Seriously though, it's not on purpose. I mean with my job, my family, and my burgeoning career as a male stripper, time is in short supply. Seriously, you ladies should be ashamed of yourselves.... Anywho, I apologize for the delay. Now, on to the relevant material.
It was an action packed weekend of frivolity, rambunctiousness, and squealing. My son had some fun too. First off, on Saturday, I took my son to a local movie theater for some Thomas the Train amusement. The theater was playing some never before seen episodes of Thomas, along with introducing some new trains (Silly Billy and Whiff). Being in possession of a stunning intellect, I thought that my son and I would simply roll up to the ticket counter, buy two admissions, and roll right in and watch the show. WRONG!!!! Apparently, the population base of my home town was large enough that a percentage of parents with boys (and girls) that like Thomas far exceeded the seating available in two theaters. If I had actually used my supposedly stunning intellect, I would have known to buy tickets way in advance. I will know better next time. Anyway, we get to the ticket counter, I ask for two tickets, and the semi polite and semi conscious ticket dispenser tells me they are sold out. At this time, my son still doesn't know why we are there and actually tells me he hopes Bumblebee (Transformer movie) is still on. I receive the bad news of no tickets with the grace and poise my family and friends come to know and love... I proceed to publicly chastise myself for waiting until the last minute. Loudly. Thankfully, the tone, pitch, and volume of my distress caught the attention of a guy who had two extra tickets he would sell me at face value. Rock on dude, us Thomas dads have to stick together. I buy the tickets, I thank the guy profusely for selling them, I buy popcorn and water, and my son and I watch Thomas "toot toot" it up on the Island of Sodor. Good times with my little man.
Then we go to the mall just to walk around and check things out. I take him by the Disney store, and somehow make it out without buying anything. Then we go to KB Toys. Wasn't quite as persuasive on not buying something. KB Toys had some Thomas characters. One of which my darling little cherub had to have. Teeny Tiny Toby. He had a big Toby, but he NEEEEEEEDED a Teeny Tiny Toby. I'm sorry, call me soft, a pushover, or an unashamed spoiler of children, but hearing my Hot Shot (GiGi name) telling me he NEEEEEEEEDED a Teeny Tiny Toby, well I had to buy it. I understand the need for Teeny Tiny Toby's. Go ahead, say it out loud. Teeny. Tiny. Toby. It's fun.
Whilst at the mall, we go to the book store. This book store sells Thomas the Train Books. Guess what I bought. No, it wasn't the newest issue of Glute Shakers Weekly (see first paragraph...), no I bought some Thomas Books. Hey, it was a Thomas day.
After this, I go hang with my best friend. We go and grab a bite to eat at a local hamburger joint, check out the ladies with the tattoos, and eat fried pickle chips. No idea who was so stoned as to come up with taking sliced pickles, slap some breading on each side, drop them in boiling fat, and serve them up with ranch dressing, but that little reefer head may be a genius. I just hope that something it that side dish isn't looking to kill me....
Sunday was a big day. HUGE day. Let's be honest, it was a GINORMOUS day (look it up, Websters just made it a real word). My son's long awaited, intricately planned, and well organized bonanza of calendar tracking has finally arrived. His three year old birthday party day was finally here, and after four months (that's right, four) of being told how and what he wanted, it was time to do the dang thang. I love my wife, I really do. But at noon she was tapped out useless in regards to the party. The party was to start at 2:30pm. I mean no offense, but in the midst of preparations I saw her stack ten pounds of baby wipes and make a call to her mom to bring more. High noon, she was done. I was told to load the car. At 11:59am. Party starts at 2:30pm. High noon, she's done. We get in the car at 1:15pm. It takes 30 minutes to get to the park. Still done. Between you, me, and the Internet, I offered to run into a convenience store and get her a few beers to settle her nerves. A few meaning a six pack of tall boys (the ole deuce deuce 22 ouncers). Trust me, she needed it. So, we get there, we set up, people start drifting in, the festivities start, there was cake, ice cream, thirty minutes of opening presents (and I mean thirty minutes), some squealing, some jokes (I am a funny dude), a song or three (my rendition of Old Moon River will make you cry), and when the dust settled, my son told my wife it was the best birthday party he ever had. Hey, that's all we wanted. Mission accomplished, mark the page in the record books, and look forward to the next one.
I would like to take a moment to address MTV and the show Sweet 16. If you think that your collection of hormonal, uptight, spoiled rotten, bossy glitter tramps are dangerous when they don't get your way, I will say your probably right. I think that at the end of the day, the friends and family members that took time out of their lives to yell and scream the Happy Birthday song at my son was all he really wanted. I called each of you (excluding my mom, who had to give me a lift home as the boy received so many gifts I could not ride in the car) afterwards to thank you for coming, and I will say it again here- Thank you very much for hanging with my little man as he turned three. We all had a blast, and it was because each of you were there.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Forbid that I might be tired
My dear sweet loving wife has been on me hot and heavy for the last 3 days to update. I assume that with the extended weekend due to the holiday, she feels that I should have plenty to discuss and more than adequate time to cover all pertinent topics. I believe that when ancient writers referred to their Muse as inspiration, it must have been somewhat glamorized that said Muse might actually be a short and feisty woman who likes to write notes, drop subtle hints, verbally explain that the computer is on and she is working on something non-computer related, or flat out slap said writer on the butt and bark commands to get to it. Regardless of the actual purpose of the Muse, I am inspired....
- Went to Red Robin. Ordered a Caesar salad, dressing on the side. Caesar apparently likes to stab back, I came down with a touch of food poisoning. Thankfully, the grease from the fries and the burger helped blunt the effects, I was back to normal by lunch on Saturday.
- Walked the wheels off my son at two different malls on two different days. Exhausted, wore out, burned up, he took a nap both days. Unfortunately, to get him to that point, I also had to deal with exhaustion. His recovery is faster than mine. That'll teach me.
- My wife's dog does seem to like me. I say that as in her enthusiasm to show me how much she missed me today, she basically bit my hand and gave me carpal tunnel syndrome. You laugh, but parts of my arm is still numb... I am typing this post using just my left hand and the big toe on my right foot. All for you and my little Muse.
- My Rufus was subjugated to a harrowing ordeal of dog slobber and teeth. And I just found out it was never supposed to be my Rufus...
- I think I have regained 75% utility in my mangled hand. I wonder if my HMO covers rehab as therapy to a family pet mauling?
- I scooped poop at a middle school, thanks to GHazy's need to mark territory. Apparently it was a big deal, I think there is a movie on YouTube about it. Check it out...
