Happily Ever After--Not

The new "It" couple.

Hollywood marriages make me think of those bug zappers. Here are all the bugs impulsively drawn to this bright, warm image, and even as they are being sucked into its aura, they can see their fellow buggies dropping, literally, like flies one after the other, sometimes 5 or more at a time, struck down by the deadly zap. Yet, you can bet that if the first encounter didn't get them, they're on the ground on their backs, shaking off the stun and struggling to get back on their feet so they can once again make that pilgrimage back up to the light.

Dumb bugs.

What's In A Name?

I wonder what it's like having a name like Theodora? Would you be constantly haunted by self-doubt about whether your parents really loved you?

"Oh no, we always wanted a girl, Ted! How could you even ask such a question?"

Speaking of sadistic parents, I came across a guy whose name is Harold Bottom. I wonder if he goes by Harry?

"Don't be ridiculous, Maude. It's funny and it'll build character!"

Like the boy named Sue.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

"Now, can you play with me?"

"Babe, I just got off work. It's late. I'm tired. I know you don't understand that concept, having never expierenced it, but I just don't have the energy right now."

"Why? Just for a little while. Please?"

(Dave) "Mommies and Daddies don't have the energy that you have, Vaughn. You're a kid. You have lots of energy. We just don't have that kind of energy."

"Then why did you make one?"

"Why did we make one what?"

"A kid."

"Why do you say that?"

"Why did you make a kid if you don't have the energy to play with them?"

"Good point. Very good point."

Ouch

Thanksgiving

So Thanksgiving has almost passed once again for the year. Met up with the family for a bit. Feeling a little empty. Can't quite explain it, except that I am literally empty because the food tasted like crap. I absolutely hate it when we go to a restaurant for the holidays, and Shari's, no less. Woohoo! Really going all out there. What? No Denny's? Can someone please tell me how it is possible to screw up mashed potatoes, without actually burning them, of course? I mean, what one would think of as absolutely can't-go-wrong food, and it tasted like plastic. The turkey was rubbery, the potatoes watery, and I can't even begin to describe the dressing that was buried underneath all that slop. Ugh.

Nevertheless, we took a whole buttload of it home because of that wholly inexplicable knee-jerk reaction that overtakes one at a restaurant when you're leaving a half-full plate of food. What is that? Does everyone suffer from that? You have a half-full plate of food because it tasted like dog shit, and then you ask for a "doggie bag." Actually, come to think it, it's rather appropriate isn't it? Isn't there some kind of fine if you don't pick up your dog's shit? Wow, I'm actually performing a public service. Now, excuse while I go clear out some space in my fridge.

Happy Turkey Day

Hope you have a wonderful day stuffing your gizzard. You murderer, you.

That is one big baby

Now that is one big baby!

His mother. Now wouldn't you like to have a little elf like that do your hair too?

Baby all grown up.

Imagine buying the shoes for this kid. I thought having to buy Vaughn's at Stride Rite was bad!

His dad's face at the delivery. Yeah, YOU did that. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Well, he just fell asleep and the rest is history.








































Actually all of these are sculptures (if you can believe it) from the Richard Mueck exhibition. Wild, awesome, cool, and just a wee bit creepy.

Oh, Sally

Every Sunday night is Movie Night, and I am the designated movie picker. Well, this last Sunday, not yesterday Sunday but the Sunday before, I picked out the newly released "Cars." We didn't bother seeing it at the movies because after a few times of spending an obscene amount of money only to spend the next 2 hours grinding our teeth and clutching the armrests next to a maniacally hyper and supernaturally active 4-year-old we decided Movie Night was best spent in-house.

I had no idea whether Vaughn would like "Cars," considering he starts squawking once he hears there aren't any trains in it, but I have begun to leave his preferences out of my decision-making process because frankly, they only make so many movies for 4-year-olds about trains or with trains and about 85% of those are unwatchable.

Anyway, long story short, he is now obsessed with race cars. Oh, he hasn't given up trains, but now I get to have the lovely ambient sounds of him racing frantically through the house while I’m downstairs trying to decipher a doctor’s mangled mumbling. Vaughn’s energy level is something the car manufacturers should really analyze. I think we would be independent of oil within the next year. Just strap a bunch of preschoolers to the bumper and “up yours, Saudi Arabia.”

Vaughn was still going at it around 8 last night, whipping around the corners of the house, making a circuitous route through all 4 rooms in his own personal Indie 500. He told me he was racing the Naughty Vaughn (also known as Mean Vaughn). Now, I don’t know if it’s healthy for a 4-year-old to have an alter ego or if this is the early manifestations of schizophrenia rearing its ugly head, but when I wake up in the middle of the night and see the Mean Vaughn standing over us with an axe, I’ll know to worry.

