Episode 142: Children, testicle jokes and you

In case you haven't noticed, I do not have the most mature, refined sense of humor. I like sexually explicit jokes, crotch shots, videos of inflatable mascots eating cheerleaders and saying 'that's what she said' at all the right times. Also, my favorite movie is Dirty Work starring Norm MacDonald, Artie Lange and that chick from 'Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place' circa 1998.

Thus, I also find it irresistibly funny when people unintentionally say humorous things about nuts, balls, junk or any other euphemism for testicles. As you can imagine, this happens a lot when you watch kid's shows.

Av's current favorite show is a DVD called 'Count on Sports' starring Bert and Ernie as blazer-clad sports casters teaching children about math through the guise of sports. Putting aside the fact that there is absolutely no way to make math fun- I don't care if you give me a party hat, a fridge full of beer, and a busload of loose women with massage degrees from Blaine Beauty School, if there is a math lesson involved, I'm not going to have fun- the video is actually one of the more entertaining child-geared shows I have watched in a long time.

Bert and Ernie are a naturally funny pair, but when they start talking about balls it becomes even funnier. There are conversations such as this:

Ernie: "While I get started Bert, why don't you count all of the balls"

Bert: "What balls?"

Ernie: "These balls!" (various sports balls fall on his head).

Immature? Yes. Still funny? Yes.

Later on in the show Bert sorts the balls in to piles of small balls, medium balls and big balls. The baby refers to this show simply as 'Ernie Balls.' "Watch Ernie Balls, Daddy?" Ha!

Another one of Av's favorites is an episode of Zaboomafoo that involves a monkey. In all of the learning about the animals there is one segment where they decide that they need to share that the monkey loves nuts. What ensues is a solid 45 seconds of every character saying things like "I love nuts!" or "Monkey's love nuts" or "I think he wants nuts!" Then Zaboo goes over to the snack machine (which I have affectionately renamed the 'snatch machine'), says something along the line of "nuts! nuts! nuts!" and then lets all of the cashews fall on his face and in his mouth. Priceless.

I am always laughing at times like this, which makes Av laugh, too. She thinks it is because the show is funny. Someday she will also see the humor in testicles. Of course, she will not ever know what a testicle looks like because the moment she sees a man without his pants on is the moment I end up in prison, so we are just going to avoid that. I am still pushing for that lesbian thing.

I don't care if that is immature or cheap comedy. It makes me laugh every time. Just like a dad catching a wiffle ball bat in the nuts on America's Funniest Home Videos.

...

Over the weekend Monica and I took the baby to a place called the Rainforest Cafe'. This is a restaurant nestled within a mall that is supposed to create the illusion of dining in the rainforest. Without, of course, the poisonous spiders, various tropical bugs, hungry animals, cannibalistic natives or intestinal parasites that eventually burrow out of your ass and eat your entire family.

Instead, there are animatronic jungle creatures, flash thunderstorms, fish tanks everywhere and the occasional screaming monkey. The line for this place wraps around the mall hours before the restaurant opens while efficient, poorly dressed staff members pretend not to freak out about the shear volume of people.

Av absolutely loved the place. She was completely overwhelmed with the visuals and all of the animals. We got to sit next to the elephants, who she was concerned were too hot because of the artificial steam that was coming out of the artificial swamp they were artificially standing in. I have to say, the place is a well-oiled machine and kids love it. It just seems like it would be absolute hell to work at. I get annoyed at work when people get to lout watching games on TV, I can't imagine how I would feel if I was trying to take an order in the middle of an artificial thunder storm.

One thing I will say is that the staff really pushes the booze on the parents, which I appreciate. The whole time we were standing in line I was thinking to myself "Man, I am going to need a beer. But I don't think it is acceptable." I really didn't want to be that guy who orders a beer around hundreds of kids and their judgmental parents. I was almost as conflicted as I was the time that I had to go to a child's christening that also featured an open bar. Talk about inner conflict.

Anyway, I had conceded myself to having to tough out the Rainforest Cafe without the help of beer when the waitress came. She introduced herself, did the whole speech and then immediately turned to the page of alcohol. What I saw was a magical page of tropical drinks in souvenir cups, mix drinks and beer. I ordered a beer and looked around to find bottles of Bud scattered throughout the rainforest and a bold old man sitting next to us sipping on a scotch and water. Ahhh, the rainforest. Not too bad a place after all.

