Odd People

Recently I've been encountering odd men. I don't know why, or what I've done to deserve this, but I wish I could figure it out so I would stop seeing these people.

For instance, I went to a pro football game on Sunday. This is not a normal occurrence for me - I make it out to the stadium about once every three years. And this guy - Semi-Drunk Sports Fanatic guy - is one of the big reasons why. He yells loudly at the refs and players throughout the game. Sometimes the yelling is profane, always it is loud and inappropriate (and unimaginative). He is offended by those like me and my girlfriends who choose to sit and watch the event without incurring laryngitis or bursting a blood vessel. He feels that it is his duty to clap us repeatedly on the shoulders and say "come on girls, we need you to get up and cheer", under the mistaken impression that this will incite some action from us other than a snow cone or drink tossed in his face. He is so involved with himself and his behavior that he doesn't even realize that his pronouncement that his wife doesn't like him very much shocks no one.

Then, there's this guy that works at the mail shop that I frequent. Nice guy, I've always enjoyed chatting with him, until he proved that he's a TMI guy. TMI guys are the unfortunate types that foster the impression that strangers in their vicinity give a shit about the details of the personal horrors that have befallen them. I was making polite small-talk with this man, and all of a sudden he launches into this saga about a recent colonoscopy gone wrong and how it landed him in the hospital. Why, oh why, would anyone think the inner-workings of their ass would be an acceptable topic of conversation? Maybe at a proctologist convention, but certainly not with a patron of your business.

So, note to strange guys: Leave Your Strangeness at Home! I'm sick of wrestling with whether I want to wring your neck with my bare hands or will the floor to suck me in. Enough already, people!

Out, Damn Cobwebs!

Cobwebs have formed and crickets are chirping at the blog. Sorry, folks, but we've been on vacation.

Every year we take a trip for our anniversary. This year was our seventh, to grand ol' St. Louie. Over the years we've been to Phoenix, Minneapolis, Florida, the Bahamas and Branson. Branson has been a choice multiple years for the simple fact that we're normally too broke to take a vacation at all, but we go anyway because the trips are one of our secrets of "keeping the flame alive". Plus, it ensures that we at least get one vacation a year, and, let's face it, a lame vacation is better than none at all.

What with the week it takes to prepare home, work and now Little Man for absence, and the week it takes to recover from the travel and unpack, there are times I wonder if vacations are really worth it. But, as I can think of no additional material to support that statement, it must be just a general bitch and I do really like them.

Details to come, but suffice it to say that St. Louis is a below-average vacation destination - worse than Branson! - but we had a nice hotel & enjoyed the luxury of living child-free for the weekend.

The Sopranos are Killing Me

My friend loaned me the first two seasons of the Sopranos. I've been watching them and they're awesome. And I can't . . .stop . . .watching! Such a great storyline, I can't stop hitting "play" for the next episode.

My life has gone to crap. Since I got them laundry and dishes have started to pile up, but I can't be bothered because I must know who gets clipped next. I have to prop my sleepless eyes open with toothpicks every morning, yet I have to know if the FBI have got Tony yet. Thank goodness she only gave me the first two seasons, or this would drag out for weeks. (Hmmmm, I wonder if she has season three . . .)

It's 1 AM. The Little Man will be squealing for more vittles in a few short hours, and I must get some rest. But, I think I have time for just one more . . .

The Cup

I have a black plastic Jack Daniels cup that is a remnant of my college days. As I recall it was a frat party favor and was originally filled with margarita (many that night). If I remember correctly - and there's a good chance that I don't - that was the party that I had to call my roommate sobbing and trashed to come pick me up, even though she had to drive my car halfway across campus and she couldn't drive a stick. For some reason I remembered to take it with me when I poured my drunken ass into the car that night. The cup had a tough life that night, and has since been through six moves and God only knows what hard treatment. Yet, it still proudly displays Jack's logo and you can still read the recipe for Lynchberg Lemonade on the back. It still shouts to the world about its rebel youth.

Last week Mr. Me called it into service in the Little Man's bath. Sometimes inanimate objects have surreal lives too.

