The second series of events set in motion during the Pallone Hotel Patio Fiasco of 2009 was my dad showing up after wandering in the wrong courtyard looking for us for some undisclosed amount of time that might have resembled about an hour. Dad shows up with his suitpants and a white t-shirt on and immediately takes a seat of honor and beer from Vince. Gina offers him a brownie, to which he automatically says, "These aren't marijuana brownies, are they?" .......
Because did you know, my family is big on marijuana brownies? And especially serving them on hotel patios? With a million kids around? And especially offering one to my dad? Well, I didn't either. Cut to the rest of us just losing our shit again and it taking a good 5 minutes to regain breathing function before we're able to have a conversation. Now I see where we all get it from. Epiphany.
Which isn't even the funniest part, a while later my dad leans over to my brother in law Mike and says, "Hey Mike, how would you ask an old lady if she wants some chicken?"
And so ends the rest of any coherent conversation during that evening because the only thing that happened after that was a series of different people in different pitch ranges, with differing volumes screaming at the top of their lungs, respectively, "DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!"
The end.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!
Let me explain.
This past weekend was my cousin on my father's side, Dominic's wedding in Ohio. 2, repeat 2 weeks ago I decided to pack the whole fam-damly up and go home for it. Leading up to our departure a series of hectic things occurred, per usual, and had me contemplating my intelligence score several times over. However, with the promise of things to come in my head, I persevered and boy was I not disappointed.
The wedding was beautiful, outdoors, under the shade of giant oak trees on the front lawn of this tiny little Inn in Granville, OH. After the ceremony, we all smashed inside for the dinner and dancing (aka. free Budweiser and wine). We danced a little, ate a lot, smoked cigars on the patio, and imbibed on a few free beverages. Then the beer ran out. So they broke out Bud Lite bottles and the party really got started. Excuse me, it's hot in her'.
Round about 8:45ish pm the little one was getting tired and we decided to continue the party back at our hotel where we could put him to sleep, go next door and drink the rest of the night away with my siblings. My brother Vince and his wife Heidi came with and voila! Grif hit the sack immediately and we were 3 or 7 drinks in, as well as 3 or 5 philosophical convo's in, by the time the rest of the fam showed up.
Needless to say, more drinks were poured and consumed hastily. And the first of 2 series of events was set in motion: I'm jittery still thinking of how hard we were laughing, or maybe that's the coffee. Who cares anyway. So, all of our rooms had walk out patios to this central courtyard thingy. We were on Vince and Heidi's patio and had accumulated round about 14 chairs from miscellaneous departments for all to have a seat. Mindi, my other sister in law, was the first victim. She was only maybe 1 or 2 drinks into the hotel scene when she decided to go back in the room for something and whamo right into the screen door, full tilt and dropped like a hotcake right ontop of Grant who was the lucky one in the chair closest to the door. What else would you do when you make a fool out of yourself in front of a hugemungous group of people, she blames Grant for "pushing her into the screen door", right.
Next up was Julia, Mindi and Noah's 7 year old daughter. She's talking and walking and talking and whamo II. Screen door meet Julia face. Hello? How are you? For this we try to muster not laughing so as not to hurt the little one's feelings, but no sooner is she out of earshot before we lose it and 1 if not 2 unnamed victims slightly peed themselves.
Third time's a charm and my sister Marie was that lucky charm. She decided to take a different approach and run through the screen from inside the room coming out, so we all got to see her face as she realized mesh is not as forgiving as once thought. And this was a pivotal run-in because she set the screendoor off the track. Setting up the 4th and finale of all screen door run-ins: Noah.
So in an attempt to encourage more gathering and boozing, my brother Noah went to his car to get 2 bag chairs he brought from home to set up outside. He was returning to the patio, from inside the room, 2 bag chairs over the shoulders and a beer in hand. Not only does he smack the screen door with his forehead, knock it to the ground and faceplant, he does it without dropping the chairs or his drink. It was a hotel patio miracle folks, and I wish you were there. Who needs church when you have God making miracles happen every day?
And I'll go on record here as the one who peed my pants, no qualms about it. And yes, it was well worth it.
This past weekend was my cousin on my father's side, Dominic's wedding in Ohio. 2, repeat 2 weeks ago I decided to pack the whole fam-damly up and go home for it. Leading up to our departure a series of hectic things occurred, per usual, and had me contemplating my intelligence score several times over. However, with the promise of things to come in my head, I persevered and boy was I not disappointed.