Overall the experience was decent. The kid loved it, there was beer, it wasn't as expensive as it could have been and I was able to make it home before the nachos forced me in to the bathroom. Monica was not so lucky, though. She had to poop at Stop and Shop. Yes, I debated deleting that last line. It is just funnier to leave it. I am prepared for the backlash.

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Episode 141: In which I officially bid farewell to my youth

I'm old. I know I'm old and I've been old for a while. Sure, I haven't quite hit 30 yet, but I am still old. About as old as a 27-year-old can be. As time passes there are things that randomly remind you of your age. Realizing that you don't know who any of today's popular music stars or actors are. Losing the desire to ever do a shot at a bar. Watching the children of professional athletes you used to watch as a teenager play in college now. Certain foods are no longer accepted by your body etc...

The worst is when you look at something that happened in a certain year and you don't think it was that long ago, but then you realize it was. Example: I recently watched sports footage from 1998- that I remember watching live at the time- and it looked grainy and faded. Like I was watching Babe Ruth in 1926. Some of the players interviewed in present time looked like my dad. Has anyone seen Mark McGuire lately?
Old. And he isn't the only one. William Shatner is 80. 80! Unbelievable. At least J-Lo still looks good. There is still a little bit of hope for society.

It isn't just celebrities, either. Businesses that I still consider new are celebrating 10 year anniversaries. My 2007 model year car has almost 80,000 miles on it. I graduated college five years ago. Five. What have I done with the last decade? Where did it go? I have no idea.

I have always kind of accepted this, embraced the salt and pepper hair and told myself I was distinguished and experienced. An urban George Clooney without the talent, success or hoards of fawning women. But this week I'm feeling a little bit more demoralized.

The restaurant reopened last week and up until yesterday I had worked six straight days. Most nights were late ones, ending around 2 a.m., and at times I have had to turn up the tempo and move fairly quickly while covering a large area. All of this is good. I like working, work equals money. I like when I have to work hard, it makes the time go by faster and it gives me more of a purpose, but my old-ass body is beginning to fail me.

After about two days my neck knotted up in to the size of a volley ball, I pulled a muscle in my calf, my legs are all stiff and I have shooting pains in my lower back. I can barely turn my neck. To make all of this worse, I have been extremely, extremely tired. I can remember my dad coming home from work, sitting down and just dozing off. Taking five minutes out of whatever he was doing and just falling asleep. I used to think he was borderline narcoleptic, now I realize he was just a tired, over worked old man. And so am I.

Yesterday morning I got up with Av after six straight days of working. I had gone to bed at 2 a.m. and she got up at 6:30. Five years ago I would have been resilient. Tired, but my body would have willed me through the morning with a little bit of Red Bull and adrenaline. Yesterday I could barely keep my eyes open. I dozed off on the couch all morning while Av watched Sesame Street. I could barely muster up the energy to empty the cat box or do the dishes. I tried everything. Red Bull, fruit, sticking my head out the window to get fresh air- nothing worked. I am just a tired old man. Even after we left the house I was limping through art class, being grouchy, driving slow because I was tired and my neck hurt. I almost fell asleep pushing the cart at Target.

Old people are up with the sun, napping my 10 a.m. and asleep by 8 p.m. at the latest. That sounds so good to me right now I can't even tell you. Maybe it is my stagnant lifestyle that keeps me from having young man energy. I don't 'work out' or 'eat well'. I am happiest with a few beers, maybe some queso dip or a bag of gummy bears and some TV. That probably isn't the healthiest way to go about life, but I get my exercise at work being on my feet and running around for nine hours. I think I am just old. It's over. That's what it comes down to. I am rapidly approaching my expiration date. I hope that I don't find myself single in my 30's. I used to think that if it happened I'd have a decent shot with some chick coming off a failed marriage with low self esteem or something, but now I'm thinking it will be like a 70-year-old back on the market. Just sad and a little gross. I think I have that Robin Williams disease. You know, the one he had in Jack?

...

R.I.P. Nate Dogg. Let us all regulate today in memory.

Episode 140: Cool tricks, cool tricks!

I've spoken about this before, but today I have a good reason for revisiting it. Yo Gabba Gabba is the weirdest and most oddly satisfying show on children's television. Robots, monsters and one giant tall cyclopes that looks oddly like a ribbed dildo dance around some acid-trip land under the watch of God figure DJ Lance Rock.
They go on adventures and sing songs and generally please the senses of toddlers with educational segments that border on nightmarish but somehow remain wholesome and comforting. Whoever designed this show was on lots and lots of drugs.

