Move, and the hippo dies

On the way to lunch yesterday (Mmmmmm Arby’s) the driver of the car I was in mentioned that the hippopotamus does not have any natural enemies. Well… they do now. As God is my witness, I will bring down a fury the likes of which has never been seen by hippo-kind.

Now, I have 2 mortal enemies, 2 favored prey, and 2 animals which need to be exterminated. The number one of this duo is, and will always be, until I get them all… the Yeti. Number Two is now the hippopotamus or hippopotamus amphibious for you biologists out there. Author’s note: Good God, the hippo’s genus species name is really only hippopotamus amphibious? Really original name guys, and the more common name of hippopotamus… where did you come up with that one? Wow, way to put yourselves out on a limb like that.

There is not time in the day now space on the Internet for me to expound upon my distaste for the common yeti, so I will not deign to give them any more thought on this blog. Just know this, you sasquatch wannabes, your days are numbered (most likely in the thousands, but still that is not very long in the grand scheme of things). You know what you did, and you know why I am bringing the fire of my intense hatred to your Himalayan lairs. Do not think for a second that I will let my crusade against the hippo take any of my focus away from you, Wild Man of the Mountain. If you do not want to wait on me… bring it, Hairy! Anytime…. Any place. Make peace with your ancestors, for you will see them soon enough…

Now, Mr. and Ms. Hippo, I will turn my unwavering gaze upon you for the moment. How does that heat feel on your bulbous bodies? Your days of un-mitigated free reign in the African rivers are over. Get used to the pain that I will be bringing, tubby. I know you spend most of the time feeling all buoyant in the water with you tremendous girth, but you are a land mammal, you fat lumbering behemoths! You will have to come out of the water eventually. I will be waiting for you there, Fatso.

I know your attack habits. I know how you pretend to be very docile and nice at zoos, but are really vicious killers. Your problem is that you have the same death dealing tactics on land as you do in the water. I know your ways, Water Horse! Drown victims in the water, trample victims on land. It is the same tactic; you just can’t trample someone to death when they are already drowned. Your tactic boils down to stepping on things until they die. Really original. I will rain death upon you in a variety of ways. You will not know where or when the long sleep will come, but it will. I will deal death out to hippo-kind from above, from below, next to, kind of catty-corner to, a bit to the side of , and far far away. My instruments are scathing sarcasm, knives, guns, spoons, killer bees, and the occasional animal trap. Watch yourself, Hippo. I am coming, and littered behind me will be the corpses of your countless dead.

I am a smart hunter though… I have done my research. I know your habitat and feeding habits. I know that who you are is often measured by the company you keep. A crocodile? Dancing with a crocodile? Really… no one likes crocs. There is even a show about some Aussie guy who hunts them. Dance all you want Hippo-Chick, nothing will save you from my wrath.

To recap:
Hippos have no natural enemies... until now…
Mmmmmm Arby’s, did I mention that Arby’s has this truly evil shake-like desert now. It is all peanut-buttery and chocolaty. MMMM
Many do not consider me natural, so maybe they still don’t have any natural enemies? I will have to think on that.
Yeti, your time has come, and you know why. This number should mean something to you, 4398. Deal with it, Hairy Bitches.

Smelly Headed Kids

The little one has passed from being a baby and even kind of passed the toddler stage. He is now, officially, a little boy. “Why,” you may ask, “do you now consider the little one to be a little boy and not a baby or a toddler?” Well, the answer is quite simple: at the end of the day, on top of other odors, he has a smelly head.

Babies do not have smelly heads because they do not get active enough to cause odor. Sure, they play and have fun and are wonderful to be around, but unless they just accomplished an alimentary canal event, they really do not stink. In fact, breast fed newborns’ poops don’t even stink that badly. Babies smell like angels, they are wonderfully soft-skinned cooing bundles of warmth. Sure babies do have downsides, but all in all they are just a wonder to behold.

Toddlers are trying out new things. Their skin is a bit tougher. They have seen the sun (toughens skin) and they are more mobile now (toughens skin due to the falling and the crawling and the bumping in to things). They really only stink when they have been playing in something stinky (mulch anyone?) or have just had an alimentary canal event. Due to an alimentary canal event, they can stink, but usually, a simple change of diaper will nullify the offending odor.

He always runs everywhere. Walking just does not get him to where he needs to be fast enough. He constantly wants to be outside in the heat and sun. He is quite the rough and tumble little man… always on the move. He is in constant motion the only time during the day that he is not running somewhere is after we have conked him on the head with something heavy so he will “take a nap.” (Just kidding, he does not need us to conk him on the head. We just want to conk him on the head occasionally. He is angelic looking when he sleeps though…) With the constant motion, now my little boy’s head smells like a sweaty gym sock by the end of the day. The odor just wafts up into your nostrils when he comes and gives you a hug. He is a very affectionate boy, so the sweaty sock smell is nearly ever present from about 5 pm until bath time. The head is not the only smelly thing on this little one’s body. His little boy breath is starting to ripen as well. We will definitely have to get him to actually brush his teeth instead of just eating the toothpaste. In addition, his feet are also starting to get quite malodorous as well. One might even say that he has stinky cheese feet. To clarify, the sandals that he wears reek to high heaven and back and his feet smell like bad parmesan cheese. The most odiferous malfeasance produced by my angelic little boy emanates from his nether regions. Let’s just say that the little man likes broccoli and cabbage, and that he no longer farts and poops potpourri like he used to.

Now, I do not want all of you out there in Bloggerville to think that I do not love the little one, and that all we are getting from him is some bad odors. These are just indicators that he is no longer a baby or a toddler. We a toddler starts to stink like a regular human stinks, they have transitioned into actual childhood. He is no longer protected from generating normal human odors by his lack of typical activities. He is now a full-fledged stinker. If I were a pediatrician, I would actually use this as a threshold for childhood.

“Doc, when do we consider our angelic baby to be a little boy?”
“Well, good parents, your child is considered a little boy when he constantly stinks.”

He is just growing up too fast… too stinky fast.

To reacap:

Babies smell like flowers and heaven.
Good Lord, the Columbus Crew suck this year.
Toddlers usually smell like freshly baked cookies.
MMMMmmmmMMMMM Cheesecake (another shout out to G-Money and the Litigatorz)
Little boys stink like ass (and I do mean “ass” in the biblical sense, a la foghorn leghorn, “it’s a donkey, son, ya git it?”)
There are 3141 counties in the US.
He is growing up too fast, and it just seems to be picking up speed.

