Episode 154: Its 2 a.m. and at least 4 people within 100 yards of me are puking. What else am I supposed to do?

I am writing this from my couch at a very early- or late, depending on your lifestyle- hour. I am the only person in this house that has not vomited in the last two hours. I came home from work to find Monica cleaning vomit up off of the floor in the baby's room and later off of a variety of stuffed friends. She then went in the bathroom to vomit herself. My house smells like someone drank an entire gallon of sour milk, ate a dozen deviled eggs and then threw it up all over the walls. Sorry if that is disgusting. Just be thankful you aren't here.

I have relegated myself to the couch in a desperate, and likely futile, attempt to thwart off the evil bacteria that is no doubt right now mobilizing an airborne effort to assassinate my immune system. I have little hope for myself.

In addition, and I am not even kidding about this, there are two teenagers- coming home from prom- vomiting in the street outside my living room window as they stumble home. Who goes to prom on a Tuesday?

I literally live here right now:



The origin of the vomit is likely as follows. Avelyn, with her young, easily manipulated stomach and less-than experienced immune system, has acquired some sort of bug. This, combined with the recent hot weather and her high dairy intake, has caused her to become very nauseous and have large, peanut butter-like dumps. The nighttime milk has no doubt started a fight with the stomach bug's goon counterparts and the mac and cheese from earlier has hopped in to make it a brawl. The stomach's bouncers have tossed everyone from the party- with force. Monica, likely suffering from the same nasty stomach bug, and with a much lower dairy intake, is now suffering a similar consequence, minus, to the best of my knowledge, the peanut butter dumps. The teenagers have just ruined their first regrettable sexual experience by sneaking way too many 20-ounce rum and Pepsi's in to the after prom party. What does all of this mean for your faithful hero? At least the next 48 hours will be spent with two very sick, impatient women and my sidewalk will be covered in drunk teenager prom vomit tomorrow morning. It also all but guarantees that taco night is cancelled tomorrow night. Tragic consequences, all.

So, here I sit. Tired, but afraid to sleep. Hungry, but afraid to eat. Wondering if the stomach bug may be a welcomed relief to the nausea and headache that follow spraying your entire house with Lysol disinfectant spray. On top of the world once again.

...

The last movie that I watched, not counting stupid yet hilarious comedies, like 'Dirty Work,' that I watch when no one is home, was Black Swan. Following that experience I lived the next three days in a mentally terrifying state, often times expecting myself to be existing in an alternate reality in which I am haunted by ballerinas that may or may not exist. In short, I didn't handle it well upstairs. Today I watched Horton Hears a Who, twice, and while there was no shuttering and cold sweats, I can honestly say that the concept of that movie was so disturbingly deep that I think I have changed my entire outlook on existence.

I will explain this as simply as I can. In the movie Horton Hears a Who, based on the Dr. Seuss book of the same name, an elephant accidentally discovers a town of people living within a spec of dust. This is because of his giant elephant ears. He is determined to help them find a permanent place in the universe, but is thought to be crazy by the other jungle creatures who eventually try to wrangle him and subject him to a variety of PG-rated, CGI-animated forms of torture. As a result he speaks to the mayor of this spec town from above through a twisty funnel and warns him of his crazy jungle friends who want to destroy his people. The townspeople, who are experiencing drastic climate change and natural disaster, don't believe and vocally doubt the proud, yet tragically innocent (see: dumb) mayor. The townspeople are proven wrong and eventually saved from a fiery apocalyptic death by a baby kangaroo whose evil mother had led a rebellion against the God-figure elephant. I know, right? Somehow I don't remember ANY of that from the book. It is like my brain just got gang raped by the Bible, the National Enquirer and Highlight's all at the same time. And somehow it is OK because there was a lot of rhyming and Steve Carrell. I'm done with movies.

...

Episode 153: Apparently I am a 'Goddamn idiot.'

This blog was designed to discuss my experience in parenting. During this time I have had many ups and downs, trials and tribulations and all other sorts of cliche phrases that describe good and bad. Such as highs and lows, losses and victories etc.. Yesterday, apparently, was a total failure. So much so that I didn't even really want to blog about it, but I promised myself I would share the crappy stories, too.