Part of the show's appeal to adults, besides the pure insanity of it all, is the many celebrity cameos. Musicians like The Roots and the Shins often make appearances on the 'Super Music Friend Show' segment, while others show up for 'Dancy Dance Time.' Jack Black even had his own episode. There is a drawing segment hosted by Mark Mothersbaugh, the wonderfully insane and unstable lead singer of 80's pop sensation Devo.


One of the best segments on the show is called 'Cool Tricks,' in which people- sometimes celebrities, other times just regular people, show of a 'cool trick.' In one episode a kid balances a spoon on his nose. In another a man hand-farts the alphabet. In one episode that we have been watching lately, the Cool Tricks guest is Rahzel.
Rahzel is a beat boxer who has been a member of The Roots as well as his own solo work. Think of that guy from Police Academy (not the very fit Steve Gutenberg, the other one who made police car noises) only more gangsta, more talented and more musical. He does a 30 second beat box session. There is also a segment on the show from time to time when Biz Markie of 'Just a Friend' fame also beatboxes, offering up Biz' Beat of the day.



Here is the famous song, just in case you missed this part of the early 90's.



Essentially, what all of this means is that Av is now attempting to beat box. She is young, inexperienced and not too familiar with the hip hop scene, but she tries. Usually, she says 'I like that guy' when she sees Rahzel and then makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a throat-clearing hack and a small child trying to imitate stadium crowd noise. I actually had no idea that she was trying to do it until Monica pointed it out, but it makes perfect sense. I see it now. I am going to try and get video, but as is the case with me trying to film her imitating the count (ah ah ah!), she will never do it when the camera is on.

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Episode 139: It's fun to get harassed at the YMCA

A few of you may remember about six months ago when we enrolled Av in what we were led to believe was beginner pre school at the new YMCA in Marblehead. This 'pre school' ended up being nothing more than a glorified day care with a tyrant teacher who yelled at Av for drinking juice and essentially kicked us out of the class. This has resulted in a crippling fear of abandonment on Av's part- sometimes you can be standing right behind her in a room and if she doesn't see you she will start to cry- as well as eternal bitterness on mine.

Following the school incident I canceled my membership and vowed never to set foot at that particular location again. We started going back to the Salem Y, which is old, run down and ghetto, but charming and friendly. We go to art class there and sometimes Monica takes the baby to swim. Someday if I ever feel the need to not have the body of a dad I will probably renew my membership and go to the gym there.

Recently, though, we signed the baby up for a parent/ child open gym. Av loves to go places and just jump around, what kid doesn't? So we figured signing up for a class at the YMCA would be a nice alternative to going over to Route 1 to Monkey Joe's every time. The only problem was that it was at the new location in Marblehead. I was reluctant at first but the concept sounded fun for Av so I agreed. What is the worst that can happen? It is just open gym, I'll be next to her the whole time it is fine.

We started going three weeks ago and what I found was the Marblehead YMCA is the unfriendliest, most irrational place on the planet. I have once again instituted my ban and I can now promise you that I will never, ever make another exception and go there again.

First, lets talk about the staff. At the Salem YMCA there are several entrances. The main entrance has a locked door that an attendant has to open. Upon entering the building the attendant hits the door button and lets you in. Non members are simply asked why they are there and payment is processed if needed, but usually it is because they have signed up and pre-paid for a class and they are let in simply by giving their name. When we go to art class we go in through the side door in to the children's room. We check in with the teacher and we are cool. If someone isn't on the list they send them upstairs to register at the front desk. Simple as that.Most days when we walk in we are greeted with a warm, friendly hello by someone. The teacher knows our names and the staff recognizes us.

To my knowledge no one has ever been raped, kidnapped, murdered, poisoned or anything of the like at the Salem YMCA.