The wedding was beautiful, outdoors, under the shade of giant oak trees on the front lawn of this tiny little Inn in Granville, OH. After the ceremony, we all smashed inside for the dinner and dancing (aka. free Budweiser and wine). We danced a little, ate a lot, smoked cigars on the patio, and imbibed on a few free beverages. Then the beer ran out. So they broke out Bud Lite bottles and the party really got started. Excuse me, it's hot in her'.
Round about 8:45ish pm the little one was getting tired and we decided to continue the party back at our hotel where we could put him to sleep, go next door and drink the rest of the night away with my siblings. My brother Vince and his wife Heidi came with and voila! Grif hit the sack immediately and we were 3 or 7 drinks in, as well as 3 or 5 philosophical convo's in, by the time the rest of the fam showed up.
Needless to say, more drinks were poured and consumed hastily. And the first of 2 series of events was set in motion: I'm jittery still thinking of how hard we were laughing, or maybe that's the coffee. Who cares anyway. So, all of our rooms had walk out patios to this central courtyard thingy. We were on Vince and Heidi's patio and had accumulated round about 14 chairs from miscellaneous departments for all to have a seat. Mindi, my other sister in law, was the first victim. She was only maybe 1 or 2 drinks into the hotel scene when she decided to go back in the room for something and whamo right into the screen door, full tilt and dropped like a hotcake right ontop of Grant who was the lucky one in the chair closest to the door. What else would you do when you make a fool out of yourself in front of a hugemungous group of people, she blames Grant for "pushing her into the screen door", right.
Next up was Julia, Mindi and Noah's 7 year old daughter. She's talking and walking and talking and whamo II. Screen door meet Julia face. Hello? How are you? For this we try to muster not laughing so as not to hurt the little one's feelings, but no sooner is she out of earshot before we lose it and 1 if not 2 unnamed victims slightly peed themselves.
Third time's a charm and my sister Marie was that lucky charm. She decided to take a different approach and run through the screen from inside the room coming out, so we all got to see her face as she realized mesh is not as forgiving as once thought. And this was a pivotal run-in because she set the screendoor off the track. Setting up the 4th and finale of all screen door run-ins: Noah.
So in an attempt to encourage more gathering and boozing, my brother Noah went to his car to get 2 bag chairs he brought from home to set up outside. He was returning to the patio, from inside the room, 2 bag chairs over the shoulders and a beer in hand. Not only does he smack the screen door with his forehead, knock it to the ground and faceplant, he does it without dropping the chairs or his drink. It was a hotel patio miracle folks, and I wish you were there. Who needs church when you have God making miracles happen every day?
And I'll go on record here as the one who peed my pants, no qualms about it. And yes, it was well worth it.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Next Billy Elliot Emmerges
In terms of stressful life events I'm going to go ahead and throw out a 9 on the 1-10 scale these days. Can I decompress a minute? So in a nutshell, (Help! How did I get in this tiny nutshell?!), in the nutshell, the lazy, gradual merge back into the working world that I was planning on has taken a turn for the worse. But for good reason. The girl, Erin, who had previously taken over my work responsibilities post flying placenta is pregnant and I am awaiting her delivery to return to work part time. However, after a cleverly orchestrated maneuver with the bosses, we worked it so I could return a little early to "review" all the new goings on in our department so I would know what the hell I'm supposed to be doing there when I return.
After exactly 2 half-days of reviewing, Erin's baby decided he couldn't possibly miss this year's Tony awards and so Evan was born last Friday afternoon. Mama and babe are healthy and happy and loving life currently, whilst I shi# my pants because we have about 4 million things going on and I don't even know which button turns on the new printer in my office. Holy Xanax, Robin.
Remind me why I wanted so desperately to return to the working life of bees? At this point I would like to retract those statements and go back to wearing my pajamas all day and drinking 14 cups of coffee while watching my tivo'd episodes of Home Sweet Hollywood and Top Chef. Sorry about the confusion. No, I don't want to mastermind the entire department's study enrollment nor send out faculty emails about research updates or really even wear my hospital id. So leave me alone. Now pass me my coffee.
After exactly 2 half-days of reviewing, Erin's baby decided he couldn't possibly miss this year's Tony awards and so Evan was born last Friday afternoon. Mama and babe are healthy and happy and loving life currently, whilst I shi# my pants because we have about 4 million things going on and I don't even know which button turns on the new printer in my office. Holy Xanax, Robin.