It's Glandular

The little one has to have sticky sweet secretion glands near the palms of his hands. He can go from having newly clean hands to sticky disgusting mitts of gooiness in 5 seconds flat. In addition to the sticky sweet glands, it seems, he also has ketchup (catsup, ketchup) glands. The ketchup glands seem to only be used when I am wearing clothes that should not meet ketchup. He seems to have ketchup glands near the corners of his mouth as well. I also think his knees actually produce dirt that sloughs down his shins, but that is another blog entirely. Yesterday, whilst eating copious amounts of Tyson brand Chicken Tenders (I think he ate 7 for dinner, and 4 for an after dinner snack, and I think he had 3 for a pre dinner appetizer as well), the little man’s ketchup glands were working overtime. He was frothing at the mouth with Heinz Ketchup. (Just a question, but does this make him a liberal? He is clearly endorsing the Democratic National Party by consuming Heinz Ketchup.) Anyway… the red sauce was literally and figuratively dripping from the corners of his mouth and the tips of his fingers. I can only imagine that it will get worse as he gets older. Needless to say, my shirt and a nice pair of shorts were in turn ruined by the ketchupy paws of a near 2 year old.

It took a good 5 minutes to get the tomato off little man’s face and another good 5 minutes to clean his hands off as well. Then we went to the park. He is his ketchup stained clothes and me in my ketchup stained clothes. Stop judging me. You don’t know, you weren’t there, man! It was all I could do to get everything together for us to get to the park! There was no time to change him. There was no time to change clothes myself! He was a whirling dervish of energy pining to go to the park. What could I do, I barely had time to get a sippy cup ready.

Ummm… anyway, so we went to the park in our ketchup stained clothes and I watched all the professional parents look at me with distaste. Little man had ketchup all over his shirt and a silly grin on his face. I had some ketchup stains on my shirt and little ketchup handprints all over my shorts and the same silly grin on my face. We were so ketchupy, and they judged me for it. They and their kids were all very well kempt. Perfectly clean clothes, immaculately coifed hair, clean clothes on their clean children; everything was perfect. They also did not have silly grins on their faces. In fact some of the parental units did not look to be having any fun at all. Many of the kids were whining about some aspect of their park experience as well. Maybe that is what ketchup stains do, make you have fun. Or maybe it is the inhibition of maintaining perfection that keeps people from enjoying themselves. Either option could hold true, but little man and I had a great time at the park.

So to recap:

Little man shoots sticky goo out his wrists like spiders shoot silk out their asses.
Little man also salivates ketchup. You know when he is hungry by the ketchup dribbling down his chin.
Dolphins emit a series of clicks and whistles to let other dolphins know when they think they are hawt, especially construction worker dolphins.
You have no right to judge me, you weren’t there, man! YOU WEREN’T THERE!!!!
Imperfection is very easy to keep maintained.

Fat Cats

I remember in my high school years I went back to the Birmingham Zoo, and what I saw appalled me. I remember it well, it was a sunny day in the dog days of summer (late July through August for you non-southerners), the heat was around 98 and the humidity was at least at 125%. It was a typical summer afternoon in The Magic City. The zoo was much how I remembered it as a wide eyed child on the annual field trips. I used to love going to that zoo, but there was one odd thing about that zoo. I remember that the zoo had a big plaster replica of a 60-70’s style brontosaurus on the entrance sign to the park, yet there were no dinosaurs there to view. I always felt that I was being screwed as a kid due to the false advertising, where was my damn dinosaur?!?

Anyway… The last visit prior to this summer day in 1992 was probably 2 or 3 years earlier at the unveiling of the new and improved Predator House. At this unveiling the animals seemed to be enjoying their new enclosures, and seemed immensely happy to not be cooped up in their previous cement floored abodes. Now the big cats enclosures had been updated to be more comfortable naturalistic places than the garages with faux trees in them. The cats finally had room to run and frolic and be all big cat-like. Funny thing happened though, the cats stopped wanting to escape from their captivity, and started to get comfortable. In the 2 or 3 years since the opening of the new enclosures the big cats got bigger, and not muscularly bigger either. Them were some fat cats when I last saw them. The larger enclosures made them complacent. They had room to roam, room to run, etc… but instead of pacing back and forth like caged animals they were now napping in the mid-day sun exposing their round bellies to the sky. It was truly sad to see.

I am not advocating the cooping up of predatory animals into small cement floored enclosures with plaster of Paris trees. I am also not condemning the creation of appropriate zoo enclosures for the same predators. I am not saying that zoos are bad places or that animals should not be in captivity. Most of the animals in zoos could no longer survive in the wild anyway. I am saying that it is sad when the captive gives up the hope of gaining freedom, and starts to luxuriate in its prison. A golden cage is still a cage. A fat tiger is a sad sight. Animals are not supposed to get fat and lazy, that is what separates them from us. It is not the opposable thumb, the soul, or a higher level of consciousness that separates man from beast; it is humanity’s ability to become complacent, fat, and lazy.

I had cheesecake on Saturday then I sat on my ass. I am embracing my humanity like nobody’s business.

To recap:
No brontosaurus makes me angry, even as a child.
It is hot in Bama in the summer.
Fat cats are sad sights
Golden cages are still cages.
Did I mention Vanilla Bean Cheesecake
Mmmmmm cheesecake!!!
It is time for lunch, and I want to feel fat, dumb, and happy.

Sunday

For those of you that do not know, I only post when I am at work, unless I am going to post a picture. The pic uploading software is on my pc at home. Occasionally you will see an 11:00 pm post with a pic of the boy, that is done from the homestead, but all my other posts are done here at work…. much to the chagrin of co-workers and supervisory staff. So, when you see a post, I am at work. Yes, the Sunday timestamp is correct. Much like most of the weekends since April, I have had to come in at some point during the weekend.

There are only a few things that I have to get done here today to complete the tasks at hand, but they are all incredibly time consuming. I often wonder how much of my life is wasted watching progress bars. Currently, I am watching one telling me about a file conversion process, it is not very informative. I am fairly sure that I could be in great shape, if the time I spent watching progress bars were spent exercising or something like that. If I spent the progress bar time reading, I would own a library, but I spend the time watching progress bars blogging about my less than exciting life. Aren’t we all the better off for it?

