Not to be outdone in the ridiculous quote department by my sister, here are some gems from my littlest brother that I found in my unpublished drafts:
-Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooom! Can. I. Have. Some. More. ChocolateMilk. PLEASE?!? -No. -I won't puke! I PROMISE! -No. -Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooom! -No.
-**knock** Is somebody in there?! -Yes! I'll be out in a minute. **silence** -DO NOT GET NAKED IN THE HALLWAY! **silence** -DO NOT! -I'm not! - (yeah right)
Me: I got a giant bag of books! I even got some for you! Her: What? (sighs audibly) What the f*** kind of book did you get me? Me: Eclipse, the third Twilight book. Her: Oh, sweet!
Me: I have sexy hair today! Look! Her: How'd you get it all curly on the bottom? Me: I left it tied up in a knot at the back of my neck all day yesterday. Her: Eww, you didn't wash your hair today? Me: I only wash my hair about two or three times a week. Her: Eww, that's gross. Me: No, it's not. Any professional hairdresser will tell you it's better to not shampoo your hair every day. Her: Ugh. Me: And anyway, how is this shocking? You knew this already! I've been doing this for the last 15 years! Fifteen years! Her: Ugh.
I grew up watching a helluva lot of HBO (because my father stole our cable from the neighbors, naturally) and this song was one of my favorites. I've never seen the show (or read the book) it's apparently taken from, though. I think HBO just cut all the songs up and aired them in between programs.
It's relevant because I took the boys to the library today for "Summer Reading Program" activities and they were forced, strangely enough, to watch this in exchange for a soft pretzel. Brown-Eyes happily munched on his over the course of an hour while Blue-Eyes absolutely refused to take one with crossed arms, high-pitched loud voice, and everything. And no, I still have no idea why he got so angry and melodramatic over being offered a free pretzel.
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Romance author Jennifer Crusie pointed me to a blog where half of the pictures tend to remind me of something my friend Elliott either once did or will likely one day do.
The one that most comes to mind involves the time I went down to his dorm room in college and watched him happily stick half his body out of the window and proudly reemerge with a cold Dr. Pepper he'd chilled in the snow sitting on top of the central air-conditioning unit outside.
My favorite picture, though, is this ingenious spoon:
Duct Tape + Zip Tie = Spoon, indeed.
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"The Inventory" is easily my favorite regular feature at The A.V. Club and there was a particularly awesome one today concerning R. Kelly and gratuitous and often bizarre sexual acts mentioned on his recent album.
Also, I will totally buy their book when it comes out and place it on my coffee table... once I move out of my parents' house and again have a coffee table to put books on.
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And "So You Think You Can Dance" finally got good again. I think I forget every year that the dancing usually doesn't get crazy amazing until it gets closer to the Top 10 and they weed out most of the dancers who aren't versatile enough to pull off routines not in their particular specialty.
Man, I frickin love Wade Robson. He is totally my favorite choreographer on the show even if his stuff is sometimes absurdly strange. And I will say that I think Brandon's a great dancer but he has a bad habit (or unfortunate birth defect) of being unable to not look like Carlton from "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air." He also looks particularly stupid when he pouts and he does that all of the damn time.
I had never read the book as a child. Then, I discovered a copy while cleaning out the kid's entertainment center downstairs and picked it up and started reading it to Blue-Eyes (who quickly started yelling at me that he already read that one in school). And it was totally awesome. I mean, this asshole Sam is being totally annoying and the narrator just keeps yelling at him that he doesn't like this bizarre disgusting food and I was totally waiting for the punchline where the narrator just can't take it anymore, goes ape-shit, and takes Sam out. And then the book got stupid. Because it turned out that the narrator never even tried the nasty pile of green grossness. And when he does, he doesn't even have enough righteous indignation at that asshole Sam to even pretend that it tastes like ass. He just has to teach children about the importance of not making rash judgment based on appearance. Like anyone's gonna learn that lesson before age 16 anyways.
All I'm saying is, if I had been the narrator, I would have shoved that plate right up Sam-I-Am's ass. And no one would blame me. Or be surprised in the slightest.
On my first day off from work in six days, I stumbled downstairs at the bright hour of 11am this morning and found the following sitting on the sofa...
You've been desperately waiting for me to update this damn blog with something other than a book review.
And you're in luck!
Kids stories it is!
Also, for children's safety sake, I'm going to refer to the wee ones (to steal Laura and Carrie's phrase) from here on out as Big Man and Little Man. Quick catch-up: Big Man is seven, is in first grade, likes to pretend he doesn't love that I give him a kiss on the cheek every morning before I go to work and every evening when I get home, and is kinda my favorite of the two. (What? I didn't birth them. I'm allowed to have a favorite. We have a bond.) Little Man is five, is a walking sound-effects machine, is so skinny you can see every one of his ribs, and likes to beat up the puppy something fierce.
