Mr. H is threatening to grow a beard. I believe he tried this in 2004, and hilarity ensued.
My Zellweger set the microwave on fire with a Chinese food container. That bitch! I think I’m going to have her return the dry cleaning hangers as punishment.
I just tested a ybab’s fault tolerance with 30 seconds of Gwen Stefani, courtesy of iTunes. She reacted with the same face she makes when she acccidentally bites herself.
Hep me, Uncle Wiggily! A ybab has been replaced with a Tasmanian Devil. Only between the hours of 11pm and 5am. Ryan wants to give her Benadryl, but I am not totally up for drugging children recreationally. She’ll pick up that slack when she’s a teenager. Why, a somewhat feathered duck did tell me a salty tale once, and I am loathe to recall the ending, but I daresay the complication was all the fault of the rag man.
Oh, and you’ll never guess what the cat dragged in!
My Zellweger has returned from parts unknown, pregnant and clutching a fistfull of parking tickets. I don’t know what to make of this. You will notice, oh best beloved, that it has been 314 days since she last made an appearance. She muttered something about witness protection, and I smiled and nodded and handed her a mop. These floors don’t clean themselves! And, as a bachelor, I don’t iron. If you want to stay around here, you have to earn your keep.
I’m getting new business cards made up. In my mind, I am smart and capable and earn a fabulous living while balancing the needs of my family. My mind is a liar. Actually, I am behind on everything to the point where no one will ever call me again, not wearing pants (which meant I had to hide from Fed-Ex, thus vexing Mr. H, who is awaiting some shiny electronic jimcrack from Apple), and my ybab hates me. I know this because she stayed up all night plotting on how best to kick me in the abdomen. Oh, mummy, come closer…closer…just a little…WHAP. Now she’s sleeping the sleep of the guilty. Unfortunately, this is on the couch. If I move her, she will wake up. If I move, she will roll over and die somehow.
So I’m using this productive naptime to delete all my email. Currently, I’m expunging August 2004. Just try to subpoena me now! I don’t know what I’m trying to erase. Proof that my life used to be so much easier? At the time I did not think it was easy. I am a sucker. I will regret deleting later, but it feels so good at the time. I sort of regret throwing out all my concert ticket stubs and all my cassette tapes, but a little pain has a salutatory effect on the soul. Right? No, I am just an idiot. And when I want to hear that particular mix tape that contained that one song, I will not be able to do so.
Today A. Ybab and Mr. H and I went for a walk. I strapped her to my front and pulled my coat around her so only her foolishly be-hatted head stuck out. This deflects some of the alcoholics who live under the streets downtown, but not all of them. She continues to test well with that demographic, ideally with cross-over to chainsmokers. A few days ago, the lady with a nose ring and three teeth gave her the loving moniker “Sugar Booger.” I am familiar with the booger sugar, but I think that lady probably specializes in methamphetamines in the off-season.
Anyhoo, we ended up walking past lots of people with glow sticks, and then we realized it was time for the city’s annual Salute to Municipal Vehicles, a.k.a. the festival of lights or something like that. We shoved through the crowd and got our lattes, coming out just in time to hear “Ready to roll.” So we had to Frogger our way through a flotilla of police motorcycles, the bookmobile, a taxi cab, every single fire engine in town, a marching band, some Shriners, children dropping batons, the haz-mat team, and the local Rastafarians’ float.
A. Ybab became enraged by the time the cut-suspension Honda Civics and the public works sand truck glided by. We had to bust our way through the parade route to get home, which meant tangling with a postal worker wearing shorts (“Shorts every day. I’m a bachelor. We don’t iron!”) until we remembered we could just float down the canal on an abandoned shopping cart. Level-headed thinking saves the day again!
First, it is not so much a carpet as an area rug that was liberated from the Crate & Barrel outlet for $19.
Second, it is not so much bloodstained as adorned with a quarter-sized splotch of cat barf.
Third, rather than clean it, I am going to take it to be burned.
Fourth, the cat is going into regurgitation rehab if this keeps up. In Wyoming, or some other place that’s very far away.
Then there was some sleeping, and some life force draining, and more sleeping, and more life force draining. Laundry was not folded. Then phone calls were made because someone thinks speakerphone is soooo funny. A ybab yelled at Grandma, who said crazy things. “Well, maybe those veal were raised nicely.” Then Mr. H came home. He brought me a present! No, he didn’t, but he should have. Now we’re having “apple pie,” and we plan to watch ANTM. Life is small and precious, no?
A ybab did not care to sleep, so we tried to go for a walk. It’s jeezly cold out, and the wind is whipping along the river. Old ladies glared at me for daring to take a ybab out. She was wrapped in a snug blanket, and she was wearing her silliest hat.
I was not wearing a hat. I also don’t own a winter coat. Mr. H got putty on it last year. The coat drive would not even take it. I can’t go try on clothes with a ybab because she hates and hates and hates. So I wrap myself in newspaper. I am turning into my mother. We can’t have nice things.
On the way back in, we checked the mail. We received several pieces of junk mail and a bank statement.
I’m glad you asked. A ybab and I went through the drive-thru at the drugstore to get drugs. Then we went to the deli to buy a lot lot of booze. The deli was mostly out of booze! They are going to convert to a cafe soon. I forgot to RESERVE PIE NOW, and I was all prepared to grub one of their extra pies, but they didn’t have any pie at all. That’s OK, I can’t eat it anyway.
But I can drink a pie! Here is the annual Vomitola.com Free Recipe Giveaway.
Apple Pie
1 part Harpoon Winter Warmer
1 part Cider Jack or other cider. I actually prefer Magner’s.
Then I saw a person to whom I was recently introduced. I see this person everywhere now, yet we have no deeper relationship than the first meeting. Hi, hi! Helllooo.
How much beer should I buy for tomorrow? A lot or a lot lot?