Anyway, the wife and I went to the Cheesecake Factory last night to celebrate my belated birthday/Father’s Day and it was absolutely great. We both got dinners that both of us were interested in eating. In fact by the end of the meal, we had determined that she should have ordered my dinner for herself, and I should have ordered hers for myself as well. (We ate the leftovers for lunch today, they were good as well.) We have gone to the Cheesecake Factory before, and we know how the system works. The system for those of you who are Cheesecake Factory deprived is, you put you name in, they give you a pager, the pager goes off, you turn in the pager, they tell you to wait, then they call you name for you to be seated. Now, I am no expert in how one should operate a restaurant, but I think there may be a couple too many steps in that there process. It could be streamlined, if you will, by cutting out the annoying steps of turning in your pager and waiting for them to yell your name in the crowded foyer. So they give us a pager only to have us turn it in when our table is almost ready. That just makes no damn sense.

File done converting, I will post more about this later.

Cheers

So tired

Little one did not sleep well last night. Ergo papa did not sleep well last night. So far since coming home from Mountain Standard Time, I have not had one decent night’s sleep. Monday night I was still 2 hours off due to time zone changes, but I still had to get to work early. Tuesday night, I had trouble getting to sleep due to my mind not being able to slow down. Last night the little one did not go down until 11:30, and I was not able to decompress mentally to get to sleep until 1:30. Then the little one woke up at 4 all itchy and could not get back to sleep until 6. I am hoping that tonight I will be able to actually sleep. I just know that something is going to happen to kill that possibility off.

That’s all I got today. I am tired and a bit cranky.

The old "Switcharoo!"

Now it is the wife’s turn to go out of town, but only for an evening, and only for work. So, I guess it is not really anything like my weekend jaunt at all. The wife is heading out of town today for one evening only. Needless to say, I ain’t cookin’.

From the news today

Turns out Halle Berry is doing her part in the study of how brain cells store information. One may not recognize her for the ecepholonic work that she assists with, but maybe now she will be. Turns out that scientists are using images of Ms Berry to illustrate how people recognize certain individuals within their grey matter. The scientists are using images of Jennifer Anniston, Halle Berry, and other hawt celebrities mainly because they like looking at pictures of hawt celebrities. Can I blame scientist? Not really, if I could set my job up to where I was assisting in real research by playing World of Warcraft, you had better bet you sweet bippy (where in God’s green earth did that phrase come from?) that I would do that. It just so happens that these particular scientists like to watch Catwoman in slow motion, frame by frame, with the sound and the lights turned off, by themselves.

AFI released their list of 100 top movie quotes, and oddly enough, “Dude!” “Sweet!” is not on there from the buddy movie hit of 2000 “Dude Where’s my Car?”, nor is “Hail to the King, Baby.” and “Gimme some sugar, baby.” from Bruce Campbell’s 1993 cult classic “Army of Darkness.” Nor is “I came here to chew bubble gum and kick ass, and I’m all out of bubble gum.” from Roddey Piper’s gigantic mega hit of 1988, “They Live.” Who the hell compiled this list of quotes? No one says “Rosebud” yet it is on the list. I know tons of people who say “Chicks like guys with skills” but that was not on the list. American Film Institute just does not have it’s finger on the pulse of society. Take time out of your day and give me a favorite quote, won’t you?

In recap:
Me and the boy are bachelor-ing it tonight.
Comfortable shoes make the day nicer.
Halle Berry is pretty, but she is only a pawn in the practice of brain research.
I need the new Weezer album.
AFI movie quotes are geared towards old people.
Saddam likes him some Nacho Cheese
Tell me your favorite movie quote.
Well…. Duh!

You say it's your birthday.... Well, it's my birthday too

Okay first thing is first, I hit the magic 31 today. That means that the pain in my left knee is not about rain, it is about being old. I do want to warn you, this post is going to be all over the place today.

On planes and flying:

Okay, this weekend (Friday morning) I took a trip to Colorado Springs, Colorado. This trip involved a layover in Minneanaopolis (how does one spell that city correctly?), Minnesota. Now the flight from Columbus to Minnieanapolis was largely uneventful but absolutely jam packed. The flight from Meanieanapolis to Colorado Springs was packed as well, but also fraught with annoyance. It seems that the person sitting opposite to me in the aisle felt it necessary to tell everyone within earshot about the trials and tribulations that she had endured during her 37 year existence. This sob story of uneventful tragedy culminated with her talking about her grand-baby’s momma. Sadly whilst berating the grand-baby’s momma’s incompetence, it was near impossible not to notice said grand-baby sitting in grandma’s lap. The child was around 2-ish and exhausted, but more on that later. For the 1 hr 45 min flight, this woman in her shrill southern twang, you know she lived in North Carolina for 7 years, and then moved to Texas for 3 years, but has never been able to get rid of her Southern accent even though she has been living in Michigan for the past 4 years after having moved from Pennsylvania before that, but she is only traveling to Colorado Springs with her grand-daughter so she could see her father that she didn’t grow up knowing about, you see, she was adopted, but thought that her adoptive parents were her biological parents, until she was about 20 when she found out her “real” dad lived in Colorado Springs with her 4 brothers and sisters that she never knew anything about, talked for the entire flight. Take a breath. She has 3 kids of her own, their ages are 23, 17, and 13 (yes if you do the math, this woman was 14 at the time of her first child’s birth), and she is taking care of her grand-daughter almost exclusively since the child’s mom is only 15 (for the subtraction impared: child is 2, mom is 15, baby born when mom was 13), and not that bright. She just should not have been having unprotected sex at such a young age, because unprotected sex leads to having kids. Turns out she was having unprotected sex with her 17 year old (again for the subtraction impaired: kid got 13 or 12 year old pregnant at age 15 or 14, let’s just say the apple don’t fall far ), but he bears no culpability. Anyway… to sum things up, this 15 year old girl is supposedly not the sharpest tool in the shed, not like her boy…. Blah blah blah blah blah more mom bashing blah blah blah blah. The whole time this woman is expositing her life story, the grand kid is trying desperately to take a nap on her shoulder. Each time this kid would drift off, grandma would start yammering again and wake the kid up. By the end of the flight, the visibly exhausted child, was sobbing. Absolutely dreadful flight. I wanted to scratch my eyeballs out.

The flight back from Minniandapolis to Columbus last night was a comedy of errors as well. Tons of sitting on the plane stuck on the tarmac. To the gentleman behind me on the flight, “Beavis and Butthead” is no longer funny (if it ever was). So your comments during the flight attendants’ monologue about safety on the plane were less than amusing, but surprisingly annoying. His not so intelligent girlfriend found his “She said insert, huh huh huh huh huh.” Not so terribly amusing, in a refreshingly sort of 1990’s way. This is a guy who will in 10 years be saying “I’m Rick James, Bish!!!!” Just a bit behind the curve, Sparky. Come back to the present. Again, I wanted to scratch my eyeballs out.

