buying and storing more than a six-pack is virtually impossible. Enter the Family Dollar polar pack. A back-pack cooler with several compartments that claims to hold 48 cans of 'drink.' Perfect. A cheap cooler allows for the purchase of plenty of ice and it is insulated, so the ice should stay cold, right? HA! I should have noticed the first flaw, the un-insulated window in the top of the cooler, inside the store but I didn't. Within four hours almost all of the ice was melted. When I lifted it up to empty it and add more ice it ripped along the seems and leaked everywhere. Despite the rips I held on to it until the weekend was over, but by the time it was over the thing didn't even have zippers left on it. Clearly the most disappointing purchase yet.

So, there are a few of the crappy things that have made my life miserable lately. When I was a kid I always hated generic stuff. When I got older I understood why my parents bought them, but I am slowly starting to hate them again. I am about at the end of my rope with things breaking. I am going to have to find another area to start saving money in, I think. No more Internet porn, I guess. (That is a joke, Mom. Relax. Besides, everyone knows that porn is free on the Internet).

Episode 94: The little adult

Life is a lot cooler when you are 1 and you can tool around in a swim diaper all day generally not giving a damn. That is Av at the beach on Monday, no doubt about to steal another kid's toy or take off running for the water.

The July 4th barbecue extravaganza was kind of a success on most counts, although the first day of grilling did hit some snags when we realized that my $35 Walmart grill wasn't exactly up for any sort of heavy duty burger cooking. Alas, the sausages and chicken came out Ok, though, and other than a brief bout with the meat sweats on Sunday night it was a good time.
As you can see here we decided that we were going to be the most patriotic family we could be on the 4th. It was more of a mockery than an actual effort, but it turned out being pretty sweet. Monica found my modern, hi-def-looking eagle shirt in a Walmart bargain bin, while I found her more retro-styled eagle t-shirt crumpled in to a ball underneath some novelty American flag hats at the ghetto Walgreens downtown. If you can't read the baby's, it says "Rock on America!" with a cartoon America playing air guitar. Awesome. Also, I am sure Monica will be pumped that I posted a picture of her making that sour lemons face.

One thing that everyone kept pointing out over the weekend was how big Av has gotten. I tend to agree, but I guess I just don't notice it as much since I see her every day, but she really has become kind of a little adult. Most of what she does on a daily basis is hysterical. She can identify things like body parts, and she understands the concept of saying goodbye an hello. Funniest, though, is that she is now starting to understand when she or other people go to the bathroom. She loves to follow Monica in to the bathroom when she goes and can be frequently heard saying "bye bye doo doo" when the toilet flushes. Hysterical.

Around the house she is just busy as can be. Pretending to sweep the floor, watering the flowers, introducing various stuffed friends to one another. Her two favorite toys at the moment are a large rubber turtle that we got last weekend on our day trip to Rockport and a mechanical elephant who she has pretty much fallen in love with. She even makes him wear a diaper now.

My anxiety over having nothing to do has subsided a little bit. I have found enough chores and picked up enough shifts at work to make sure that I feel relatively useful the past couple of weeks, but now I am finding that ridicule is heading my direction for not doing enough. I knew that this would happen and I tried to avoid it, but sure enough, I have started to apparently get a little bit too lazy and comfortable being home all day. It isn't so much of a keep the house clean thing, it is more of a sleeping in too many mornings in a row or not paying attention to when the baby is hindering Monica's ability to eat or take a shower. The issue here is the same issue every man has with every woman. Communication. We need to be told what to do. Don't ever assume that we know, because chances are we don't and we aren't paying attention. That is free dating advice to any single ladies out there. Just tell us what you want us to do and we'll do it. Got it? Good luck.

8-hour weight loss program

I am not one to bitch about heat, ever, because I despise winter with everything that I have and on those brutal 30 degree days when it is wet and slushy and I have to move my car a half mile away so they can plow the streets I pray for 90 degree days. That said, yesterday was one of the most miserable days of my entire life. The temperature broke 100 in most areas around here and despite three air conditioners abusing my electric bill I was still sweltering hot. (The baby has made hot weather a little more humorous lately now that she identifies hot things by going "ssssssssssssss" Now when we walk outside and it is hot, or we get in to a hot car she just goes "sssssssssss" Priceless.)

After a day of sweat, more sweat and a few involuntary heat naps I was actually looking forward to going to work. I knew that since it was hot out people wouldn't want to cook, so I expected it to be busy, and I also knew that we have a cranking AC in that place. So much so that some regular customers bring in sweatshirts in the summer in preparation. So, imagine my horror when I walked in to work and felt a blast of warm air coming from the vents. Yes, despite the AC being set at 69 degrees, the coldest section of the restaurant- the walkway- was about 75. Everywhere else was in the high 80's, including behind the bar where my sweaty mess of a self ran around at half speed all night long trying to help customers.

Most of the people who came in were pretty understanding, but some were just idiots. Like the lady that asked me to turn the AC on. Oh, sure lady. I'll go ahead and do that. Thanks for reminding me. I knew there was something I forgot to do tonight. Or the other guy who moved seats 56 times trying to find a vent. Just go somewhere else, dude. At this point you're wasting your time. Anyway, the night was pretty miserable, but I sweat out about five pounds and most of the customers felt bad enough for me to add about five percent to their tips, so I guess it worked out.

As American as robots and social security

It's 4th of July weekend and I can't think of a better way to celebrate. I'm not actually going to drink 12 40's of Natty Ice, that is just the box Kenny from the Asian convenience store up the street (affectionately known as the "Asian Store") gave me to carry my bags of ice home in. Still, I felt pretty gangsta walking through the neighborhood hauling it on my shoulder. The ice is currently chilling 36 cans of Budweiser (which I got for $22- nice), so I guess I am not too far off.

Despite the close quarters and loud ass neighborhood Monica and I are determined to be adults and we WILL barbecue on my deck this weekend. I have a $35 Wal Mart brand grill and a shitload of beer. God Bless America.

I hope everyone has a happy and safe holiday weekend. And by safe I mean don't blow your hands off trying to show off with fireworks, don't drink 12 40's and try to drive home and, most importantly, don't let the potato salad sit out in the sun. Eggs, mayonnaise and pounding, relentless heat just don't mix.