a snafu day...

friday the 13th was normal like any other day,
but saturday the 14th... holy shit.
the preconceived notions that typically pertain to friday the 13th carried over to today!!
as in, today should have been friday the 13th.
it was just a great big cluster fuck.


honey bunny woke up this morning on the wrong side of the bed.
she gets claustrophobic when the house gets cluttered, and it was.
but 75% of the clutter was boxes that needed to be moved to the new house.
we managed to pick up a little bit before my family came.
but she was still CRANKY!!


my family arrived this morning to lend a much needed helping hand.
i had packed up several boxes and we had some furniture that could be moved already.
things were running quite smoothly and extremely proficiently until the arrival of my father in law.
*da da dum*
while i am truly appreciative of all this man has done for us,
he humiliated me today in front of my family.
because of him the moving stopped dead in its tracks.
with little else they could do, my family left by noon.
i was thoroughly disappointed and highly embarrassed.
this only further aggravated my honey bunny and did nothing to repair her mood.


but alas, like the wind it has blown over.
my mom once again managed to kidnap jackson.
she wanted to take harley too,
but i'd said no.
then the little turd betrayed me by jumping into her van and not coming back out.
eh, oh well. grandma will spoil them rotten for a week.
i am left with my utterly adorable wee-one,
who apparently out of the blue has become energized with fiestiness and attitude.
she looks like some sort of demented wind up toy going bazerk when she gets worked up in a tizzy.
she's so damn cute i can't stand it.

proving my non-murdering innocence...

recently the wife and i were lying in bed, discussing the surprise picture projects that my best friend and i did for her. she was saying how she appreciated it, and loved it so much. my reply was, "well i try to be a good wifey." and that got me thinking about this ridiculously funny incident that occurred to me in fourth grade. the filicide egg trial of the year.

let me give you a bit of a back story before i begin telling this twisted tale. my entire educational career in Florence District One, i was mostly surrounded by teachers who all knew my Mom, were related to me, taught my Mom, dated my Step Mom, or who were my best friends' parents. seriously. small town where, you say? florence, sc, us of a. with so many district one faculty and staff knowing me, i was a teacher's brat. a teacher's brat is a particular breed of child, you see. this is a child who not only knows the blueprints to the school like the back of their hand, but can move fluidly throughout the entire campus without being close to being seen or caught. this is the child who knows that if you press F5 on the faculty lounge snack machine, you can get that twix bar for free. or if you put in two quarters simultaneously in the drink machine, you can easily get two dr. peppers like there's no tomorrow. this is the kid who, along with other teacher's brats, had free reign of the entire school and all of its hidden treasures during the meetings in which all of the staff were required.


phones would be answered in the office by some cheesy pre-pubescent adolescent feeling mighty important with their fleeting moment of power. intercoms would beckon to various classrooms occupied by more fellow teacher's brats, and a loud belch would reverberate throughout that classroom. oh the impermanent power held by the teacher's brat was awesome. think of it as military brats in a permanent setting. it was a great responsibility to behold such power, as one could get away with near murder if orchestrated carefully enough.

this power followed you to your own slop house of learning. the height of your power, of course, depended on the fellow staff at that school. the more connections you had to your own teaching parent, the higher your power. it is also generally known that teacher's brats are preferred as teachers' pets. the power bestowed to a teacher's brat that has become a teachers' pet is a whole 'nother ball field all together. think JV versus Varsity. but i digress, there is the very very rare form of a teacher that you find by happenstance that abhors teacher's brats. the very sight of them revives some deep hatred inside of them that makes them put your face of their inner dart board of life. these creatures are far and few in between, but pose the awkward situation between them and your own teaching parent figure. the survival strategy for the teacher's brat is just to shut up, don't fuck up, and go along for the ride. but ask yourself, what were to happen if the said teacher's brat does make a snafu? this brings me to my story at hand.


in fourth grade i had a teacher named Mrs. Chowder (names have been altered) who absolutely disliked me from day 1 of school. i still don't know if it was me she didn't like, or if she had beef with my mom. anyways, we had this project in class to take care of a baby for, i think, like a week, and we'd be graded on it. it would be a big grade too, like a grade that counted as a unit test grade. obviously no sane teacher would allow a classroom full of clumsy fourth graders to tend to actual live human babies for an entire week. we were given raw, unboiled eggs. we were to carry them everywhere we went. be it to PE, art, or to go home. i carried mine around in this tiny little basket. i was so careful too... well, until like wednesday of that week.

as a child, i was an utter clumsy fool. if there was an opened bottle that contained any type of fluid in it that was sitting all of the way across the room, before the hour was up, i'd inadvertently stumble across some way to spill the damn thing. it was like a guarantee. ...or your money back. side note-- i was not the only one in my family afflicted with this annoying, often hilarious, infliction. my sister would spill her milk or drop her eating utensil at EVERY. SINGLE. meal. seriously. my mom would fix a second glass of milk, grab a towel, and extra utensils before we sat down for supper because the only question that remained was not IF margaret would spill or drop something, but when.