Let's jump right in. Yesterday Av and I had a lot of fun. It was raining for the 737th straight day and she was just not in to going anywhere. I can't say I blame her, either. Instead of leaving the house we participated in a variety of activities that included chasing around the cats, arts and crafts, cars and blocks and plenty of Sesame Street. Early on in the day she managed to lodge some Play Doh in her hair, just above her right eye. I did not see her do this, I was sitting across the table writing an article on the computer and letting her play by herself, something we have been trying to encourage lately. I noticed the large, yellow clump of Play Doh and went over to try and pick it out. Like each of her parents, Av does not particularly like being touched and she shooed me away, yelled at me and wouldn't let me pick it out. That's fine. I know the feeling. Don't f-ing touch me right now. I get it. We will take a bath later.

Maybe about a half hour later the activity had shifted from Play Doh to arts and crafts. Same seat, same activity bucket, different substance. At first, she was just using some old watercolors, but soon started to smear some glitter paint, contained in a tube, on to the paper. She smeared it around with her fingers and told me she was drawing Little Cat. Now, I don't know if she had an itch on her head or what, but it was about this time that she managed to get a huge clump of that paint in her hair in the exact same spot as the Play Doh.

I saw this happen, sighed a defeated sigh and watched as she smushed it all together.

"We're going to have to take a tubby, you know."

"No tubby. NO TUBBY! NO TUBBY! Eat?"

"Ok, eat then tubby."

"Ok, mac and cheese?"

"Ok, please don't get it in your hair."

What do you think ended up in the hair?

I don't even know how. Like, the Play Doh and the paint I get. The mac and cheese? That is abnormal. The issue was, I think, that he bangs are very long, in here eyes, so when she leaned down to eat the already protruding clump of hair was sticking out and was repeatedly dipped in the cheese sauce. This created a kind of gross, dairy coating over the paint and Play Doh. She was, by all accounts, a disgusting mess.

We got in the tub and I told her we had to, HAD to wash her hair. Aside from the obvious mess her hair was gross. Nappy, dirty, smelly. Gross. The problem is that she hates having her hair washed. Like, HATES it. She will scream bloody murder, flail, hit, punch, kick and generally carry on just so she doesn't have to have water dumped on her head. This occurred again. I let her play for a while and then tried to sneak in to clean it. She let me shampoo her entire head. I scrubbed the spot as much as I could before she made me stop. I cleaned out the soap with all of the carrying on and the screaming and the only thing I managed to get off was the cheese. The paint had worked with the Play Doh to create a mold of crusty, dry grossness.

My second attempt to remove the substance monster in her hair was to brush it out. Av also hates having her hair brushed, but I had to do it any way to get out the tangles and the dreads. I got everything our and her hair looked beautiful and clean. I started to attack the affected area and was met with resistance. She screamed and flailed and yelled again and I got nowhere. The brush just got caught in the gunk and it wasn't coming out. You see where this is going.

Now, let me tell you what my thought process was. I pictured Monica coming home, seeing the gunk and just endlessly yelling at me. Asking me how I let this happen, why I didn't get it out etc... I said to the baby. "Hey, what if we cut your bangs, they are kind of long. Do you want a pretty hair cut?"

Excitedly, the baby said "Baby pretty!" and for the first time that day, let me touch her hair without resistance. Now, my plan was to just cut out the clump and get the bangs out of her eyes. Unfortunately, the area was too big and it looked like someone attacked her with a razor. So, I evened it out. In all honestly. I am being dead serious when I say this. I thought it looked good. her bangs were a little short, but they were too long any way. She looks normal to me. Like a kid who got a hair cut. Was it as even as it could have been? No. But I truly thought that Monica would come home, see it, asked what happened and maybe maybe give me a little bit of shit because it wasn't quite even. Boy, did I misjudge that one.

Let me proceed this by explaining how Monica and I coexist. We are both very caustic people, that is the best way I can describe it. I mentioned the touching thing. Outward affection is minimal. We are both 'leave me alone' type people. We don't care much for society or their rules. We like being left alone most of the time. We are cynical on every front. We spend much of the day picking on one another, poking fun, busting balls. Much in the same way you may with your friends. Our arguments are frequent, yet brief and usually not serious. We irritate the crap out of each other and we both know it. For some reason, this keeps us honest. We love each other. Some times we also like each other. Not all the time though. I like her more than she likes me. We are very much alike yet share few interests. Somehow, this has all worked for a very, very long time. Our relationship is a mystery to most people. People don't get us one bit. How we operate, our sense of humor, our outlook. That is fine. It works and we are both happy.