Remind me why I wanted so desperately to return to the working life of bees? At this point I would like to retract those statements and go back to wearing my pajamas all day and drinking 14 cups of coffee while watching my tivo'd episodes of Home Sweet Hollywood and Top Chef. Sorry about the confusion. No, I don't want to mastermind the entire department's study enrollment nor send out faculty emails about research updates or really even wear my hospital id. So leave me alone. Now pass me my coffee.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Cough Up the 79 Cents for the Gerber Crap, It's Worth It
Round about 5 months ago I lost my mind. I decided that rather than buy perfectly good (and organic mind you) jarred baby food from the neighborhood grocery store, I would make him his first baby foods from scratch. Please don't let this cloud your judgement of me, I am college educated and got that stupid little gold emblem in the corner of my degree to boot. But alas, I embarked on a journey that there was no turning back from. And so help me, if this child ever once raises his voice to me or comes home after curfew you better believe he's going to get an earfull of homemade baby food ranting and several pots and pans thrown at him. I'm just saying.
Homemade baby food preparation, regardless of what your Homemade Baby Food Preparation Made Simple book will tell you, is basically everything you don't have rolled into 1 fantastic endeavor. You don't have the 3 hours it takes to start, prepare, and finish the process, you don't have the 14 extra pans it will require to successfully cook and store said food, you definitely forgot several of the ingredients required for 1 "simple"recipe, and you sure as hell don't have the patience to follow the "simple" directions. Start with this knowledge and you'll be far ahead of where I was when I lost my brain function trying to accomplish it. I would right my own book but it would be short, "Homemade Baby Food Preparation Rules: smack yourself in the forehead with a large steel soup ladle. The end."
Here follows a pictographic montage of the destruction involved in baby food prep 101: (You hilariously think you'll accomplish this whole task while the baby is taking his nap. You funny, funny lady).
It starts out simple enough with a few pots, a food processor, and some storage containers.
Only you didn't have the storage containers when you started cooking so you had to stop mid-prep to run on an hour and a half errand to Babies R Us to get some. Oh and the baby gets up as soon as you return. Awesome.
Then while you're cleaning, peeling, chopping, steaming, boiling, and processing the food, the baby freaks out. Pause for baby redirecting and distraction techniques 1-4.
By now you're accumulating more dirty dishes, silverware, tupperware, and towels than you ever realized existed on this planet.
And then you start dropping miscellaneous pieces of food, ie a carrot which swiftly becomes part of the dog's organic food preparation, not what you had in mind when you lost your mind taking on this project.
But finally, finally it is finished and your freezer is full of several home made baby food items which you cannot wait to try out on the baby because he is going to LOVE it, love, love, love...
Oh, he really hates, hates, hates it? He really makes a face so horrific you have to close your eyes lest you turn to stone? He really uses his entire body, cowlick to toenail, to gag on one small spoonful of carrots and sweet potatoes? Ha! Hahaha. Ha.
Good one, Life! Life = 24, Me = 0.
Homemade baby food preparation, regardless of what your Homemade Baby Food Preparation Made Simple book will tell you, is basically everything you don't have rolled into 1 fantastic endeavor. You don't have the 3 hours it takes to start, prepare, and finish the process, you don't have the 14 extra pans it will require to successfully cook and store said food, you definitely forgot several of the ingredients required for 1 "simple"recipe, and you sure as hell don't have the patience to follow the "simple" directions. Start with this knowledge and you'll be far ahead of where I was when I lost my brain function trying to accomplish it. I would right my own book but it would be short, "Homemade Baby Food Preparation Rules: smack yourself in the forehead with a large steel soup ladle. The end."
Here follows a pictographic montage of the destruction involved in baby food prep 101: (You hilariously think you'll accomplish this whole task while the baby is taking his nap. You funny, funny lady).
It starts out simple enough with a few pots, a food processor, and some storage containers.
Only you didn't have the storage containers when you started cooking so you had to stop mid-prep to run on an hour and a half errand to Babies R Us to get some. Oh and the baby gets up as soon as you return. Awesome.
Then while you're cleaning, peeling, chopping, steaming, boiling, and processing the food, the baby freaks out. Pause for baby redirecting and distraction techniques 1-4.
By now you're accumulating more dirty dishes, silverware, tupperware, and towels than you ever realized existed on this planet.