being that this happened in fourth grade, my memory is a bit fuzzy since i am old as Methuselah. there was some sort of activity in the room that required us to move our desks to either side of the walls. my basket o' egg was placed atop my desk. one of my flaws is failure to grasp this cause and effect theory. my proof lies in this pudding: i went to move the desk and naturally, my eggo became a sad and pathetic female version of humpty dumpty after his fall. well instead of just easily giving me an F on the project, Mrs. Chowder decided to subject me to a highly embarrassing and degrading murder trial. she declared the trial would be the following day, and that my fellow peers would be the prosecutor, the defense, the jurors and the judge. she snidely informed me, "to get a lawyer."

i was nothing short of humiliated. i already had pre-existing self worth and self image and confidence issues from the bastardly coward of my paternal dna donor, and this, this took the smidgen i had left and chunked it out the window. i chose who i felt was the smartest person in the class, Alicia. (she grew up to be an engineer, so see, i was right.) i don't recall the exact details of this trial, but i do remember being portrayed as a heinous, unfit, unloving, non-nurtring eggo Mama. oh the horror!!


this is where my memory befuzzles me, for i cannot recall how the trial proceeded. but i do remember that my innocence was believed by my jury of peers and i was rightfully acquitted. oj be damned, that shit was the trial of the year!! the other fourth grade classrooms waited with anticipation to hear the verdict. i shit you not, folks. my lawyer could not find any of the supposed witnesses of the crime who saw me push baby humpty dumpty off of my desk. it was all accidental, and therefore, had i been charged with negligent homicide i would've been found guilty. but alas, my acquittal redeemed my reputation amongst my peers. looking back i have absolutely no idea why Mrs. Chowder subjected me to such humiliation. eh. she was a bitch anyways.

je suis béni.

yesterday was my grandma's 80th birthday and my sister's 17th birthday. it was bittersweet. we were supposed to have gone to eat at grandma's favorite restaurant, but once she realized that my aunt couldn't accompany us, she didn't want to go. i guess my aunt has become her safety blanket. talk about a defective blanket from the factory!! that blanket got caught up in the machine at the plant, spit out, rejected, and still got sent out to the public...the dye they used for coloring that fabric must have been made from the poppy fields because she's damn sure acting like she's been exposed to some pretty strong opiates. or, maybe the bitch is just plain psycho. either way, the dysfunctional (and delusional) 'security' my grandma gets from this blanket is evidently what she thinks she needs.



so my wonderful wife and i opted to bring her favorite dish from her favorite restaurant to her for supper. yea, yea, i know, i know... i ROCK as a grand daughter. no ego there, eh? on the way to grandma's house the wifey and i were chatting, and i quoted a true sophia saying to her about my grandma's 80th birthday. "once you hit 80, every birthday without a headstone is a milestone!!" yes, yes. i crack myself up. but alas, we had to leave her house suddenly because i became overheated rather quickly. when that happens, i get really sick really fast. i get all discombobulated. seriously. its no fun. at all.


the packing is still under way. aye karumba!! it doesn't look so hard, but it is all of the repetitive bending that is bothering me. my back feels okay as of right now. i took it easy today to give my back a rest. hopefully tomorrow i can go back to full force and get a lot more packed. i'm getting so super stoked about moving. i told my wifey that i couldn't wait to go and buy shower curtains and such. yay!! that sounds so matronly doesn't it? oh well, i'm a future milf anyways.


when honey was talking to my favorite old woman yesterday, she told her that i was utterly in love with my wee-one, sophia. it hadn't dawned on me until she said it, but i am!! i love my harley and absolutely adore my jackson, but i am in love with sophia. what my honey bunny said touched my heart. and speaking of my honey, our four year anniversary is approaching quite fast. hmmm... i gotta get those creative juices flowing so i can do something for her.

bliss.

what in the fuckity fuck were the head homo's up at showtime thinking, ending the L Word like that?! omg does NOT even begin to cover it. seriously. fucktard bitches. fucka youuuuuuuuuuuuu!!

because my wifey is at work and hasn't seen the damn thing, i shall'nt do a recap.

my BFF was here this weekend and helped us get a lot accomplished. as a surprise to my beautiful wife, liz and i took my fur babies out for a down home photo shoot. a trip to big lots to purchase some silver shadow box picture frames, and a bit of glass cleaner later, voila!! as another surprise, we framed some alaskan prints i had given my honey a few years ago. aaaaaaand, last but not least, we bought one of dem dere big picshure frames with all dem holes in it, and made a collaborative collage of sorts of both families intertwined. its super classy.

i believe my ocd-like attention to details will pull all of the things in our home together quite nicely. it'll appear as if mature people reside there! boy, won't visitors be fooled?!
below are some pictures from this weekend. the liquor bottle pictures are from an accident scene of somebody we know. it was a drunk driving accident, non fatal. i don't know if that bottle flew out of the vehicle and landed that way in the tree, or if somebody placed it there. either way, this is exactly as we found it. it struck me as a powerful sight. i don't know why. but i had liz shoot it for a great photo. and by the way, aren't my children just the cutest you ever saw? these pictures truly captured their personalities. -side note- if you look closely in sophia's pictures, you can see a bee that flew in front of the camera. it caught sophia's attention too.

a snippet of a story...