In Marblehead, or 'Legg's Hill' as they like to pretentiously call it because it is carved out of what was once a lovely forest/ rock area long destroyed by towering home developments, they don't give you an inch. There is only one entrance to the building if you are not in the daycare program and it is guarded on each end by two Russian women and in the back by a fat, grumpy man with one dead, crumpled hand. Every week it has been the same. Go in, "Hi, we are here for her gym class." They ask if we are members and I say that she is. They look in the computer, screw up either her first or last name two to three times and say that she isn't a member. I point out that she is, in fact a member, and have to give everything from phone numbers to addresses. We then have a back and forth. Eventually I point out that I have paid for the class and they look me up, tell me my membership is 'expired' at which point I explain that my membership is canceled precisely because of situations like this. Once the KGB clears me I have to talk to Dead Hand Man, who then asks me the exact same questions and makes me sign in on a piece of paper. Last week I got yelled at for putting our names on the same line.

This week I bypassed the KGB and went right to the sign up sheet, same line of questioning from Dead Hand. This time I didn't even bother arguing with him as to whether or not she was a member, I just put her name down, got yelled at for not putting down my 'time in' on the appropriate line and muttered something along the lines of 'I see you every week and you know why we're here' to which he responded 'This is a safety and security measure.' You know, because lots of kidnappers, terrorists, rapists and murderers carry 2-year-olds who are yelling 'Jumping, Daddy?! Jumping, Daddy?!' right before they drop anthrax a the YMCA.

Anyway, I shook my head and said 'People at the Salem Y are much nicer' and slammed the door behind me. On to the gym. Open gym is from 10:45 to 11:25, strange times but, whatever. Before hand is a much more structured gymnastics class that appears to be for kids around the same age. Their parents wait outside and the kids go through drills and activities. Every week I sit there and picture what a disaster it would be if I ever left Av by herself with those women and tried to watch through the window. The teacher is incredibly mean to those kids. I saw two of them crying today alone, one of whom was disciplined for not listening. The teacher then came out and scolded him in front of the parent. I get that gymnastics is one of those discipline sports like swimming but, Jesus, that kid was like, three.

This same woman is in our program, too, but since it is pretty much a free for all no one listens to her and everyone does whatever they want. At the start she attempts to put together some sort of obstacle course but mostly the kids just disassemble it. The previous class almost always runs long by 2-3 minutes, and ours is always abruptly stopped at 11:25 with no exceptions. The kids are coldly and efficiently given a smiley face hand stamp and sent on their way. They have no respect for us because it is open gym and we aren't interested in their rules. Bitches.

Anyway, today three minutes in to class the fire alarm goes off. We have to evacuate the building. Of course, Av is pissed. 'No by byes! More jump!' Other kids are panicked. We get outside and we stand there for three minutes as I try to explain to my sad, confused child what is happening. Just then some woman, who looks like the director, comes out and says. "You have all passed the fire drill, but I have some concerns." Cool. Poor timing but, hey, if you need to have a fire drill to comply why not do it at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday. Whatever. If it ended there that would have been fine, but the bitch continued with her 'concerns.'

"I do have to say that in the future we expect people to leave all of your personal belongings inside, even parents with children.Also, it is important to make sure that you only leave through the main entrance." Ok, lady. It is 40 degrees out and my kid isn't wearing shoes, I'm grabbing our stuff. And if this monstrosity is ever actually on fire (not likely given the security team) I am going out the closest door and I sure am not going to wait outside. I'm out. Going home. Thanks, tho.

As she lets us back in there is no interrogation at the door, too many people I guess, but as soon as we got back in to the gym it started again. Two people- TWO- asked me in a span of 30 seconds if we had memberships, if we were registered and if we had paid. Are you f-ing kidding me?! We have been in this class for three weeks. Three! You know what the problem was? The stupid lady copied the names from the printed roster to her stupid notebook wrong and had her listed as- no lie- Averyn Barr. Give me a break. And, again, wasn't even nice about it. Asked to see my membership card and when I told her I wasn't a member started in on the whole 'you should get one' crap.

At this point I have had it. It is starting to remind me of when I called Dell and every person I spoke to asked me how I was going to pay before asking me what my problem was or why I was calling. Literally every single person I spoke to asked me if I had a membership. This is the YMCA. The m-f-ing YMCA. No one is sneaking in to the YMCA for open gym. They just aren't doing it. This isn't Communist Russia. Unreal. It isn't even like they are pleasant about it, either, they are all rude and accusatory. Welcome to Marblehead, I suppose.

So, don't take your kid to the Legg's Hill YMCA. You will get yelled at, accused of fraud and treated like a lesser member of society. Again, welcome to Marblehead.