In the time we have been together I can only recall a few times when Monica has been violently furious with me. Once was the time I walked out of Not Your Average Joe's because the hostess was skipping over us to seat her friends and then she sassed me when I confronted her. Don't sass me, ever. Especially if you are a hostess.

Yesterday was one of those times. By the time Monica had returned home from work I had already forgotten about the hair cut. When Monica said 'WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY DAUGHTER!!??!" I had to think for a minute. Then I said softly to myself. 'Shit.'

I was yelled at, threatened with violence and generally scolded for some time. I see now why she is upset. I don't think it looks that bad, but whatever. I am not supposed to touch the hair. There is no rule book. It seems I just find out the rules as I break them. Here I was thinking I did something nice. Even now as I look at her it doesn't look that bad to me. But I will never say that again. I will also never touch her hair again. Clump or no clump. Lesson learned. Apparently, I am a 'Goddam Idiot.'

...

Episode 152:

So, it has been a little while. haven't felt too motivated lately, not a whole hell of a lot going on that seems blog worthy. It is spring time, very rainy and cold around these parts and the world in general seems to be in the usual 'get shit done before summer time' mode. People are getting ready to graduate, teenagers and various wild animals are in heat and all of the out of town idiots are slowly starting to trickle back in to Salem. "We aint got none uh dem dere crosswalks in Wyomin'. I reckon aint too many us got to worry 'bout dem traffics.'

The Bruins are still playing which means I am enjoying busier shifts at work, serving nachos and light beer to a collection of men between the ages of 20-50 about three times a week, and in many cases, their supportive, yet slightly confused girlfriends or wives who deck themselves out in black and gold because the Bruins are the trendy sports team to root for right now. Unofficial survey indicates that the most frequently used words by male Bruins fans are, in order, 'faggot,' 'homo,' and 'pussy.' This is, of course, inappropriate, but as long as they keep drinking and tipping I will hope every game goes in to overtime and every series goes seven games until those pussy faggot homos finally win. Or, more likely, lose in heartbreaking fashion. I wonder, if the Bruins win the Cup this year, what will be the new trendy team for bandwagon fans and their uneducated girlfriends to root for? It has to be the Patriots, I guess, they would be the least removed from a championship at that point.

The Celtics, who many of you know rank #3 on my list of things that I love the most in the world, effectively screwed themselves out of one last chance at a championship by trading their toughest and most liked player at the trade deadline because they were paranoid about not having enough offense. Well, it turns out trading away one of your key players for offensive potential is not the right plan when you are chasing a championship with an aging team whose number one weapon is experience and continuity. The starting five from 2008 has still never lost a playoff series when all of them are on the floor together. The sad part about that is they couldn't seem to stay healthy long enough to make that work. After the 2008 championship they were decimated by untimely injuries that cost them at least one more banner. They were a buzz saw of a team in 2009 before Kevin Garnett got hurt- he's never been the same after- and they no doubt would have won game 7 of the finals last year if Kendrick Perkins hadn't blown out his knee in game 6. Instead they gave up 17 offensive rebounds to the Lakers and took a shit on my heart. That night ranks among the most depressing nights of my life. Without exaggeration, after that loss I sat in the rain on my deck for three and a half hours, drank and entire bottle of champagne and smoked three quarters of a pack of cigarettes until I passed out. Alone. I hate champagne and I don't smoke...

This year was supposed to exorcize that demon but instead they made 'the trade' and now Kendrick Perkins is in Oklahoma playing for the Western Conference title while the Celtics and, more importantly, myself, wonder what could have been if they just stuck to their guns.

Enough about basketball. Sorry about that. I haven't really been able to talk about any of that since they were eliminated by the soulless Miami LeBrons last week.

As for Av, she is now very much a 2-year-old. Fresh, adorable, infuriating, hilarious and annoying all at the same time. She is extremely talkative lately, bringing up things that happened days ago like Rain Man. Yesterday I stepped in dog poop because the inconsiderate losers downstairs don't pick up after their dog. She has been recounting the story ever since.

We went to a barbecue at our friend's house on Saturday. Likewise, she has been recounting that day over and over. Most of the conversation topic revolves around their dog and my friend's future wife, Meg, who she took a liking to. She, for some strange reason, is called Bob. There were others there who are referred to as 'dat lady' and 'dat man,' as if I was not at the party and needed a recap of what she did.