“There you go, Daddy,” mocked Sisy. The sunlight that poured into the car with the window down highlighted Sisy’s wig. With such a bright light casting upon it, one could (easily) see where the wig ended and her natural hair began. The contrast between the two was startling. The wig looked like something that a child’s doll would wear; it wasn’t blonde, it was yellow. It was a yellow, stringy, plastic mess. Her natural hair color was up for debate usually. However, today it was reminiscent of Georgia clay.
She had her hand with her cigarette propped up by her window, which was now barely rolled down. She must have once again forgotten the thing was lit, because soon its cherry was singeing her wig. Little spirals of smoke wafted up from her wig and lazily out the window. I couldn’t contain my snicker.
“Aunt Sisy, your wig’s on fire,” I casually said.
“Aw damnit to hell,” she said as she patted her wig. It really didn’t help matters much, but she seemed content with a pat or two. Only some ash fell from her wig, but the lazy light smoke still found its way to the window.
This woman was fascinating to me when I was little, though I secretly admit; she still is to an extent. She is working on her third divorce and her fourth marriage at the moment. She was always a big woman, as far back as I could recall. She has this permanent scowl across her face, and a football field sized aura of general disgust and hate surrounding her. There is never a nice thing to say about anyone or anything, unless in front of them, of course. You see, it isn’t ladylike to be ugly to someone’s face, according to her. However, some healthy snide comments and sarcasm never hurt anybody, was also part of the philosophy that helped complete my dear aunt Sisy. She was my dad’s older sister, and the meanest of them all.
Her nickname is Sisy, because she hates her given name; Sisyphus. My grandmother thought it would make her seem sophisticated to name her child after a Greek character. I’ve often wondered where in the world my grandmother got a hold of that particular name, because if she had read the actual meaning of the name, I seriously doubt that I’d have an aunt Sisy. It is a Greek God (not Goddess) who is damned to eternity of rolling a rock up a hill only to have it roll back down. Therefore, he has to re-do his task over and over, hence the meaning of ‘repetitive.’
“You’re such a moron, Sisy,” said Robin.
Sisy looked down over her glasses and took a drag of her cigarette. “This coming from the queen of power tools,” she said referring to Robin’s bandaged hand. That is a story in itself, too. After Robin was released from “the pen,” as she dubbed it, she was doing construction work when she sawed off the tips of “two or three” fingers. She felt all fancy when it happened, as she was transferred in an ambulance to MUSC down in Charleston for surgery to reattach her fingers.
I always preferred Aunt Robin to Aunt Sisy; she wasn’t as mean or vile. She was the funny one of the two. She was carefree, reckless, free spirited, and the ex convict. I always felt like she was the most human in that whole core family, you could actually have a conversation with her. She was the one who took the hood of an old Cadillac Deville, turned it upside down, welded two huge chains to it, and attached it to the riding lawn mower so we could go sledding in the winter storm of ’89. A leg and arm cast later, she was officially my favorite aunt. That was interrupted for her stint in the pen, for reasons still untold. Grandma said she named her Robin because there was a baby robin bird on the windowsill at the hospital when she was born. This might have actually worked as a reason, if Aunt Robin hadn’t been born on the concrete floor at Grandma’s favorite bar. I liked to think Aunt Robin is named for Puck, from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, because she was just as mischievous as the fairy.

sophia's long lost sister...?

bliss.

here we are, at the very end of the process of building our house. i'm starting to get antsy now; there are so many things i want to do. honey doesn't want the house to look trashy, nor do i. i do want it to be personal, not the epitome of mediocre.

i'm thinking of all that is to come, god willing. i will enjoy this. i am enjoying this. i keep daydreaming of our future. harley, jackson, sophia, and kitty-kitty all wandering about, with a baby swing in the living room, and little piles of baby clothes sitting on the couch, waiting to be folded. just thinking about that brings about a warm, fulfilled feeling in my heart. i can't help but to smile.

we had my other brother, a, down for the weekend. i love them, they're great. i see them in each other. (although that should be common sense seeing as to how they are twins. duh.) we were supposed to begin packing while he was here. woops. my mama even yelled at me about that shit. boo on her.

my grandma's 80th birthday is fast approaching. wow. i can't believe she'll be that old. aunt b mentioned something about a dinner at grandma's favorite restaurant. we'll see if that holds true. i'll be shocked if it does. i hope it does happen; it'd do her good in so many ways.