On birthdays

This is a bit deeper, so bear with me. Today is my birthday. I am a total of 31 years old today, but in many ways I am also 12. 12 years ago tonight, I witnessed a tragic event that changed my life as well as others close to me. I am not going to go into details in this here blog about the events in question, but lets just say that my birthday is a bit bittersweet, because not only is it the celebration of my birth, it is also the remembrance of my death of innocence and loss of youthful immortality. I always try to be mindful on my birthday about this tragedy out of respect for those whom it affected most, and because it has helped shape who I am. Much in my life has changed in the past 12 years, and I am definitely a more mature person because of it.

On Father’s Day

I was in Colorado for Father’s Day while my boy was in Ohio, I will try not to make that mistake again.

On being back to work after a vacation

This sucks.

To recap:

Happy birthday to me.
Minneapolis is difficult to spell, but enjoyable to misspell.
When on a plane, please do not give your life story. No one cares
Kid when she was 14, grandkid when her son was 14 or 15, hmmmmm do I see a pattern?
Mike Judge, you single-handedly ruined cartoons.
Beavis and Butthead were never funny. At best they were mildly amusing… occasionally.
Shout out to G-money and his sis in their Colorado crib!
I am definitely not street.
I missed the little one on Dad’s Day
Work sucks.

BMV

I got my driver’s license renewed this morning. Here is just a bit of back story for all reading who are not citizens of the great state of Ohio. Ohio does not have a DMV, it has a BMV. BMV is the acronym for Bureau of Motor Vehicles. Most states have a Department of Motor Vehicles because they intend to have an entire department of their government devoted to the license and registration of autos, boats, motorcycles, etc… Ohio has reserved a desk for this purpose, an escritoire, if you will. Needless to say, it is the ultimate in efficiency.

The storefront BMV I went to this morning was staffed by a whole 2 people. I would say that of those people, a fourth of them were actually working. The office opened at 8 this morning, and by 8:03 there was a line out the door. Just me, but maybe staffing up is an idea. Anyway… the line is moving slowly due to the .5 person effort being used by the 2 non-diligent workers of this particular office.

I understand some of the employees’ consternation though. They get to interact with the absolute minimum of society. The dregs, the offscourings, one-percenters, rabble, riffraff, rubbish, scum of the earth, swinish multitude, trash, undesirables, and vermin that happen to be citizens of the great state of Ohio. On the door to the establishment is a big bold sign that says, “Cash or Check Only!” On the counter there was a sign that says, “Cash or Check Only!” On the wall behind the service desk was a sign that said, “Cash or Check Only!” I heard 3 people ahead of me ask if they could use their debit cards. 2 of the 3 had to leave to go get cash, 1 had their checkbook with them. Back of the line for those losers.

Once those 3 were dispatched by Grom, the troglodytic BMV employee, it was my turn in the gauntlet of license renewal. Cash in hand, I had all the proper identifications with me and was ready for the barrage of questions, and the battle to the death on the bridge over the lake of fire that is required for all renewals. Turns out all he needed was my address, and if I wore “corrective lenses” or not. I did the entirely too easy eye exam part of the renewal process, and forked over my $24. That was a kick to the gut. Even on the website, it did not state how much it was going to cost. I felt very fortunate that I had gotten 40 out of the ATM, but sad because almost all the money was now spoken for, and I wanted a Hostess Lemon Pie. Oh well.

Anyway… I now have a new and shiny driver’s license. It has an updated pic of me on it. It is quite fancy.

I am going on a mini vacation starting tomorrow. It will be really nice, but I will be missing the wife and kid immensely. They are the centering part of my world. The 2 of them together really help me to get my priorities set straight. Okay, basically they make sure I do not spend all my time playing World of Warcraft. So do not expect any updates from me until Tuesday of next week. Tuesday of next week also happens to be my 31st birthday, so I am sure I will have something to say about that. Sadly, the only time that was really available for me to take this long weekend, happens to be over the Father’s Day weekend. We have decided that we are going to postpone all Father’s day celebration until the following weekend. We are good like that.

To recap:

“ 1 + 1” does not always equal “2.” It really depends on the base number system you are using for the mathematics. For instance in Binary “1 + 1 = 01”
Turns out the BMV is a rolltop desk.
There are a whole bunch of people who belong to the “swinish multitude.”
Shout out to P Murphy! Hope all is well with you.
“Cash or Check Only!” means “Cash or Check Only!”
Grom was a weak fool, who could never have defeated me.
Mmmm Lemon Pie.
The center of my life happens to be shorter than me.
See you suckers on the 21st.

Its short and green, what more do you want?

It is done, it is over with, it is finished. That’s right the unkempt yard that has been a thorn in my side for far too long has finally been mowed. It has been 3 long weeks since the grass was cleanly shorn, and the veritable jungle that was the back yard was in great need of trimming. One might ask, “Why, good blogger sir, did you wait so terribly long to cut your grass?” I would respond in kind…

“Shut up! That’s why!” But in truth there are some good reasons for not having mowed our abode’s greenscape. These reasons basically are due to inclement weather, time of day, lack of childcare coverage, and/or lack of “mow-tivation.” Get it? “Mow-tivation?” It is a pun, instead of motivation I replaced the first syllable “mo” with the homophonic monosyllabic word, “mow” which is a verb meaning… you guessed it, to cut one’s lawn. I slay me.

Firstly, to the weather portion of my excuse for not mowing… Most of the time when I actually had the energy and time and child coverage to actually make the grass shorter, it would be raining or just have finished raining. Now after a certain amount of time, one would just suck it up and mow in the rain. One would do this, of course, if one did not happen to have an electric mower. Extension cords, electric mowers, electricity, rain, and little old me are not a good combination. The second it seriously starts to threaten rain, my scared little ass is going no where near the electric mower. I do not want to make the News of the Weird for sheer stupidity.

Secondly, I have been working my lack of ass off at work the last 2 weeks. This takes me away from home on the weekends and during the days. Being gone that much time only leaves night time to mow the lawn. I don’t know why, but there is something unholy about mowing in the dark. It is just intrinsically wrong. Wrong down to the molecular level. Makes the hair stand up on your arms wrong. It is a slippery slope to go from mowing at night to hacking up hobos and burying them in the back yard, and that is a slope I want no part of.