Ok, so the story involves me painting my room last Wednesday, picking Big Man up from school, and letting both boys play in there while I finished up. (Which really just meant that at the end of the day I ended up with a homemade Lego Tie Fighter sitting on my dresser. )
Anyways, I left the boys in my room while I went to wash paint off my hands and, as I was standing there at the sink, I heard a pretty tinkling noise. I quickly realized that Spoon's "The Underdog" was blaring from the i-pod hooked up to the speakers in my room and all made sense. That is, until I remembered that there's really no chimes or bells or anything in that song. Brass horns? Yes. Chimes? No. So, I popped my head into the room only to find Little Man, sitting on the floor with his head against the speaker, playing along to the song on his toy xylophone.
Yeah, I said "toy xylophone." You're head totally exploded from a cute overdose, right?
Seeing as that toy's a "baby toy" he grew out of years ago, the song must have just warranted it.
Yeah. Seriously. Too fucking cute. He does shit like that all the time, too.
The newest addition to this overstuffed household.
She's a blue heeler (also known as an Australian cattle dog), and it's the same breed our other dog, Holly, is.
She's nice and docile and quiet. Except around Brown-Eyes, who keeps trying to choke her. I think he likes being able to beat someone in the house up. Well, I bet she bites him before the week's out, and he'll more than deserve it.
Sometimes, children are adorable. They say cute things, they dance on your bed while waving your i-pod around in the air, they smile at you with their tiny little faces, they hug their stuffed hippos, and they happily make fire-engine siren noises while lying in bed for an hour every single night.
But, sometimes, they're pure and unadulterated evil. Oh yes, they're the veritable spawn of Satan.
Now, I'm not talking about normal bad behavior. You know, the saying of bad words, the pushing and shoving and general attempted fratricide, the whining, the screaming, the constant "I'm gonna puke!" threats whenever you deign to punish them or refuse to be at their beck and call.
No, I'm talking about the death threats. The "Tab, I hate you"'s spoken in an angelic voice with an evil little smile on their face. The smug little looks of "hah, I hate you and I'm absolutely letting you know that you, my dear cousin/sister, are complete and utter garbage."
And after two months, it was royally starting to piss me off.
So, I took measures into my own hands and came up with an incredibly suitable punishment.
The boys understand cause and effect really well. I inadvertently created butt-shaking monsters three years ago when I made Blue-Eyes repeatedly shaking his ass at me into a fun game in which I chased him down and smacked his tush.
So, now comes kamakazi kissing. Whenever the boys insult me, I grab them and give them an exaggerated smooch on the cheek. They (mostly my man Blue-Eyes) giggle and laugh and smile, and I declare "Man, you must really love me if you want all these kisses!" My feelings don't get hurt and the boys get attention and affection. The sheer quantity of vicious insults has gone down quite a bit, as has the severity. It seems to be working pretty well for all concerned.
My current goal is to try and write at least one entry every day for the next week. Many of them will probably just be quick kid anecdotes or movie reviews. We shall see. At least I have a goal.
Anyway... kid anecdote it is this morning.
So, I unfortunately learned the hard way last night that, while playing tag, I am under no circumstances allowed to tag Brown-Eyes. Because he immediately stops cold and bursts into uncontrollable tears.
Umm. What?
I know he's just a little guy and all but... I mean, he's way faster than all of us. He's like a frickin little bullet train. And was ECSTATIC to play.
Well, it turns out the former nanny's demon-spawn children conditioned him that way. Instead of tagging the first child they could reach, the little bastards would pick on the smallest and actively ambush and target the little guy. Man, I hate those boys. Luckily, the nanny (the same one who was reprimanded for allowing 4 and 6yr olds to play "Halo") was recently fired. She was told it was for "financial reasons" but it was mostly for a general and persistent apathy.
Yeah, Blue-Eyes had to explain, in a "duh, Tab" voice that his little brother can't be tagged. It was a pretty cute "big brother" moment on his part. Especially since he said it in a sort of protective matter-of-fact way and not with the annoyed "my brother is such a loser" undertones you'd expect. Go Blue-Eyes. Even if he is insisting on calling me "Tabby" at the moment to annoy me (the little demon spawn).
Hello! My name is Tabs and I read and write about novels--usually of the romantic persuasion. I also love the color red more than anything on this earth and have never been the same since the first time someone made me red velvet cake.
Duct Tape + Zip Tie = Spoon, indeed.
But, sometimes, they're pure and unadulterated evil. Oh yes, they're the veritable spawn of Satan.