I don't feel like I ask too much. I am generally friendly to everyone, especially when I have the baby with me. I may come off as negative and grumpy here, which I certainly can be, but generally I am calm and agreeable, especially when dealing with someone who is at work. Sure, there are exceptions, but I'm certainly not trying to pick a fight with Dead Hand. All I ask is for people to be pleasant. Perhaps a little less accusatory and a little more helpful. I'm actually in a good mood today, too. Society just needs to cool its jets.

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I've been on a big acoustic singer/ songwriter kick lately. I blame it on my emergence from the annual winter depression.

Episode 138: Misbehaving parrents and the absurdity that is YMCA art class

I don't know if it is because of my age. Maybe it is my beard. Or perhaps it is just because I am a man, but I am beginning to notice that the other parents we come in contact with really do not like me. This is something that has been going on for a little while now, but I have to say it is starting to increase in frequency.

I am certainly not the type of guy to want to make friends with other parents. Ever. My fear of other kids has subsided somewhat, but their parents are still off limits to me. But since Av and I have started attending more and more organized events, such as art class and the open gym and the Nazi-like Marblehead YMCA, I have been forced in to close quarters with more parents than I would like. When you are at the park or Monkey Joe's the parents are disposable. You can come and go as you please and you really don't have to see them again. But at art class it is the same crew every week and it starts to wear on me. Here are a few profiles.

We'll start with my least favorite woman of them all. I don't know her name, I don't know her kids' names and I don't care. She has told me, but I dislike her so much I think I have started to forget on purpose. My name for her is Disrespectfully Late Lady, or for this purpose, we'll just call her DLL. DLL has something like 75-80 kids. Ok, it is probably more like four, but the way she talks about it you would think she was like that lady on 19 kids and counting. I have only met two of the kids, two girls like 3 and 4-years-old, who have some sort of trendy snob names that I don't remember. DLL's name is pretty self explanatory. Class starts at 9 a.m. The earliest I've ever seen her show up is 9:15. And that was only once. Usually she rolls in around 9:25-9:30. I used to think that she was just an idiot and didn't know what time the class started, but after a while of observing this behavior I have concluded that she is just a self-absorbed wanna-be MILF with too many kids.

I say wanna-be MILF because she is the opposite of one. A MIWNF if you will. (No, I will not explain that acronym or what MILF is. If you don't know, Google it). She is shaped kind of like a sun-stained, worn out, freckled, too old to have kids inflatable pear- and that is putting it nicely. My problem with this woman, though, is not her appearance or her inability to arrive on time. It is her judgmental mom attitude. Her kids are by far the oldest ones there, and she seems to think that all of the 1 and 2-year-olds running around and half paying attention to the project are somehow horribly misbehaved. Even though art class is held in the same room as the YMCA toddler play group, which involves thousands of toys, art supplies, a wooden firetruck, a multi-room playhouse and a stage filled with costumes. The art class kids are allowed to play here and the do. Except for her snotty, well-behaved little girls who pony up to the table and pretend to formulate masterpieces.

DLL hates me. She gives me looks, she thinks Av is disrespectful and misbehaved (which is untrue, Av is very well behaved, she would just rather play with the toys than glue macaroni to paper most days.) She is also one of those moms who expects you to introduce yourself and your kid as soon as you walk in the door. The first day I got a look and a snide 'oh and what is her name again?' Which always, ALWAYS precedes this conversation.

"Her name is Avelyn."

"What is it?"

"Avelyn"

"Evelyn?"

"No. Avelyn. Evelyn with an A"

"Avelyn (mispronounced)"

"No. Av-a-lynn. One name. A-V-E-L-Y-N"

"Ohhh. That is unique."

Like, is it really that hard?

Anyway, DLL hates me and I don't care.

There is another mom in art class who is almost as bad. I, again, don't know her name but her daughter is either named Lila or Lilly. I can't remember which because they are both generic flower-like names. If you are going to name your kid after a flower, pick a less common one than Lilly. How about Violet? Violet is nice. Lilly makes me think of Lilly Tomlin. And Daisy makes me think of Daisy Fuentes. Which makes me think of that really dark period in history when she and Mario Lopez hosted an America's Funniest Home Videos ripoff.