Thirdly, lack of childcare is a big obstacle when wanting wow, did I just type “wanting?” I really meant “needing.” I do not think I will ever “want” to mow the yard … er… needing to cut the grass, especially when said child is an almost 2 year old. Little man is an energetic cuss, and has found ways to get into many, many things that he really should not have figured out how to get into. I do not trust him enough to leave him inside the house alone for the 30 minutes it takes to accomplish the task of mowing. The house simply would not survive the torment that is the little man. Now, additionally, I can not bring this immensely curious little one outside for the great chance that his nickname would become “Stumpy” due to the “Mowing Incident of Aught 5.”

Fourthly and finally, I just plain hate mowing grass. I cannot stand it. I find it to be a repetitive chore that is only done because that is what society deems appropriate. I grew up allergic to grass, but I still had to cut the shit then as well. I have always absolutely abhorred the mowing of the greens, but society demands homeowners to not only have lawns, but to also keep them neat and tidy. I just absolutely cannot stand cutting grass. I do not like the smell of freshly shorn yards. I do not like the feel of the cut grass under my feet. I hate you cutting grass! Damn you lawn mowing, DAMN YOU TO HELLLLL!!!!!!! Umm, where was I?

To recap:
The lawn is nice and clean, so stop your bitching, you whiney assed neighbors you!
I really like spaghetti made with ground pork instead of ground beef.
Water and electricity is a no-no.
My wife absolutely loves cherry season.
Mowing at night is not only weird, it is wrong and evil, and will damn you to the deepest parts of Hell.
Little man woke up around 5:30 this morning.
The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh suck ass.
If given the chance, the little man could reduce our house to rubble faster than a tornado with a head start.
DAMN YOU TO HELL, GRASS MOWING!!!!! DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!!
I feel better now.

Obligaotry post

Okay, I am going to post about a current event, and I tend not to do this. I typically do not post about politics or major media current events. These topics are incredibly polarizing. People have already formed opinions about what they have been exposed to ad nauseum by the media agencies. My personal opinion of the matter will most likely not change anyone’s opinion and will most likely only garner support from people who already agree (preaching to the choir) or condemnation from those who already disagree (dumbfucks). I try diligently not to really post much that will raise the ire of my dear readers, because I do not want to offend anyone. I am really all about peace love and harmony. No really. Why can’t we all get along?

Anyway… I feel that I am obliged to post on the whole Michael Jackson verdict thing, not because I am a huge proponent of child rights, and not because I think this is the absolute most important current news item. Surprisingly this is not my first post about sexual predation, maybe I do actually want to protect kids? How flipping odd is that?

Mr. Jackson has just proven one again that fame and/or money can and will allow you to do anything. Want to bugger some pacific islander 13 year olds? Go ahead if you got the money and fame to do it. Wanna kill your ex-wife and her possible love toy? Sure thing, just make sure you have money and fame, oh, and do it in LA LA land, that seems to help as well. Want to off your wife in the parking lot of a restaurant? Sure thing, but it would be best if you had a TV show prior. Oh the things I could do if only I had “celebrity” associated with my name.

Michael Jackson is a sexual predator with money. Money is the only difference between his actions and the actions of your typical everyday “Chester Chester the Child Molester” that lives on the street next to yours. Neverland Ranch is the perfect child molester’s palace. It has all the enticements that a rich buggerer of tween boys would want: roller coasters, exotic animals, seclusion, security systems, porn collections, Jesus Juice, the list goes on and on. I am sure he has all the latest game systems, with all the latest games. I am sure he has a wonderful multi-media theater. I am sure that it is easier to entice some kid into having a “slumber party” with you when you have a roller coater than trying to get some kid into the back of your van with a tootsie roll. I am also sure that he has a security system that warns him of anyone approaching his bedroom. He is a predator, pure and simple.

Now, I know that many people are just saying that the family in the lawsuit is just a bunch of money grubbing litigious freaks who only want to be paid. You know what? You may be absolutely correct, but regardless to how unsavory those people are, if Mr. Jackson inappropriately touched that kid, it is still a crime, and a heinous one at that. The inescapable truth though is that the only kids who have come forward to say that Jacko molested them have been dark haired and dark skinned, but not of African descent. Honestly, McCauley Culkin should be damn happy that he is not of a Samoan ancestry, or he might have been more than an extra in the “Black and White” video.

Here is a bit more about effective sexual predators. Effective predators will choose their prey wisely… by “wisely” I mean, prey that can be discredited or intimidated. (for information on the intimidated prey please visit here.) Why would they choose discreditable prey? Because when it comes to an argument about whether an incident occurred, it is the word of an adult versus that of an unreliable discreditable youth. Who are most people going to believe?

The thing that really gets my goat are the people who state that it is the parents that should be convicted for child endangerment for exposing them to Michael Jackson, but do not feel that Jackson did anything wrong. Whaaaa?!!?! If Jackson did nothing, then why condemn the parents for allowing them to spend time with the plastic surgery freak? If no crime occurred, then how could it be considered child endangerment? You people all know that Jackson did it, you just are not willing to admit it to yourselves that he is capable of that horrible activity.

Anyway… to recap
Nessie is real and swimming happily in the tannin stained waters of Loch Ness
6 is afraid because 7 ate 9
Europe has some weird ass taste for music. They still listen to the new crap Jackson is putting out. And it is crap with a capital “C” and a capital “P.”
In other words it is “CraP”
I am glad I am not a male 13 year old Pacific Islander in California coming from a broken home.
Jackson did it.

Rat Race

There are a few problems with being in the “Rat Race.” Firstly, one’s competition in the rat race happens to be rats. In general, rats are filthy disease ridden animals who survive off of the depravity of others. There are some rats that are clean and non-disease ridden, but they are the exception to the rule. The second major problem is that to qualify one must be a rat. I am unfortunately in the midst of a medium distance rat race, you know the ones where the runners have just enough energy to “kick it” the last 200 meters or so. That makes me a rat; a racing rat, but a rat none-the-less. I am tired of running and not sure to what goal I am running. I am sure, however, that I am not in a race to get off a sinking ship, so at least I got that going for me. In fact, I am not sure I want to qualify for the race anymore. Mainly I am tired of being a rat.

Don’t read too much into the above… I am amazingly tired and disturbingly overworked at the moment, I have not been able to enjoy a “Papa Day” in a long while, I need centered, and I am woefully out of shape. Basically, I am a big fat whiney-head. I am sure with rest and proper diet; I will be a happier camper.

So, I will check in daily, but I am limited by my low functioning brain at the moment.

Enjoy.

Not much to report about today

I am just too mentally fatigued to give this much consideration. I promise next week will be better.

No sleep and too much work make blogger go something, something...

Too much work and no sleep make blogger go something something…..