And then you start dropping miscellaneous pieces of food, ie a carrot which swiftly becomes part of the dog's organic food preparation, not what you had in mind when you lost your mind taking on this project.
But finally, finally it is finished and your freezer is full of several home made baby food items which you cannot wait to try out on the baby because he is going to LOVE it, love, love, love...
Oh, he really hates, hates, hates it? He really makes a face so horrific you have to close your eyes lest you turn to stone? He really uses his entire body, cowlick to toenail, to gag on one small spoonful of carrots and sweet potatoes? Ha! Hahaha. Ha.
Good one, Life! Life = 24, Me = 0.
Friday, May 29, 2009
There's More to Love Than Just the Irish Butter
Something crazy happens when I go over to my neighbor/landlord's house. I lose track of time and, or possibly because of, the fact that the baby behaves himself for extended periods of time. Did you hear that? To my friends who've not yet sprung life from their gonads, I will interpret: (in list form, of course)
a.) When you have a baby it's so easy at first because they're basically a stationary object, much like a giant hungry potato.
b.) When the baby grows, it acquires many new skills which are amazing and adorable.
c.) Eventually you realize God makes babies cute because the trick's on you and those adorable skills now render you a homebound, shut-in bunch of haywire nerves ready to self destruct at every moment and around every bend.
But for some reason, which may have something to do with several facts concerning how my neigh/lords are straight off the boat Irish, drink like fish, resemble TV characters, and speak in accents thicker than molasses, Griffin is completely at home and relaxed and good. I don't even dare talk about it less I break some kind of spell and he turns back into the firebreathing couch clutcher he once was long ago. Brrrr.
Anyhow, the neighlords are so sweet they are kind of obscene. Friends, listen. They actually love to cook me dinner. Comprende? Also? They push alcohol on me like they're my own flesh and blood. And that says AMEN all over it. I haven't been treated this nice since before I hit puberty and my parents decided I was adopted. The majesty. Needless to say I'm pretty much over there every day and you know its bad when I don't even bitch at Grant for coming home so late because I'm 3 sheets* and it's 10pm before I even know it. So what if my new best friends are 60+ years old? At least they can order off the Seniors menu at Bob Evans. What can you do?
*To the wind. Aka: shitty, shitty, bang, bang.
a.) When you have a baby it's so easy at first because they're basically a stationary object, much like a giant hungry potato.
b.) When the baby grows, it acquires many new skills which are amazing and adorable.
c.) Eventually you realize God makes babies cute because the trick's on you and those adorable skills now render you a homebound, shut-in bunch of haywire nerves ready to self destruct at every moment and around every bend.
But for some reason, which may have something to do with several facts concerning how my neigh/lords are straight off the boat Irish, drink like fish, resemble TV characters, and speak in accents thicker than molasses, Griffin is completely at home and relaxed and good. I don't even dare talk about it less I break some kind of spell and he turns back into the firebreathing couch clutcher he once was long ago. Brrrr.
Anyhow, the neighlords are so sweet they are kind of obscene. Friends, listen. They actually love to cook me dinner. Comprende? Also? They push alcohol on me like they're my own flesh and blood. And that says AMEN all over it. I haven't been treated this nice since before I hit puberty and my parents decided I was adopted. The majesty. Needless to say I'm pretty much over there every day and you know its bad when I don't even bitch at Grant for coming home so late because I'm 3 sheets* and it's 10pm before I even know it. So what if my new best friends are 60+ years old? At least they can order off the Seniors menu at Bob Evans. What can you do?
*To the wind. Aka: shitty, shitty, bang, bang.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
That's Why Grif's Not Allowed to Watch Extreme Home Makeover
So today was my first official day back to work post-'flying placenta' and it was a success. I had mixed feelings going in and Grif definitely smelled a rat (and one pro of living in BFE Bronx is that I know there's not a rat dead in my apartment somewhere, sorry B to the rooklyn) so he would not leave my side all morning as I got ready and the nanny came to take over. But he adapted and was good and happy and alive when I returned, which far exceeded my expectations of him shooting up heroin while pimping hookers in a craigslist sex crime ring while simultaneously clubbing a baby dolphin, shotgunning BPA, and misspelling s-e-p-a-r-a-t-e. Horror.
Work is an absolute shit show right now and reminds me of the Guinness Book guy who has to spin 43 plates simultaneously off of different parts of his body, a guy whom I have never admired nor even fully appreciated because, hello? Why are you doing that? You aggravate me, Guy. Stop it before I flick your nuts and really piss you off. You'll thank me later. But all in all, I'm glad I'm busy and don't have to think about the heroin and the grammar catastrophes because I would surely give up on the whole "living in the black" idea and go back to where we're comfortable, flaming hot in the red.
