And You Better Believe I Left My Name, Address, and Phone Number

The other night whilst finally resting after a long day, Grant and I were drifting off to sleep when all of a sudden we heard what sounded like a barage of carbombs going off in our backyard. Needless to say, after we changed into dry pants, we were none to happy for the disturbance. I was convinced they were bombs, of course they were bombs, and if you even tried to suggest otherwise I was going to feed you to the bombs exploding just inches from our apartment. In case I haven't made my point, BOMBS.

Grant was not so convinced after the "bombs" continued for 5 or 10 or 85,000 minutes, so he wanted to go outside to investigate. Investigate the bombs? You are out of you everloving mind my friend. In case you haven't noticed, we have 1 child and another on the way and I'm pretty sure we're not set up with life insurance plans yet so like hell I'm going to let you go outside to investigate the bombs. Bomb investigation is no longer in your future, Dear One, move on.

However, that one tends not to listen to the hysterical rantings I've been prone to lately, so he went out back to see what was going on. He thought maybe it was fireworks, but we couldn't see anything so I was flying through every news channel waiting for the bomb destruction coverage on TV but not one thing was said about it. Finally, we both went all the way outside and could barely see the tops of fireworks over the tree line of central park. Turns out, the NY Philharmonic and the Shanghai Orchestra were having a concert and some ass-brain thought it would be a great idea to set off a thousand fireworks over a city of 9 million people living on top of each other at 10:30 at night, on a Wednesday.

Well. Did you ever see someone dial 311 faster than the speed of sound? Because I sure as hell did and when the friendly customer service representative asked me exactly what my complaint was, he may have heard something like this, "ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME WITH THESE FIREWORKS AT 10:30 AT NIGHT AND KID SLEEPING, BABY IN UTERO, WOMAN STRESS LEVELS IN PREGNANCY, NAUSEA, VOMITING, BOMBS, HUSBAND DEAD, NO MONEY, MASS DESTRUCTION, F-ING SYMPHONY IDIOTS, SHANGHAI REDICULOUSNESS, SUE THE MAYOR, DEATHSQUAD TO PARKS DEPARTMENT"!

It's been a few days and I'm still waiting for my complaint to be followed up on.

If I don't hear anything soon, I'm calling Chuck Norris. I swear I will.

Today, Yada Yada, Vol. 9

I almost, almost roundhouse kicked a woman's ass for selling a jogger right out from under me. I haven't been this mad since Kathie Lee joined the Today Show.

Bring It On, Mom Vs. Manny Edition

Lately Mother Nature and I have had somewhat of a falling out. I mistakenly thought we were homegirlz now that I've created, carried, and birthed another human life into this world, but alas, we are not. I guess all good friends tend to differ on certain subjects, and old Mama Nature and I differ on this: IT'S TOO F-ING COLD AND RAINY FOR MID-APRIL. Now, I'm not sure what she wants from me, perhaps I should have shot 2 babies and 2 placentas forth from my uterus to warrant a weightier opinion on the matter. And all I have to say to that is "Mother Nature, eat shit". You have forever caused my boobs and my ankles to be next door neighbors, and I can't sacrifice much more than that.So in light of our recent crappy weather, I took the bambino to the Children's Museum of Manhattan yesterday and I think my feelings about it can be summed up in the song: The Wind Beneath My Wings. This place makes McDonald's Playspace look like the Humane Society. And at this point in the winter (Because yes, fun fact: it's still winter in New York!) I'm not above taking him to the Humane Society and dropping him off for a little tummy time. He'd probably like it better than our matchbox apartment right now anyway. But thankfully, the CMOM saved us from flea bites and Children's services investigations, always a good thing.

The entire 3rd floor is a magical land of playthings for babies and crawlers especially. He spent 3 hours there and would have kept it up had not either of the following 2 things happened, which they did. 1. We'll just call her "hyperactive", hyperactive 6 year old Chuck Norris's him to the face with her shoes on. (Let me interpret that for any childless readers of this site: A GROWN woman tried to KILL my baby). And #2. I go completely apeshit on the grown woman's Manny and almost get arrested before deciding to quietly take my leave of CMOM.
In retrospect, no I do not expect that Grif will never get rough-housed or kicked, slapped, pushed around by other children. I guarantee he will. However, my issue is with the Manny and his utter inability to have a motherloving clue what he should be doing with the hyperactive 6 year old. Hey Manny, possibly taking a hopped up second grader to the baby room is not such a good idea, else you appreciate your ass being kicked by wackjob mom's on a regular basis.

You're Welcome,
The Management

Day Dream Believer

The ongoing catastrophe that is my sleep-dream cycle has once again spiraled out of control. Evidently, my real life isn't scary enough that I have to make up the craziest shit ever while trying to rest.

Cut to: the fog lifts to a scene between me (who is not really married to Grant anymore) Grant's mom and his dad. [I know you, you're thinking, "This is gonna be good!"]

Grant's dad to mom: So what I'm trying to say is, I had an affair 28 years ago and Grant is not really yours, he's mine and Teresa's somewhat related aunt (who is a fictitious person).

Grant's mom: Oh, okay then.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK?

Grant's mom: Well, it makes sense. I'm not mad at you, we've been married a long time and things like this are bound to happen. I'm glad you told me.

Me: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

Grant's dad: Don't worry Teresa, it's not your fault.

Me: I'm sorry, did you just say my fault? How the hell would this be my fault? I don't even know this woman you're saying is my aunt. And furthermore, are you insane? How can you not know you didn't give birth to your child? You're batshit, people. All of you.

Scene ends with Grant's parents trying to give me a group hug.

Holy hell, I'd rather just be awake. And though now I seriously want to Chuck Norris someone's face, I can't decide between his dad, his mom, my fictitious aunt, or Grant.