Well, that something is losing one’s filter that keeps my tongue in check, and believe, you me, I currently need to keep my mouth shut. I am tired due to amazing amounts of work being accomplished in a short period of time and the little one needed extra attention during the night due to his lack of sleeping. I am overworked due to the same amazing amount of work being accomplished in a short period of time. These combinations lead to a short rather caustic wit being employed liberally without abandon. When I am tired like this I go straight for the sarcastic jugular (asking an anorexic if she has gained weight kind of stuff, just plain mean, and not too funny), and that is not good in a workplace. Not everyone can take the heat coming from this kitchen. The sarcastic bus has stopped and I will take you to school. I have a six-pack of sarcasm, and believe me; I know how to use it.

Anyway… I think I might have just found a job that is worse than both assistant crack whore or Israeli bus driver. Turns out the longevity of employment in the Nuevo Loredo police chief position is averaged at mere hours, and not days. Unfortunately so is the police chief’s mortal coil. I guess there is a good reason no one wants that job. I wonder if they would get more applicants if they added full dental.

Anyway2… I am stymied for more topic due to my lack of sleep. So to save myself from embarrassment, I will be quite now.

mmmmm k

Firstly, I would like to apologize to any stay-at-home moms out there who were offended by my characterization of the 4th kind of substitute teacher. I am clearly biased due to the personal affiliation with my mom. There are many women out there who are stay-at-home moms with very fulfilling lives. They are active, happy, healthy people, with little to no time on their hands due to their busy schedules. My mom… not so active, dreadfully unhappy, fairly unhealthy (emotionally and physically), with a good bit of time on her hands due to her empty schedule full of nothingness and despair. (I make it sound worse than it is. It is my job as a blogger.) I remember a few of the subs I had who were primarily stay-at-home moms fondly. They really did not have to put up with much crap from the smartass kids, ‘cause the smartass kids didn’t mind them so much. Anyway… my goal was not to alienate stay-at-home moms, but rather to make fun of my mom. I have noble goals. Noble indeed.

Secondly, I have hit the millennium on my counter. I do not know if I should be proud, or disturbed by the traffic on my site. A whopping 1k+ of hits for this here bloggy thing, who would have thought. I hope there has been some enjoyment from reading my blatherings.

Thirdly, and most definitely the most frightening thing I have read from the news as of yet…

Once again the Simpsons have proven to be prophetic. From their description of “Treehouse of Horror XI” from November 1st, 2000
“… And our final spook comes when the Simpsons see a dolphin show at their local Marine World. Lisa feels bad for a poor dolphin Snorky. But when Lisa sets Snorky free, she unwittingly aids the cause of a dolphin revolution that threatens humanity.”

Dolphins teach their young to use tools

Yes, you read that correctly. Our existence on planet earth as the dominant species is nearing its end. Soon our aquatic masters will rise from the oceans, seas, bays, and gulfs to claim dominance over we hairless apes. If 1000+ hits on my crappy blog is not enough of an indicator that the world as we know it will be coming to an end, we now have witnessed the dawning of the Dolphinian Age. It is only a matter of time before we start to hear the screechy sonar clicks and whistles to signal the start of our kelp mining filled days. Get used to having prune hands people; our lives are going to get much wetter. In mere moments we start seeing Dolphinian technology from the wrong end of the barrel, so to speak.

It all makes sense now, I am sure it all started long ago with a cultural exchange of Dolphinian interpretive dance for food. This arrangement begat Seaworld and other such dolphin shows, but we simian fools never realized it. The whole time they are trying to communicate with us as equals, but we foolishly think they just wanted fish. What fools we have been. we have squandered any meaningful patnership by belittling their emmissaries.

Their campaign has already started. They are systematically killing the more macho belligerent monkey men to pacify us before their invasion. All I have to say is, I hope you like tuna people, it is what’s for dinner."

Bad jobs

Other than Assistant Crack Whore, I cannot think of a job that gets less respect than a substitute teacher (well maybe a social worker). Garbage men (or sanitation engineers) get more respect, since they take care of the crap I want out of my life. Now, I am not saying that all subs are disrespected shells of human beings, but I am inferring that most are said disrespected shells of human beings . Sometimes the sub is a very respectable person who is just trying to make some extra money in their spare time and does not really mind the shenanigans that kids will pull to torment them, other times this is the only teaching position that the person can find, and still other times it is a vocation taken up by mis-guided retirees who feel it is their civic duty to impose some kind of order into the chaos that is middle school (I’m looking your way Mr. Wheeler).

My mom is a sub, excuse me, a Professional Substitute Teacher. She really doesn’t match any of the afore-mentioned subs. She is really a fourth case, and there are a few like this as well. She uses substitute teaching as a way to make a pathetic attempt at reconnecting with society. Her type of sub is usually a stay at home mom with kids who are getting older. She does not want the responsibility of a scheduled job, and/or she may lack the marketable skills to get more permanent employment. Mom is a subject for another blog, one where I am not pressed to get any work done.

Anyway… some of you in the Internet world are probably wondering why I thought about the whole substitute teacher thing. I honestly, have no reasoning to speak of, so leave me alone. Yeah, I am just phoning it in anyway.

That is about all I got today. Just a simple couple-o-paragraphs about how little respect subs get. Maybe I need a substitute blogger? Any takers? I might try again later today, but I would not count on it.

This morning, it happened

Well, this morning around 8:11 am EST, it happened. The wife and I broke the boy’s spirit for the first time that we know of. You see, as many of you know, he has been sick since this past Tuesday. The only thing that has really brought him out of the sickness is the antibiotic that we are giving him. Since the antibiotic is making him better we are surmising that the little one is getting over a sinus infection. Anyway…. He hates the antibiotic. He is usually suck a great medicine taker. We give him Zyrtec and Mylanta every night, and when he is really ill we have had to give him 4 or 5 different meds every night, and he takes them all very well.

He abhors the amoxicillin that we are giving him currently. It is the orange stuff, and does not taste absolutely horrible, although he does like the pink stuff better. Since Thursday of last week, he has been spitting out this medicine. Our preferred method of medicine delivery is through those squirty syringes, but he was having nothing to do with this medicine whatsoever. First time we gave it to him; we are pretty sure that only about 10% of it made it into the boy’s gullet. The other 90% was on his shirt, mom’s shirt and dad’s shorts. It did not go well. The second time we tried giving him the medicine resulted in similar circumstances. The 3rd time, we tried giving it to him, in his sleep. That just woke him up and made him angry, and he was still able to spit out a good 75% of the medicine. 4th time we tried disguising the stuff in some peach mango applesauce, he at one bite and now will no longer touch any orange colored food. We tried putting it in some coke, because he loves coke and we don’t want him to have much. Didn’t work at all. So on Saturday afternoon, we had to hold his little butt down, force his mouth open squirt the medicine in, and hold his nose closed until he swallowed the medicine. Well, we did it 2 more ties like that on Sunday and he fought us tooth and nail, but this morning, he just gave up.