Enough about my gay friend, let's talk gossip. I don't want to name drop, but I kind of do, and so I must tell you I'm a bridesmaid in a wedding this fall wherein the bride's bachelorette party is in South Hampton this summer, ergo I will be in South Hampton this summer in a fatty bo batty house with a pool and I'm kind of so excited about it my eyebrows hurt, so there's that. And in total transparency I also must tell you that a certain Housewife of NYC that may or may not be affiliated with a certain reality TV show and is also a caterer may be playing a part in the bachelorette festivities. I need to be honest with you, it's kind of a big deal. So there's also that.
In summation, this is a good day and I'm on my second vodka and lemonade proceeded by two glasses of amazing red wine from my landlord/neighbor (I really have to tell you about him) and I am feeling Tony the Tiger: Grrreat. And I needed this like Ty Pennington needs Ritalin. You know it's bad. Holla.
Work is an absolute shit show right now and reminds me of the Guinness Book guy who has to spin 43 plates simultaneously off of different parts of his body, a guy whom I have never admired nor even fully appreciated because, hello? Why are you doing that? You aggravate me, Guy. Stop it before I flick your nuts and really piss you off. You'll thank me later. But all in all, I'm glad I'm busy and don't have to think about the heroin and the grammar catastrophes because I would surely give up on the whole "living in the black" idea and go back to where we're comfortable, flaming hot in the red.
Enough about my gay friend, let's talk gossip. I don't want to name drop, but I kind of do, and so I must tell you I'm a bridesmaid in a wedding this fall wherein the bride's bachelorette party is in South Hampton this summer, ergo I will be in South Hampton this summer in a fatty bo batty house with a pool and I'm kind of so excited about it my eyebrows hurt, so there's that. And in total transparency I also must tell you that a certain Housewife of NYC that may or may not be affiliated with a certain reality TV show and is also a caterer may be playing a part in the bachelorette festivities. I need to be honest with you, it's kind of a big deal. So there's also that.
In summation, this is a good day and I'm on my second vodka and lemonade proceeded by two glasses of amazing red wine from my landlord/neighbor (I really have to tell you about him) and I am feeling Tony the Tiger: Grrreat. And I needed this like Ty Pennington needs Ritalin. You know it's bad. Holla.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Like A Short, White Oprah
Listen, I've been known to exaggerate a number or two to make a point*, who doesn't, but no exaggerating required to implore upon you to shoot and dismember the voice in your head if it ever tries to convince you to sign up for a half or full fledged marathon, because you will be forced to run 4,599 miles a day in preparation for your race. Now, maybe it's just the fat little short girl inside of me that thinks that's a bit ridiculous, but you be the judge. And when has that fat little short girl ever led me astray? She was right about the Skinny Cow ice cream, and that makes her credible in any language.
Nuf said.
PS. Grant's always trying to up his funny scale to make a cameo on this website, and recently he did by not even trying. He forwarded me his registration email for the NYC half marathon and the subject line was, "I'm an idiot". Several emails later he forwarded me my registration email, subject: "You're an idiot". Touche' my love, touche'.
*Did I tell you how upon hosting 2 friends to New York for the first time I told them Central Park was, "Like 7 acres big!"? No? Okay, pretend I never told you that.
Nuf said.
PS. Grant's always trying to up his funny scale to make a cameo on this website, and recently he did by not even trying. He forwarded me his registration email for the NYC half marathon and the subject line was, "I'm an idiot". Several emails later he forwarded me my registration email, subject: "You're an idiot". Touche' my love, touche'.
*Did I tell you how upon hosting 2 friends to New York for the first time I told them Central Park was, "Like 7 acres big!"? No? Okay, pretend I never told you that.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Who Needs Marilyn Monroe...
...when you've got this Little Dude?
Happy Birthday, Mr. Laugh More!
And Caitlin, too!
Hats and candles courtesy of Stacey Marie Hall. Of course. (Streamer not pictured.)
Good times. And successful in terms of no one lost their dinner over the side of our front porch this time. Remind me to tell you the story of the weird British dude in Grant's MBA class. It's a keeper.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Laugh More!
And Caitlin, too!
Hats and candles courtesy of Stacey Marie Hall. Of course. (Streamer not pictured.)
