Since we last touched base in April many things have changed. Monica and I have made it official and gotten married. So far we have made it two months and she has not filed for divorce yet. It must be my movie star good looks. I have also continued to pad my hall of fame child fathering stats and planted another successful seed. Which means I will soon have two children under the age of five running amok every moment for the rest of my life. Thrashing around my apartment, spilling sticky foods in the back seat of my car and generally never shutting the fuck up. This is a thought that is so terrifying that I think I have mentally blocked out the reality that I am going to have to start this entire process over again in March. Even more terrifying, this time it will be a boy. So I now have to make double the effort to ensure that he does not end up a quirky, grouchy, drunk, manic depressive lunatic like his father.
That said, it is also very exciting. At the advice of Field of Dreams, Harry Chapin and every late-90's Neu Metal rock ballad I will play catch with him often. This will be a start. I will also place the baseball in his left hand and force him to throw southpaw so he can someday get a contract with the Cincinnati Reds and pay for my liver transplant and nursing home bills.
Av has started preschool and I am pretty sure she is down to only crying 65 percent of the time that she is there. She says that it is because she misses me. What she really misses is the ability to watch Wild Kratts and eat cheese curls whenever she feels like it. I'm also pretty sure that she sometimes pees her pants on purpose because she thinks she is going to get to go home. Most days she lives somewhere in the middle of enjoying school and not wanting us to know that she enjoys school. So she invents things like how she doesn't like her teacher or how she is afraid the kids are going to steal the stuff she brings in for show and tell. She is also in complete denial that she is going to have a little brother. I am pretty sure she thinks he is just going to live in her "secret house" with the rest of her stuffed friends and only come out for games of Dog Pound*.
*Dog Pound is an Avelyn original that involves making a gigantic pile of all of her stuffed animals on the couch, burying herself in them and making me give them all individual voices as they "search" for her in a multi-species game of hide and seek. The chances of me falling asleep at some point during this game are 1,000 percent. Every time. Again, hall of fame average. Similarly, I have invented a game titled "ghost kitty" in which I cover myself in a white fleece blanket and lay on the ground "meowing" while Av climbs on me, brushes my hair and pets me. I also fall asleep every time we play this game, and I don't get caught as often as I do when we play dog pound.
I am still fat. I am still a bartender. I still celebrate 'Suicide Tuesday' every week at which point I convince myself that my life is going nowhere and that I am useless to society. During this time I also develop deep disdain for virtually every human between the ages of 18-25 who is not homeless or in jail. This usually ends with me starting- but not finishing- my resume online and begrudgingly going back off to work at the bar where I fill my pockets with more cash than I would probably make at any useless office job I was thinking of applying for. That will usually carry me in to the weekend on a high note. These are the mental issues I am talking about. Suicide Tuesday needs to be cleared up.
I have all but abandoned the journalism industry, as I despise almost every element involved with it, most of all the last editor I had at the PATCH site. Fed up with essentially doing the one or two articles he didn't want to deal with each week for $40 a pop I started ignoring his emails. He didn't seem too broken up about it and neither am I. It's not that I want to abandon writing, it is that I want to abandon giving two shits about some new hire at the local library because some snobby, Catholic college stiff is dangling two $20 bills in front of my face. I have also become totally disenchanted with most of the Internet, mainly because it gives a voice to every person in the world to become totally hypocritical and pretentious with no repercussions. No I don't care about the issues in foreign countries. I don't care that professional sports teams use racist Native American imagery. I don't care if you think I should eat this or not eat that. What I care about is the score of the late basketball games last night. Or how to get this stupid freeze pop (or is it highlighter!) stain off of my carpet without calling Stanley Steamer. That is what the Internet is for. See, somehow this is why I can no longer be a journalist. It makes sense to me.
We won the summer league bowling championship this year, a surprising rise for a team just one season in to its career. Unfortunately, we are now currently flirting with last place and I have lost all ability to bowl, battling the old women and that one guy who is like, 6'8, 300lbs, bowls off the wrong foot and can't bend over for the worst average in the league. I think I need to see a sports psychologist. Or maybe just a regular psychologist. Maybe I should just be a psychologist.
In any event, as things in my life appear to be on the verge of being turned upside down again, the blog is back. I hope all of you can experience the journey with me. Every day is a gift. I am off to probably have my child attempt to gauge out my eyes and spit in my face as I have distracted her with a Tom and Jerry DVD so I could write this. Tom and Jerry have got to be responsible for influencing multiple psychopathic murderers over the past 75 years. If we had anvils she would drop them on my head. Fact.
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Now listen to Jack White.
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