Perhaps the most hilarious thing that she has been saying recently is "dat jam is kickin'" which she says when she hears a song that she likes. I taught her how to say this, rather unintentionally, yesterday. The song 'Garden Grove' by Sublime came on my iPod while we were car dancing and I said 'ooohhh; this jam is kickin' for no other reason than to humor myself. She repeated it and it was on. The funniest part is that she actually deciphers which songs are 'kickin' and which ones aren't. "Dis one not kickin.'"

She also says 'honkey' instead of hungry, which is great, and will not let anyone, including herself, get away with farting. She thinks farts are hysterical and, let's be honest, they kind of are.

So, that's that. Not a whole hell of a lot going on. No fun stories. Today at art class Ms. Berta told me a sex offender lives next door. How are sex offenders allowed to live next door to the YMCA? I'm not sure, but it seems to me that maybe we aught to relax a little on towing cars with expired tags and focus on keeping perverts in jail. I think there should be a 'Pervert Island' where all of the sex offenders can just rape each other all day and leave the rest of us alone. Ms. Berta also routinely bags her, apparently very stupid, teenaged son skipping school.

"Oh, Jesus, that's my teenager walking down the street,"

I mean, you know where your mom works, why would you walk by? One day he came in and asked her for a cigarette. That sparked this conversation between she and I.

"Were you a good teenager? Or did you skip school and smoke with your friends."

"Ahh, I mean, I was pretty good. Here and there, we all do, right?"

"Exactly. He's normal. He hates school and he likes to smoke pot. My other son is the opposite. I think it's normal."

Sweet. I like Ms. Berta. She is just the coarse, raspy friend that toddlers need. Didn't do the best job with that second son, though.

So, there you have it. I have just effectively emptied my brain on to this computer screen. Take it for what it is worth.

...

Here are some jams that were deemed 'kickin.' And, no, I have no problem exposing my 2-year-old to profanity-laced hip hop at this stage. She's never repeated any of it. She just likes the beats. And, be honest, who doesn't like the beats? It is no different than you or I being raised on Clapton or the Rolling Stones. 85 percent of those songs were about cocaine... Anyway, I'll police her music better when she is older.





This jam was deemed 'not kickin.' I disagree.

Episode 151: I'm gonna try really hard not to offend anyone with this one...

... Buuut, I'm not sure I can do it. Let's start with a disclaimer: Retarded people, er... developmentally disabled, or mentally handicapped or whatever it is that they are supposed to be called, are not to be mocked. It isn't their fault that they have (insert disorder here) and most of their actions, movements and speech are beyond control. Life is difficult for both them and their families and I am not trying to make fun of anyone with anything here. This is not intended to be a mockery... That said, I can't go on without telling you about our day at the park with the slow teenagers.

Today was absolutely beautiful. 75, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The perfect day to be out at a park on the ocean. We were doing the usual. Swinging, sliding, climbing. There was a nice Spanish grandmother with a 2-year-old and some chick with another kid.

*Off topic, there was a movie made in the early 2000's called Primer. It is pretty much impossible to follow unless you were a physics major, but the basic premise is these physicists, while trying to create a better refrigerator to market in their garage, stumble upon time travel. In the most non-hokey way possible these two dudes figure out how to use a public storage box to travel back in time. Not to, like, 1792, or 1956, but more like yesterday, or last week. Essentially, they have the power to correct mistakes or win the lottery or pick the correct stock. They, obviously, start to abuse it and at some point start encountering themselves in the past/future, effectively screwing up the human matrix. I am pretty sure at one point one of the guys suffocates himself from the past. Anyway, I was both terrified and intrigued by this movie and spent many a night when I was in college taking mind-altering drugs and trying to follow exactly what happened. This movie messes me up to this day. I still think about it. I don't know the specifics, but the plot seemed so plausible.