All in the Details

The Little Man was sleepy, so he and I were rocking. I had my ankles crossed on the ottoman, and he was sitting on my lap. For some reason he deecided that my knees were worth closer inspection, so he bent himself double, as he does, to get a closer look. Recently he's been teething and drool leaks out like he's a spigot. So, not surprising, almost immediately after he bends over, I feel the lukewarm trickle form a pool on my legs.

There aren't any words to describe how disgusting that feeling is. Just, no words. But he was content, so I just let him sit there and drool. And thought about how much I must truly, truly love him.

Then I saw the carrots in the pool. And I picked him up, and transferred him to a safe spot on my burp-cloth protected shoulder. After all, enough is enough.

And Yet More Parties

This Labor Day weekend has been a good one. Packed with fun things to do. We had a couple of picnic parties to attend, and I'd forgotten how much fun it was to go to parties with other adults. What's more, I'm discovering how much fun it is to go to parties where taking a child is socially acceptable.

The party we went to Saturday was an annual event my friend hosts in her backyard. It was a good time, as always; the addition of the Little Man actually just made it more fun. He attracted folks I didn't know to come by and chat, so we got to meet some new people. Plus, he's pretty well-behaved at these things, so it isn't a huge stress to have him around. The food this year was pot luck and a good variety. My friend and her husband are in a band together this year and played. I hadn't heard her sing for a few years, and she's as good as ever.

Monday we went to a cookout at the house of one of Mr. Me's co-workers. They just moved into a new place, and it's some nice digs. Still in town, but a little land, with a nice barn & shed and place for 5 horses. It was a nice afternoon, and the Little Man had a great time looking at new things and playing with new dogs. He did give me a small coronary, though, when I went to check on him during his nap and he wasn't there! He's just mobile enough that he had rolled behind some furniture, out of eyesight. Other than that, we had a grand old time, and wrapped up with lunch at my brother's with the nieces and nephew.

Maybe we need to do more of these family-type activities. Who knew they could be so fun?

Bulletin 1

Today, Little Man started dancing (when supported, of course). Undoubtedly, it's cute. Unfortunately, it looks as if he will live up to his genetic potential and dance like a white man. We need a rythmic intervention, stat!

The Need to Party

The Little Man turned six months old this week, and for some reason I was obsessed about doing something to celebrate. Six months seems to be a big milestone, so much more of a milestone than, say 5 months, or 8 weeks. Anyway, my spirits sagged until I got something planned to celebrate, a little dinner party with some of his grandparents.

The more I think about it, though, the more I'm wondering if my obsession didn't just make the poor guy's existance miserable. For starters, the day in question we had a well-baby checkup. That landed him with shots - ow! - and some work on his Unit such that it is now a huge sore spot that his mother has to clean multiple times a day - owwwwww! We also received the news that, consistently with all of his past growth measurements, we have a tall, skinny baby with a teeny-tiny head (though that last bit probably bothered his mother more than it did him).

Then his mother went to lunch with his dad and some friends, completely messing up lunch time and sealed the deal on messed up nap times. When we got back to the house, it was pick-up time, then time to start cooking. Mommy and Little Man Play Time was severly truncated, which did not please him.

That evening, guests arrived after his oh-too-short nap and a dose of Tylenol to counter the low-grade fever brought on by the shots. We had a fine meal, as did he, though the menu ended up being quite weird. He had a cracker, a piece of avacado, prunes, carrots, rice cereal and water. Then, the grandparents had brought him a Little Debbie vanilla cake, so we gave that to him to roll with because it's his birthday! And we're celebrating! Never mind the fact that he hasn't yet had cake in any form, and the most sugar he'd been involved with was in applesauce. But, he ended up with very little of it acutally in his mouth; most of it went in his hair, on his clothes, into the carpet and smashed into his high chair tray.

Then it was on to the bath for the Little Man, and we started the process of putting his little over tired, sugar high, Tylenol doped butt to bed. However, never underestimate the need of a grandparent to fraternize with the grandchildren (and then leave the parent to deal with the wreckage). They kept coming in to "see him" and ended up taking him back to the living area to watch a football game until 10:00. This, of course, woke him up completely again, and he didn't get to bed until 11. Which is likely why he woke up at 1, 3, 4 and 7 the next night.

But, we celebrated his birthday! Another milestone remembered with people, food and cake.

I bet he's glad that's over.