Anyway, this lady is another one of those 'make friends' moms. Wants to know everyone's name and age right away. Listen, lady. I'm not at toddler art class to plan a birthday party. I'm here to get my kid out of the house for an hour and get paint on someone else's floor for a change. Now, we are in our second semester of art class, so when we showed up the first day of the new session there were some new people, including Lilly's mom. Just like DLL we had the 'what is her name' conversation the second we got there, but then it got worse. This lady decides that, on her first day of art class, without asking, she was going to bust out a snack. Not just bust out a snack, either, announce that she was busting out a snack, so that Av and the other kid there instantly wanted one. Worse yet, was the comment she made to me.

"Ohhh, I brought these veggies, I don't know if she will like them. They are healthy."

Screw you lady. Just, go away. Seriously. So self-righteous. Oh, I feed my kid healthy snacks. Like I walked in with a bag full of cane sugar, french fries and battery acid. Even worse than that was what she said last week to the teacher.

The teacher for the art class is not a teacher. She is some pre or post-grad co-ed who volunteers at the YMCA, like most of the staff is there. She took over the class after the last chick got a job. She is 25 at the absolute oldest. She does her best given that she doesn't care at all. She always has a project and supplies and she explains it and lets the kids go to town. If they want her help she helps them. If they want to run off in to the playroom she doesn't care. Some days she is the only one in there while all the kids play (until DLL shows up) doing her own project. Leave her alone. She is fine. But no, on Wednesday Lilly's mom decides she is going to offer some advice. I shit you not, this lady said this.

"Hey, Jackie. It's Jackie, right?"

"No, it's Jess."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Jess, do you ever, like, research any of the projects we do here. Like, do you go online or to you just grab supplies and come up with it in the morning."

"Um. (looking as if she wants to punch this lady) I go on some really great craft sites, but the projects are limited by the supplies we have at the Y."

"Oh. Ok, just, today we used scissors and I just feel like that is too hard for little kids."

"Well, the scissors are for you to help them with. We made masks."

Jess is right. We made masks. The bulk of the project was gluing and coloring. I cut out eye holes. That's it.

"Oh. Ok, well, I just know that my other daughter goes to a class where they use macaroni. And that is cheap. You could get that yourself."

"I'll look in to that." Jess now walks out of the room, probably to go yell obscenities at a wall so she doesn't get fired from her volunteer job. I look at this lady and shake my head and walk out of the room.

This lady also hates me. This is what I deal with. We are trying to have a nice time, keep occupied on a Wednesday morning and I have DLL and flower name mom giving poor Jess shit and assuming that I feed my kid nothing but potato chips and candy. It is only going to get worse as she gets older, I suspect.

I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness. Cool band name.

Episode 137: This blog will not end up like Steve Gutenberg

This is Steve Gutenberg. Star of the Police Academy series, he has been black balled from acting. Please don't black ball me from blogging.

So, I have been gone for a while. Well, actually, I haven't gone anywhere. In fact, over the past month I have spent more time in my apartment than I have in years. Unfortunately, much of this time was spent spiraling in and out of a mental breakdown and questioning my existence and the meaning of life. There was also an entire day spent fighting with a series of Indian men who work for Dell. I think if Dell hired Native Americans instead of Indian people to do phone-based tech support the world would be a better place. That is neither here nor there.

Anyway, I won't get in to the details surrounding the many days of self exploration I spent here as it is not worth it to relive. Just know that there were times when I was considering killing the blog- murdering it in a painful, graphic way, perhaps as a metaphor for my own existence. After going weeks with seemingly no one noticing that I had stopped writing someone finally addressed the elephant in the room and asked why.

"Because I don't feel like it any more and I don't want to half-ass it," I said.

"Well, I'm bored at work now and no one knows you are half-assing it anyway. You should at last say 'goodbye.'"

Point taken. So, I thought about it for a few more days and decided to go back to it. I can't even really say why I stopped. I think I just lost motivation. Figured there was no longer a blogging audience and realized Goggle never sent me my ad money, all $37 of it. So screw 'em. There were a few distinct instances that made me question why I was doing this and made me want to stop. At one point I was sure that the blog was just another tool for the government to peer in to my life and steal my money, identity and livelihood. But that was just because Monica's car was towed from in front of our house and it freaked me out. It still freaks me out. I never much trusted the police, and now I don't trust tow truck drivers, either.