Anyway, sometimes there are times in the day where I feel like I am in Primer. I see my car, or someone who looks like me, or the baby, or Monica, and I wonder if I am seeing myself from the future. The point is, there was a lady at the park who from a distance looked and dressed exactly like Monica. Even as we were approaching the park she was looking at me the whole way with a smile on her face. I got there and she gave me a friendly 'hello.' Even facially, they were similar. They had the the same body type, the same mannerisms. The same flip flops. I kind of went the other direction because it freaked me out. If I had never seen Primer it would have been fine. But that shit messed me up, man. Yet another reason I can only watch dumb comedies now. I'm still reeling from Black Swan, too.*

After Monica from the future left and the Spanish lady went for a walk we were left alone. From a distance I saw about 10 teenagers or young adults approaching the park. I assumed they would be the usual trouble makers who tag the slides and occupy the swings, but as they got closer it became apparent that they were a little on the slow side. In my experience I have found that many times in these situations there is a leader. Still slow, but less slow than everyone else. This group appeared to be led by one such leader. (Later an adult man arrived with another kid, who must have been having an issue, and that man appeared to be the councilor or what have you, but they were left to their devices for the first five minutes or so).

I watched them come to the park with no opinion on their presence, other than the fact that it is a little sad for a 19-year-old to be on the same mental level- or lower- than my 2-year-old daughter. After watching them for about 20 minutes or so, I can't not describe the scene.

First off, they were all between the ages of 15-20. They were all grossly overdressed in South Pole jackets and hooded sweatshirts and sweaters. The first woman to arrive walked immediately over to the slide, stared at it for 30-45 seconds and then dropped, face first, on to the base of the slide where she remained, no lie, for the rest of the time. Every once in a while someone would try to get her up and she would refuse. Face down. legs hanging off the end of the slide cut off at about the waist. She made no noise. She rarely looked up.

Another woman, wearing a teal sweat suit, too small for her heavy frame, sat down in the mulch, grabbed a handful, held it in front of her face and just yelled at it. Just yelled. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." In to the mulch. This, too, went on, with brief lapses in the yelling, for the entirety of our visit. Like, what's up? Why are you so mad at that mulch?

Another gentleman, with a well-groomed neu-metal goatee, was very clearly upset about something, and he very clearly had a recent physical confrontation, because he was being isolated from every one else and he was just wearing a t-shirt but still had mittens on both hands. He was not allowed to take the mittens off. He sat, the entire time, on a picnic table- not the bench, the table- scowling. At one point, the adult man leader came over and gave him a cell phone which he used to turn on some music. I am not sure what he was listening to, but it was in the Destiny's Child, Jennifer Hudson genre.

Two of the folks that I actually envied a bit were a male and female who fell in love with the see saw. After kites and puzzles, see saws are potentially the shittiest thing ever to ask a kid to play with. Puzzles are definitely the worst, so boring, pointless and unrewarding, and kites are a scam, but see saws are right up there. Pain in the ass simple machine. Who wants to do that when there are slides and swings and a rock wall? Anyway, special people, is the answer to that. Those two loved it. Laughing, bouncing, smiling. It probably helped that they had the perfect weight differential, too. It just seemed so pure and innocent and fun.

So, here I was, Jennifer Hudson (maybe) playing in the background, failing to drown out the woman yelling at mulch, standing motionless next to my incredibly, incredibly confused, speechless child, trying to find the words to explain the face down slide girl, see saw pals and, most disturbing to her, the mulch yeller. It was at this time that Av looked at me and said 'Um, home? Mac and cheese?' 'Ahhhh, yeah. Let's go ahead and just have some mac and cheese and forget about this whole scene.

I guess the point is that there is no real good way to explain the mentally challenged to a 2-year-old, and for some reason today the group that we saw was so zombie-like and bizarre that it was a scene out of some sort of horror movie. I feel bad for them, and I know that they need to get out on a nice day, but I wished that they had chosen another park.

...
This is the most beautiful song ever written. That is not up for debate.

Episode 150: I yike monters

First, I would like to start off by saying that today is a good day. I managed to pull myself out of bed and get myself and the baby dressed before 8:30 a.m. and I didn't contemplate killing myself out of pure lack of energy one time. I had to drop my car off at the auto body shop, as it was once again hit while parked in front of my house, and the transition to the rental was smooth. I got an early morning text from one of my best friends living in LA (clearly he has not gone to bed yet) who I had not heard from in months. Later we spent time at the beach because it is, like, 70 degrees out. I got home to an email from Bob asking me to write a story for him today. Both sources picked up on the first ring. I got the whole thing done in a half hour. Un heard of. Today was a good day. I didn't even have to use my AK.