Babe

I really want a pot belly pig. We took Vaughn to the Holiday Kidfest this last weekend. This was the first time we’ve gone, and I must admit, I was a little disappointed. It did not live up to my expectations, but then again, things rarely do. I’m an idealist, you know? But, frankly, really. If you’re going to call something Kidfest!!! one infers a certain festival-like excitement in store. Instead, it was just a large gymnasium with a lot of out of work clowns hawking their wares, trying to look excited about doing the millionth balloon hat for one of Satan’s little minions, a preschooler.

Anyway, they had a petting zoo there, which cost money, of course, (not all were out of work). I use the term “petting” here loosely because it basically entailed having to pay an additional buck or so to get the cone with farm animal Kibbles and Bits to even get close to the animals. They had a barred fence between the animals and the kids (probably a smart litigious protection, but not as fun), so the animals wouldn’t give you the time of day unless you had something for them, and then you could only get close to the big ugly ones that managed to bully their way to the front. Vaughn seemed to enjoy himself, though, with the exception of when he started crying inexplicably and I stupidly thought he was upset because one of the thug goats had muscled his way in front of a little lamb and got a chunk of cone. I finally got him calmed down enough to enable me to translate the blubbereeze (a mccoyism. Definition: the coughs, spits and gags heard in between sobs that serves as a means of communication), that he wasn’t upset about the injustice of the food distribution. No, he was upset because HE wanted the cone. Ah, of course. Stupid me, expecting empathy for animals from a child who literally scares the piss and poop out of our cat. (ah, you know I love him)

Back to the pot belly pig. So there was this little pot belly pig in the corner of the enclosure in his own personal pen (I don’t know. I guess pigs don’t play well with sheep.) who was getting completely ignored. I have not had any particular affinity for pigs in the past, and was roundly disgusted with the whole pot belly pig fad back in the _____ (was it 80s? 90s?), but even I was feeling a little for the guy. I didn’t even think of giving him any food because, once again, stupidly I thought this was uniquely goat and sheep cuisine. It was only after the food was gone, and I saw the pig frantically trying to get some that I had the epiphany that pigs eat EVERYTHING. Anyway, because of the pig’s obvious deficits in the cute and cuddly department, Vaughn and the rest of the kids didn’t have any particular interest in petting the little guy. I suppose it was all that and then the little wet nose and soulful look in the eyes that created this sudden impulse to want to go out and buy a pig. I shared this newly formed enthusiasm with Dave, extolling the virtues of a pig over a dog, who just looked at me and shook his head and got that painfully patient look on his face that he always gets when I have one of my inspirations.

I’m going to get me a pig.

Eight is the loneliest number

Eight. Eight!! Eight views of my profile. Am I just that pathetic? That boring? I need to put up something more titilating, I guess. I need to pimp up my blog or something. That's just sad. So, so sad.

Serendipity

Ah, it's cosmic destiny. I was up on the treadmill just thinking about how I should get back to blogging, except for the fact that I have not felt any inspiration of late (well of the last 3 months) to blog about. I think that's a commentary on 2 things: that I need to get out more and I'm a mediocre writer because good writers can write about nothing and make it sound like something.

Anyhoo, I was looking up a coffee place in the Pearl District (yet another fantasy of a place that I think I will take Vaughn and yet never will because it actually requires me to venture more than 3 miles from my house). I googled it and low and behold someone had blogged about it on Blogger, so here I am. Now that's exciting!

Well, I did have one thing happen that I suppose would be considered a big thing. My nephew was stabbed 7 times and came very close to dying. A long story with sordid details that I'm sure would be considered salacious (do blogs have sweeps weeks?), but since I still haven’t decided who I’m actually going to invite to my blog at any given moment (so far no one), I really would rather not go into a blow-by-blow, so to speak. Suffice it to say that some good things came out of it--bringing the family closer together, at least at the moment, and the confirmation that I truly suck in crisis situations. God forbid anything happens to Vaughn because I would be babbling for the first hour or so of the critical event. With this realization, I can no longer be left alone with Vaughn. *snicker*

So that’s the big update. I’m still debating the idea of connecting this blog with myspace, but now with the big incident involving my nephew, I have discovered that I have yet more of my family on there; so frankly, I’m just not sure how well I want my family to know me. Now strangers, that’s entirely a different thing.