At some point during all this mess I realized that I am not motivated by anything remotely relevant anyway so I should probably not let things influence what is apparently enjoyable to others. So I will continue to write the blog for you, the reader. Because I love you. Well, some of you. Some of you I could take or leave. Maybe I don't know some of you, either, so I have no feelings toward you. Wait. Gratitude. I feel gratitude, thank you... I know, there is an awful lot that goes on in such a largely unproductive brain.

One benefit to all of this that I think I have inadvertently written a TV pilot in my head. It is based on some sort of fictional parody of myself that leads a simple yet twisted and unrealistic life. I didn't know I was writing a TV pilot at the time, I thought I was just carving some sort of delusional path for myself. Does that make sense? It probably shouldn't. Don't worry about it, I am not going to pursue it anyway.

So, after all of that, here we are. March 8. The first day of the rest of your blog-reading life. I hope that at least a few of you who used to enjoy the blog are still around. Here are a few updates to recap before we get started.

Av turned two a few weeks ago. A pretty straightforward, uneventful party in which the highlight for most was her writhing in pain as she tried to poop but was too constipated and had a small cut on the inside of her ass that apparently prevented her from pushing the poop out. This problem has since been solved. We now have something called the 'poop high five' as a result. The presents were great, the company was nice and the food was enjoyable. She now thinks that everyone wearing a triangular, pointed hat is celebrating a birthday. She is usually right.

We did have to go to Chuck E. Cheese though. There I learned four important things. 1. That place is much, much cleaner than it was when I was a kid. 2. Chuck E. Cheese's full name is Charles Entertainment Cheese. Really. 3. Birthday parties are cruel, mean, heartless and unsavory for any child who is not there to have or attend a party. They pretty much just rub it in your face, bring out the mouse and don't let you near them. 4. Chuck E. Cheese is miserable for adults. I mean miserable.

Av has flung herself head first in to the terrible two's. She is routinely deceptive, disobedient and fresh. Somehow this is still a bit charming and adorable, although I find myself cleaning up a lot more messes and I find her inching closer and closer to catastrophic injury with every step. She speaks in full sentences now which is hilarious, and she can now identify 'crotch' as a part of the body.

We still do many of the same things that we have always done. Target, Kitty Store, Monkey Joe's, Walmart, art class and the like. She still makes scenes in public places when she doesn't get her way, but she understands the concept of getting in trouble now, which is helpful.

As for me, the restaurant I work for has been closed for six weeks to complete a renovation that was supposed to take a month. They refused us unemployment on the basis that we would be given shifts at another location, which has happened for exactly three of those six weeks. That is all I am going to say about it because my blood pressure too is already to high today and I don't want to get fired over a blog post. If you want my personal thoughts on the rest, meet me at a bar, buy me a beer (because I can't afford my own) and just ask. I'll go in to explicit detail.

I am also still freelancing, which pays at most $40 per article, but for some reason it still exists in my world. I think it is because I like the guy I work for. Or maybe it is because I sat in my house for two weeks with nothing to do. That is a portion of my turmoil.

I will not speak of this turmoil and anxiety any more as we all have our problems and this is not a forum to address those. I should be back to work by next week, so I am optimistic. Although, I said that last week, too, so who the hell knows.

At this point we will be going forward with the blog with little to no mention of these very dark, inactive two months. Enjoy.

Living directly above an insane person

Today we are not going to discuss Av's antics because she hasn't done anything that stands out to me in the past few days. I am sure we will have plenty of experiences as the warm weather returns. She has done little but watch TV and wipe snot on everyone for the past few days anyway.

Instead, I feel I need to share the saga of the downstairs neighbor. I am sure you all remember Crazy and her adult skateboarding boyfriend who smoke weed and listen to Radiohead all day long. Their lives are exactly the same. No one works. They make a ton of noise, they smoke a ton of weed and they are shifty. Unfortunately for me, I have had way, way to much contact with them over the past four weeks.

About three weeks ago I get a knock on the door around 8 a.m. Standing there in tears is Crazy, breathing deeply and very upset.

"Steven is in the hospital," she said. "And I don't have any childcare."

Mind you, this was a Tuesday. A school day. Her daughters are 12 and 8. She also doesn't have a job. Anyway, she didn't ask me to take care of them, she just told me that they were downstairs and asked if I was going to be home and if I could be available if there was an emergency. Ummm. Ok? I explained to her that I was taking the baby to her art class and I would be gone for an hour or so. Apparently this was ok. Let's hope there is no emergency between 9-10 a.m. Wouldn't want to hold two bedside vigils.