We broke him. His will to fight the circumstances just dissipated. The look in his eyes was one of quite resignation and defeat. While, this is good for the delivery of the medicine, it is a sad day for me, and I guess my wife (we have not spoken about it, I had to leave for work immediately afterward). It would not leave such a bitter taste in my mouth if it was clear that the little man decided that the medicine was making him feel better and he should take it, or that if he didn’t fight it would not be such a long and drawn out process. We broke the little man and I am saddened by it. He just lost his will to fight. I know as a parent this will not be the last time that we have to force something on our child for his own good, but it does not make his defeat any better. He only stopped his struggling because we were bigger and stronger, and that does not feel good.

Sorry for the downer, but I am not that happy of a camper at the moment. I know that I am doing the right thing as a parent, but it don’t feel so good.

Things one should not admit

There are a myriad of things that one should never admit to another human being.

The example I will pounce on today has to do with a has been comic from the 80’s. For you, the fine readers of this here blog, I give you the headline, as it appears on CNN.com

Fan claims Gallagher hit him at show

There are two things to keep in mind whilst reading said headline. Number 1: The word “fan,” this supposes that the comedian Gallagher still has fans. Number 2: The word “show,” (this surprised me even more than the whole fan bit,) someone is paying Gallagher good money to continue his “show.”

Oh but wait there are more levels to the lunacy of this headline. To press charges against Gallagher for allegedly striking him, this person must first admit that he paid good money to go to a Gallagher show in 2005. Gallagher was, I guess, cutting edge comedy in 1984 with his “Sledge-o-matic 5000” sledgehammer gimmick. He would end all of his shows by whacking various items (usually ending with watermelons, cause what is not funny about whacking a watermelon?) with an over-sized sledgehammer to the guffaws and other hearty laughter of his shows’ toothless, dim-witted audiences. Thank you early Comedy Central for your incessant re-broadcasting of this “comedian’s” show during my college years when there was nothing else on TV. I will get my revenge one day, oh yes I will…. ummm, did I just type that? Whoops. Please disregard anything about revenge or vengeance etc….

Anyway… Gallagher today I would guess is about as funny and unpredictable as a new Garfield comic. What is that crazy cat going to do today?!?! He is just soooo funny. Back to the Gallagher bit. So this “fan” (personally I would sue the AP and CNN for libel if they referred to me as anything other than an un-witting audience member of a Gallagher performance) is now pressing charges against Gallagher. Personally I think you get your comeuppance if you dare to defy all that is good and decent by patronizing the cult of personality known as Gallagher. This akin to someone admitting in a court of law that Liza Minelli beat them up, oh wait, that happened.

The other level of this is that Gallagher struck one of his few remaining customers. This would be akin to the Jerky Boys pranking their last fan. Gallagher should be kissing this man’s feet for being willing to spend actual US currency to witness his banal attempts at humor. Gallagher should be grateful that idiots and their money are soon parted.

On to another topic

Little man is doing better, and I finally got some sleep last night.

To recap:
Gallagher is not, nor has he ever been, funny.
One should not draw attention to themselves when one has been wronged whilst doing something stupid.
Garfield is insipid.
David Gest is not only one freaky looking mo-fo, he is also the wussiest wuss that has ever wussed a wuss.
Sleep is good.

You notice the little things

When one is heavily sleep deprived one notices that it really is the little things that can really piss you off. The first of such little things that got my proverbial goat this morning I noticed while trying to wake up in the shower. Just a little bit of back story… or and update on the little one’s not feeling well.

The boy is still sick. Last night his fever really kicked in to accompany the horrid green stuff oozing from his nose and the other horrid green stuff he is hacking up. Needless to say his sleep was not the most restful of slumbers.

He awoke around 4 this morning and could not get to sleep, so at 5:15 this morning, after trying to get him back to sleep for some time, I decided to take him downstairs and give him a breathing treatment due to his slightly labored breathing. The breathing treatment went great except it woke his ass up. So we watch some TV at 5:30 in the morning. TV sucks at 5:30 in the morning. Thank god for the “MTV hits” channel. Turns out big man likes the Killers, and Destiny’s Child, but is none too happy about My Chemical Romance (I think he feels that they look too “manufactured,” and that their sound is way too “derivative” to be considered “noteworthy,” and this is from a kid who likes the Wiggles. His words not mine). He also liked the old school video of the song Sun City. Anyway… my wonderful wife relieves me of sick kid watching duty at 6:05 am, and the pass off from Papa to Momma takes about 20 minutes (figuring out what little man wants and such), so I head up to take my shower at around 6:30. I have been awake for 2.5 hours, and out of bed for about an hour now. In other words, me tired.

This leads to the 1st little thing that just pissed me off. In the shower I noticed something about our shower that I had not noticed before. Our shower curtain liner’s (the relatively cheap white plastic sheet that hangs on the inside of the tub while the curtain hangs on the outside… just to clear up confusion) grommets are not made of a rust proof material. To recap: shower curtain grommet is not rust–proof. What in the name of all that is good and holy are the manufacturers of a shower curtain liner, and one of the thicker “better” liner to boot, doing using a material that is not rust proof when it is clear that the environment that this product will be placed will clearly have exposure to water? This was not some mamby-pamby 99 cent shower liner that you pick up at the grocery store on one of the “specials” racks found in the aisle with toilet brushes. No, to the contrary, we spent a whole $2.99 on this shower curtain liner at the upscale boutique known colloquially as Target. How hard is it to use something other than steel as a grommet? There are only 10 little rings to deal with, why not aluminum. Heck, even plastic would work. I would be willing to add a premium to that massive $2.99 price tag. How much forethought has to go into the production team to come up with the idea that things that are in the shower should be rust-proof? (FYI, I mistyped “rut-proof” instead of “rust-proof” and almost left it as is to reap the unintended consequences. “Rut-proof” has a much different meaning.) As it is, they should have just made the damn things from iron, colored the sheet orange instead of white, and cut out the middle man. Bastards!