Intro To Chuck Norris School of Communication

Well-Meaning Woman: How has your life changed since Griffin was born?
Me: In so many wonderful ways, I can't imagine my life without him.
WMW: How has your day to day life changed?
Me: Well, most of my day has to be reorganized into small bursts of activity around when he needs me.
WMW: Would you say you're still able to do a Suduko a day?
Me: (Commence roundhouse kicking to WMW's face).

Dear Rude Child Haters at all NYC Restaurants

Shove it. If I want to take my beautiful, smart, hilarious baby out to dinner with me I will do so whenever the hizzy I want and I don't give a rat's ass if that makes you uncomfortable in some way. It's probably because you're cold and heartless and eat small children for breakfast a la Grinch, or your panties are so far up your a-hole you can taste them. Either way, I'm not concerned for your health and happiness or freedom of religion.

That being said, the next time someone shoots me a dirty "get that stinking, breastmilk eating, poopy butted baby out of here" look I'm totally going Chuck Norris on their face until they resemble more a roadkilled opossum and less a human being while they beg for mercy out of their pointy little snout. Yeah, I'm talking to you Annoying German Guy with your rat-faced, mangey dogs pissing all over the sidewalk tables we're eating at. And yes this is possibly a hormone fueled rant but isn't it nice? And food for thought, if Senor Norris had these hormones on his side, he'd kick everyone's asses a WHOLE LOT FASTER.

Random News Friday

I'm riding pretty high today due to two wonderful events:
1. I got my new cell phone battery FINALLY. (Yes, no more "Hi-nu-uh-shut-up-gotta-go-just-text-me" calls to my friends, compliments of EBay.)
~and~
2. I'm going home to Columbus tomorrow to see the Crazies, I mean... The family. (Double yes, and I get to meet Logan, my new nephew, for the first time.)

So I'm basically rocking on with my bad self right now, watching the minute hand on my computer's digital clock tick by.

Also: My dog got attacked on our walk home from the craft store last night by some giant, snarling, brown beast that tried to eat us. That was pretty not cool. I finally got the beast in a choke hold while simultaneously elbow dropping his owner, just in time to see Hunter limping around on his right front leg. I admit I am extremely embarrassingly attached to my dog, but for real? Playing ball with your dumb dog off his leash, in the street, at 6 o'clock on a weeknight is not exactly advisable - Dipwad. Dipwad gave me her phone number and address and told me how sorry she was all of one time. Then she said, "They just scared each other, I think. Hehehe." WTF? No, I refuse you, Dipwad, you have been refused forever and ever, Amen. Now go play in the street, just leave your dog inside.
Sidebar: Hunter is okay, he's a tough dude. You know, raised on the inner city streets and all.

E.A.S.

Dear Elbow Lady on the A Express Train This Morning,

I understand that you may have had a rough morning. I, myself, have had many, many, many rough mornings since taking up residence in this Great and Holy city. However, never have I thought it appropriate to stab someone on my morning commute with not one, but both of my elbows in a flurry of skin and bone. But you, Elbow Lady, were not willing to overlook one more subway personal space slight on July 17th, 2007. Oh no, you looked me straight in the eye, after I unknowingly and innocently brushed your arm with my work bag, and gutted me with your elbows while attempting with all your might to make me shrivel up and die from your glare.

Don't get me wrong, in some ways I value your personal space and politeness stance. There have been times when I too have felt the need to strike out at all that is unfair in this world by attacking the person blocking my way to the exit doors. That being said, I have to ask you, Elbow Lady, what if we all decided to wreak havoc with our body parts on unsuspecting passengers in mass transit systems all across the world every morning? Think of the horror. Add to that the overall stench that is ingrained so deep into the bowels of this city that my nasal passages are forever scarred and may never smell the sweetness of a fresh baked cookie ever again, and you tell me we need more violence in our subways. Well? WELL!

Therefore, as my part, I will overlook today's unfortunate experience. But so help me Lord, Elbows, if I ever see you again on any form of public transportation, and if when I see you, you commit some itsy, bitsy impoliteness to anyone around you, trust that I will fly at you like furious vengeance until you beg for mercy from a crumpled heap underneath my feet. This is only fair, and the karma fairies have taken notice this day. So be ye forewarned, I have your number and I'm not afraid to use it.

XOXO,
E.A.S. (Elbow Attack Survivor)

Service Without the Smile

I was truly very excited this morning to find myself at the front of the McDonald's order line, mouth salivating at the thought of the impending deliciousness that is McDonald's breakfast, when a very interesting gentleman FLEW up to the counter right in front of me and SHOUTED that he had been waiting longer than me and wanted to order a McGriddle and a coffee!! Yes, it requires two exclamation points. He came out of nowhere, I swear. And scared the living shit out of me. And! It was like waking up Christmas morning to find that not only are there no presents with your name on them, but Santa is dead on your living room floor and all the little children are never going to get any presents either. I couldn't do anything but stand there and gawk at this screaming man who was hungry and starving for his McGriddle and coffee! I didn't even step back from the counter. I just stayed right there, rooted to the spot, within breaths of the lunatic. I wanted to slap his impatient little ass and send him home to his mama where he should ask for some lessons in MANNERS! But instead, I stood there like a turd with people tripping over my jaw that was lying on the floor several feet away from me, saying nothing. It's times like these that I wish I was a 300-pound, weight lifting, black belt wearing, facial hair growing, Comanche, kamikaze, Chuck Norris Trainee who could beat the living daylights out of that guy just by making eye contact with him. Where are you when I need you, Chuck? That would have been totally sweet.

*Note to self: enroll in The Norris School of Performing Combat.