Later I would find out that the adult skateboarding boyfriend was in the hospital to get thyroid removed. A scary thing indeed. Apparently, so scary that she needed to hold a bedside vigil and keep her daughters out of school. Anyway, may makeshift supervision lasted for two days, and I didn't encounter either of them until well in to the second. I pondered for a little bit going to check on them, but I wasn't going to overstep my boundaries.

About noon on the second day I got a knock. It was the little one, and she informed me that she needed to 'take shy for a walk.' I was confused as to what that meant. Then I remembered that they had a dog. Which is apparently named 'shy.' Which is a really, really fucking stupid name... So, I had to stand at the top of the stairs as the girls let the dog walk down the sidewalk for about three minutes, then they said 'thanks' and went inside. This made me wonder. 'How long had it been since they walked the dog? They never asked for my help yesterday.' Poor thing probably just poops on the floor and eats it again because they don't feed him. Ok, that is a bit dramatic, but you see my point.

A few minutes later there was another knock. The little one.

'Can we come up and hang out for a bit, we're bored.'

Now, I wanted nothing to do with this. At all. I learned a long time ago that a 27-year-old man should have nothing to do with middle school girls in his apartment. Ever. But I felt bad that they have been abandoned by their crazy mother so I said OK. Hey, I have a baby. The girl went downstairs and disappeared. Ten minutes later I'm confused. Where are they? Are they coming up or not? Then I get a second knock.

'My mom said no,' said the girl, crying.

'Oh, Ok. Are you guys hungry? Do you want some lunch? Did you eat.'

She just nodded her teary head and left.

Adult Skateboarder came home the next day, giant, uncovered slash in his throat, looking like death warmed over. he talked to me for a half hour in the back hallway, clearly all lit up on painkillers, and still smelling like a hospital. Crazy never came up to thank me.

Fast forward about two weeks. Adult Skateboarder has recovered, everything is back to normal. I get another knock. It is 8:30 a.m. I am getting the baby dressed. We have to leave in a few minutes. It is her birthday.

Crazy is standing at the door.

'I just crunched your bumper.'

Ok, you hit my car. Cool. It was parked in front of the house on the street along with about 10 others. How bad could it be? Probably just scraped my bumper.

"Ok, how bad is it?"

"Pretty bad. Can you just come look?"

So I take the baby outside, screaming at me 'no lady, no lady, no outside, back inside, peanut butter toast!'

It is freezing out. I look at the car. Crazy's bumper is cracked up, my license plate is bent in half and my Commonwealth Motors license plate cover is broken. Ok, no big deal. I don't drive a Mercedes and that dealership sucks anyway.

"Its fine," I said. "No worries."

"Ok, well if you need any insurance info just knock."

Cool. A little while later we go to leave and I looked at it a little bit more closely. Behind the bent license plate was a hole. A massive, gaping hole. There was a crack from one side of the bumper to the other and my trunk didn't open. Jesus. How f-ing hard did she hit me?

So, I knock on the door. Might I remind you that she is unemployed. Her car is out front. The TV is on, the dog is barking. Nothing. Ok, cool. Maybe she is in the shower. I left, came back and did the same thing. This time I can hear her moving around. Nothing. This went on for two days.

You know it is me. You know why I am knocking. You know I know where you live, what you drive your license plate number and your name. Give. Me. A. Break. I am not the census taker.

Finally, I called the insurance company. I didn't want to wait any more because insurance companies are evil. I told them the situation and they told me I should report it to the police. 'Please,' I said. 'Please do not make me call the police on my neighbor. She admitted to it. She is just crazy and she smokes a lot of pot.' Imagine what would happen if I called the police? Jesus, what a mess.

In a shocking turn of events the insurance company did just that. Filed the claim and sent me a check. Cool. That was two weeks ago. My ride is getting fixed now and the process is almost done. I still have not seen any of them. Not Crazy. Not Adult Skateboarder. Not the girls. None of them. If They hear me coming down the stairs the rush in to the house. If we pull up at the same time they wait until I am inside. I may never have to speak to them again...

So, that is my story. That is what I've been dealing with from them. Add that to the work issues, the computer issues, the terrible twos and the cold, wet, terrible weather that plagued us all winter and I am a shell of a man. I'm digging out of the rut though. Today the sun is out. It is 35 degrees, but the sun is out. Baby steps.

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