Thing number 2: The surf Nazi’s here at work have cut off one of the sites I go to for my therapy. Albino Black Sheep’s archive of the “Badger, Badger, Badger, Mushroom” flash animation. It can be located here and it is just the kind psychologically centering device that allows me not to go on homicidal rampages. Some people have mantras, well I enjoy watching relatively poorly animated jumping badgers waving their arms. What of it? You want some of this? The thing that really turns the thumb screw for this little thing is the fact that the surf Nazi program considers this site to be blockable categorizing it as “Tasteless/Gross.” Hey, I can determine for myself what I find “Tasteless/Gross” thank you very much! Trust me, my coworkers want me to be able to access this site, or suffer the wrath of watching me reenact the animation. Did I mention it was on an endless loop?

Well, now I have work to get to. I guess that could be considered the 3rd little thing this morning that has pissed me off.

As a review:

Little man is a sick, sick early riser.
My Chemical Romance is over-rated.
Early butt-crack of dawn TV sucks.
Destiny’s Child is an oddly bootylicious group.
Me like a bicycle…. Too tired
If it is designed to get wet, maybe we should design it not to be hurt by water. Just a thought.
I imagine not terribly much is truly “Rut-proof,” because people are natural fornicators.
Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Badger, Mushroom, Mushroom….
Stupid Work!

Do I have a story for you today...

Okay, here we go. Let me take you through yesterday almost moment by moment.

Firstly, the reason that I had to come into work this Holi-frikkin-day weekend was due to the client changing what was one of the “preferred” components for the project that we are working on to something that was not designed or studied yet. So Sunday and Monday were shot due to this whim of the client. Habitual Client Whimsy (HCW) has been an issue with this project from the onset, so this should not surprise me. HCW seems to occur most often surrounding the holiday weekends and upcoming meetings.

Secondly, Sunday late night it was clear that the little one was developing a cold. When an asthmatic child develops a cold, there is always the chance that the cold will turn to something worse, and quickly. Needless to say, a bit of concern was leveled at my kid’s health. Boy, he is a snot factory! Simply amazing, the amounts of mucous membrane the boy can produce is astounding.

Anyway… yesterday starts with an email to the client asking if we can change back to using the component that was discarded due to the previous HCW. This simple little e-mail just invalidated 10 hours of work from the weekend by me, and I have no idea how much work that the roadway guys spent on Saturday. Thank you Mr. Client, may I have another?

Now I am in the peachiest of moods and re-working this component into the final drawing. I am unhappy and considering replying to the e-mail with a scathing response, cleaning out my desk and walking out due to the subsequent firing, but I decide that I like the current level of income I have and would eventually like more. So, no scathing response, but I was close…

When I dropped the little one off at the caregivers, I mentioned that they had to give him breathing treatments ever 4 hours and that if they felt he needed to have a “breathy” earlier than 4 hours they should call me so I can see if he needs doctorin’. I imagine it was around 12:30 in the afternoon when I got the call from the caregivers. I think to myself, “Shit, shit, shit,, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, (I have a cursey mind) this is not the week for the little one to get sick (as if there is a week that would be good for little one to be sick).” Turns out the little one has not turned a corner to worsening his condition, but, instead the healthier of the two surrogate grandparents that watch the little one has some sort of rash. So I leave to pick up little one as fast as I can, Grandpa R is going to be admitted into the hospital. Scary indeed. I pick up little one, and while I am gathering up his stuff, Grandma D asked Grandpa R to show me the rash. This involves me seeing way too much of Grandpa R’s legs to be comfortable due to the dropping of trau. The disturbingness of seeing grandpa dropping trau aside, the rash was absolutely horrid. It was a deep purple with angry red edges that ran from the inside of his thigh back around and down his hamstring, and it developed from a bug bite-ish problem to a leg covering in less than 4 hours.

Anyway… I get the little one and take him back to work with me so I can feed him while the wife’s mom comes over to get him. He eats a big old bowl of paella, damn he gets good meals sometimes, and we visit with some of my co workers, until the mom and I can exchange cars (more on this to come).

Around 4:00 in the afternoon, I get a call from the caregiver sans rash, Grandma D, if you will. Grandpa R is being taken to surgery to investigate whether the rash has been caused by Necrotizing Fasciitis, aka, get this… Flesh Eating Bacteria. FLESH EATING BACTERIA!!!! FLESH FUCKIN’ EATING FUCKING BACTERIA!!!!!!! Er… umm… fucking. My little boy has potentially been exposed to FLESH FUCKIN’ EATING FUCKING BACTERIA while his immune system was already partially compromised. I am beside myself now. Absolutely disassociated, hovering about 2 feet from my body looking around thinking, “WHAT THE HELL?!?!?!?!!?” I came back to myself fairly quickly, collected myself and called my wife. I tell her about this wonderful predicament we are in, and we both start heading home after tying up loose ends.

So now I am driving home in my mother-in-laws deathtrap of a car. It is a Ford Escort, and I am afraid that it has decided to escort me to the afterlife. The brakes are bad, it handles like a wounded fish. The abysmal condition of the vehicle does nothing to abate my mood and worry about the little one. I have not known him long enough to want to get rid of him just yet. I think that will come in about 11 years from now. He is currently almost 2. Yeah, 13 sounds about right. Both the wife and I get home and look little one over left and right, top and bottom, and there does not seem to be anything untowards going on with his biology other than the asthma, raging food allergies, and common cold. We both breathe signs of relief and make sure we have an appointment set up with our ped. The nurse from the ped’s office assures us that nothing is all that pressing or immediate and that tomorrow morning should be fine for the appointment. We breathe another sigh of relief. The nurse calls back to say that we should enter through the practice’s back door, instead of through their sick entrance. The wife and I tense up again.

It is not until around 6:30 that we get another call from Grandma D. Turns out Grandpa R has Cellulitus and not the necrotizing whosey-what’s-it. Cellulitus is not soooo bad as Flesh Eating Bacteria. Another sigh of relief, followed by a crumpling into the fetal position.

Other than the little one’s cold, which makes him sleep like a newborn (wakes up ever 2 hours and cries) all I have to worry about now is the shit-ton of work that has to get done now. So, enough about my day, how are you guys doing?

Anyway… to recap

Work done this holiday weekend was un-necessary
Little one has a cold
Habitual Client Whimsy is not a good thing
Ugly rash or not, I wish I did not see that much of Grandpa’s legs. Shudder
I wish I had paella for lunch.
FLESH FUCKIN’ EATING FUCKING BACTERIA!!!!!!!
My mother-in-law’s car is attempting to escort me to Hell.
It is just cellulitis. Merely cellulitis. Only cellulitis.
Cellulitis is still not a good thing.
I am tired, and I have much to do before I sleep.

Did I mention FLESH FUCKIN’ EATING FUCKING BACTERIA!!!!!!!