Good times. And successful in terms of no one lost their dinner over the side of our front porch this time. Remind me to tell you the story of the weird British dude in Grant's MBA class. It's a keeper.
Centering
Yesterday, we spent the day in Central Park because, 1. It's Central Park and 2. the Bronx is not Central Park. The weather was amazing, there were thousands of people there, and it was spectacular. I'm less and less in love with NY every day, but that day in the park with awesome friends was one thing I will miss. There's something about picnicking with so many people, albeit strangers, that makes you feel like its not the biggest city in America, but more like a neighborhood block party.
It is also the only place we can take Mr. Grifster now where he is content and cannot get into too much trouble. I say not too much because several times I did find him chewing miscellaneous items of Mother Nature, eh, oh well. Our ancestors used to eat twigs and berries in Prehistoric times and they seemed to manage, right? It's good fiber anyway.
You tell me, is this the face of a kid who's not loving the hell out of himself? I concur.
It is also the only place we can take Mr. Grifster now where he is content and cannot get into too much trouble. I say not too much because several times I did find him chewing miscellaneous items of Mother Nature, eh, oh well. Our ancestors used to eat twigs and berries in Prehistoric times and they seemed to manage, right? It's good fiber anyway.
You tell me, is this the face of a kid who's not loving the hell out of himself? I concur.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Automatic Update
Listen, we have a lot to cover in a very short time, so zip it and listen.
Item 1: I have not had much time to post lately because Griffin has morphed into some kind of rollerskating chimpanzee on steroids and caffeine. (Watch for his piece on Ripley's Believe It or Not).
Item 2: We just returned from 2 weeks in Ohio visiting family/ hosting a baby shower/ attending baptisms/ I can't even remember what happened so I'm a little on the fritz.
Item 3: Hunter the Magnificent is currently at summer camp at Grandma and Grandpa's horse farm which surprisingly is making me appreciate the little bastard a lot more. (Holy backfire, Batman).
Item 4: I think I've entered the hysterical phase of parenthood, brought on possibly by the fact that my 9 month old refuses to sleep more than 2.5 hours consecutively, and when I found a completely foreign pair of brand new, never before worn pair of dyeable bridesmaid shoes* in my closet, size 6.5 (because you know I haven't fit into a shoe that small since Janet Jackson had a hit album) I started hysterically laughing until I almost peed myself.
Item 5: I return to work in exactly 9 days [Insert gasp and music crescendo here].
Item 6: I have more items on my to do list than OJ has felony charges.
Item 7: The contents of my frig include a spoiled gallon of milk, frozen broccoli, and 42 Yuengling. (Who says making your own baby food is hard? Who?!)
If I think of any other notable items, I'll call you. Better yet, I'll show up on your doorstep asking you for money and I accept personal checks.
*If these perchance are yours, I'll sell them back to you for $49.99 or a month of babysitting. You're welcome, that's what friends are for.
Item 1: I have not had much time to post lately because Griffin has morphed into some kind of rollerskating chimpanzee on steroids and caffeine. (Watch for his piece on Ripley's Believe It or Not).
Item 2: We just returned from 2 weeks in Ohio visiting family/ hosting a baby shower/ attending baptisms/ I can't even remember what happened so I'm a little on the fritz.
Item 3: Hunter the Magnificent is currently at summer camp at Grandma and Grandpa's horse farm which surprisingly is making me appreciate the little bastard a lot more. (Holy backfire, Batman).
Item 4: I think I've entered the hysterical phase of parenthood, brought on possibly by the fact that my 9 month old refuses to sleep more than 2.5 hours consecutively, and when I found a completely foreign pair of brand new, never before worn pair of dyeable bridesmaid shoes* in my closet, size 6.5 (because you know I haven't fit into a shoe that small since Janet Jackson had a hit album) I started hysterically laughing until I almost peed myself.
Item 5: I return to work in exactly 9 days [Insert gasp and music crescendo here].
Item 6: I have more items on my to do list than OJ has felony charges.
Item 7: The contents of my frig include a spoiled gallon of milk, frozen broccoli, and 42 Yuengling. (Who says making your own baby food is hard? Who?!)
If I think of any other notable items, I'll call you. Better yet, I'll show up on your doorstep asking you for money and I accept personal checks.
*If these perchance are yours, I'll sell them back to you for $49.99 or a month of babysitting. You're welcome, that's what friends are for.
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