Anyway, this post has nothing to do with any of that. I was just sharing. At some point when you are a parent you realize that a certain percentage of things that happen to you are payback for something you did as a kid. Some of it is karma, some of it is just payback from your own parents, like when my dad mailed Av a Sesame Street disco dance hits CD for Easter. At first I figured it was payback for being an annoying kid, but the more I think about it it was probably more because of all those times I made him listen to the Deftones on long car rides as a teenager. Dads decidedly do NOT like the Deftones. Not even sort of cool ones like mine.

Yesterday I got some payback of the karma sort. We spent the day visiting my mother who lives three hours away. It is a miserable three hours, too. The first half spent navigating slow, nonsensical Boston suburban traffic, the second breezing through miles upon miles of nothing but depressing Western Mass landscape and highway side advertisements for such regionally exclusive businesses as the Big Y Supermarket and Gary Rome Hyundai, who once sold me the worst piece of shit car I have ever owned, a yellow Hyundai Tiburon that literally fell apart like old Play Doh every time I drove it. That guy is a crook. Almost as much of a crook as the dude who sold me my last car at Commonwealth Motors. I swear they gave me a fraudulent Car Fax report, but I'm too lazy to prove it. I digress.

The ride to Pittsfield is rarely good and yesterday was no exception. By the time we got out of the car at the Hot Dog Ranch where I was meeting my Mom for lunch Monica and I were just about ready to find separate apartments. As is always the case the frustration was nothing a few Western Mass mini hot dogs with chili sauce and a hug from my mom didn't ease, but the ride still sucked.

We spent the day petting farm animals and hanging out and then it was the three hour drive back. Somehow the drive home always seems smoother. Until we hit 95 and that Boston suburban traffic again. Anyway, we got home and I went to Salem House of Pizza while Monica put Av to bed. We got the usual greasy special, chicken fingers and a pizza. Awesome on every level. It is like those Greeks channeled whichever one of their mythical gods was in charge of sub shops and put him right to work.

We were just diving in and watching America's Next Great Restaurant when Av started to make a fuss. Monica went in there to do the kind motherly equivalent of telling her to shut the hell up and go to bed and the following took place, according to Monica's account.

She went in to the room and leaned in to the crib. The baby grabbed her face, looked in her mouth and said 'What's that? A chicken nuggie? I'm huuuuuuungry.' Monica emerged from the bedroom laughing, holding the baby, and Av saw the food on the table and said "OOOOHHHHHH.' She proceeded to sit with us through the entire meal, watching the show and mooching french fries, pizza and chicken fingers. Yes, it was 8:30 and she is 2. Not the healthiest bedtime snack. Who cares? Not me.

I promise you that she smelled the food from her crib and wanted some so she made a fuss. This is where the payback comes in. I used to do the same thing to my parents when I was a kid. Every time the delivery guy knocked on the door, I heard chips open or I smelled food I was getting up to go to the bathroom and trying to bag them eating something awesome. After a while my parents started ordering pizza with toppings I hated as a counter strike.

The funny part was she started to just lay on the cute as heavy as she could so she didn't have to go to sleep. First it was Monica. "Mommy, I love you." Followed by a hug. Repeat. Then she moved over to me and did the same thing. I think at one point she actually told Monica that she was 'cute' and that it was 'nice to see ya.'

In the process she was also watching the show. She usually just watches a few kid shows a day and the occasional baseball or basketball game, but lately she has been wanting to watch what we do. American Idol (I looooove me some J-Lo), America's Funniest Home Videos ('Fallin' show!) and the restaurant show last night ('Dat man make a restahonk?'). At one point I realized that when you are 2 the commercials are just like little mini TV shows. She watches every one with intent and vigor and excitement.

At one point, as a last ditch effort realizing it was almost bedtime and the party was over, she turned around and said 'Mommy, I yike monters.' Despite knowing it was all entirely bullshit to stay awake, it was still the most adorable 45 minutes of her life so far.

Somewhat related, today we found two awesome stuffed monsters at Walmart. They were .75 cents. Easter discount. Look at these guys and tell me what they have to do with Easter.

This is Av in the back of my rented Honda Civic (its like fuchsia colored, or violet red, c'mon Hertz) asking 'green one' where his shoes are. These guys rule and she loves them. Almost as much as pizza and commercials.

...

This is how I feel today. Damn summer is great.

I recall my dad particularly hating this song... So now I have Elmo singing Mambo #5 to remind me.