Oct 182012
 

Please excuse me while I micro-blog here super quick.

Flea Market Finds!

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Against Henry’s wishes, I bought these lamps for the future clown room. Chooch marched right up to the lady selling them and asked how much she wanted. Chooch is the best mouthpiece! Apparently, he was grocery-shopping with his grandma Judy and Henry a few weeks ago, and as Judy tells the story, Chooch walked with authority over to some broad and asked, “Excuse me, do you shop here often?” After she said yes, Chooch asked, “Then do you know where to find the Tofurkey??”

There’s a little vegan girl in his class, but I’m sure that had NOTHING to do with his hunt for faux-deli slices.

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We let Chooch buy this pillow at the flea market because hello, he’s the Cat King. The lady selling them had stepped away from her booth, but we waited dilligently for her to return because I was NOT letting my feline-obsessed child go home without a cat cushion for his cranium.

Allen’s Haunted Hayride

There was some knock down-drag out at the grocery store between Henry and Chooch Saturday morning, leaving Henry to call me and shout, “THIS KID IS NOT GOING ANYWHERE TONIGHT!”

We were supposed to take him on his first haunted hayride, so I was completely bummed out about this.

“Why do I have to be punished for something Chooch did?” I cried. But Henry held firm.

“He’s NOT going,” he reiterated.

In then end, Chooch and I left Henry at home baking pies and went to the hayride anyway. My brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle joined us, and Corey had this big Halloween gift bag for Chooch.

“It’s from our mom,” he muttered, while Chooch ravaged the contents.

This made my heart hurt so bad. I’ve mentioned it on here before, but October is the one month I miss my estranged mom. I miss going to haunted houses with her (and having her pay), hosting bonfires at her house (and having her provide all the food and liquor), watching horror movies at her house, and ALL OF THE DECORATIONS. God, she used to do it up proper-style.

But…this is not the mom she is anymore. And pining for something that is long since gone is futile and a huge waste of time. Meanwhile, Chooch didn’t even question it, he just dug right on into the bag. And there was lots of really good shit in there, too.

I wonder if she even knows what he looks like now.

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Replacement Big Green Glasses!

My friends Tammy and Rick, ever so thoughtful, gifted me with new glasses at the Pie Party on Sunday, knowing how forlorn I was when my other pair broke. I love them! I can pretty much see better out of those than my contacts.

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Motherfucker in a White Van

This morning on my walk home from taking Chooch to school, I had the right of way to cross the street. Some dickhead in a white work van had just rolled up to the stop sign moments prior to me stepping off the curb, and gestured impatiently for me to cross. Here are some things I found wrong with this picture:

  • I had the right of way.
  • There was nowhere for him to go anyway, considering the street he was trying to turn on to was at a traffic standstill.
  • I had the right of way.
  • I had the right of way. (I looked it up, even! “When traffic-control signals are not in place or are not in operation, the driver of a vehicle shall yield the right-of-way to a pedestrian crossing the roadway within any marked crosswalk or within any unmarked crosswalk at an intersection.”)
  • I don’t permit motherfuckers to gesture impatiently at me.
  • I HAD THE RIGHT OF WAY. PEDESTRIANS RULE.

This jackass picked the wrong motherfucking day to get all impatient on me. As previously noted on this blog, I was having a Bad Morning. In fact, Henry was presently getting an ear-beating from me when this all took place, and he’s one lucky motherfucker because I instantly redirected all of my hatred upon this new unmarked van-driving douchebag.

(At the time of the street-crossing, I had been shouting at Henry about how I was going to take a hatchet to our piece of shit couch, chop it into 18 pieces, throw it to the curb and then buy BEAN BAG CHAIRS TO SIT ON, MOTHERFUCKER. God, I hate that couch!!!)

First, I looked this dumbshit in the eyeballs and yelled, “YEAH, I KNOW I CAN CROSS, YOU ASSHOLE!” I continued to glare at him the entire way across the street, and then for two more blocks, I screamed into the phone about this pathetic Yinzer fuckstick who was probably all bent out of shape because his precious STILLERS blow this year. Taking it out on some precious street-crosser is not going to change that fact, you cocksucker!

I was just getting done screaming, “I hope I see him again tomorrow and every day after! I’M GOING TO RUIN HIM!” when I happened to look to my left and noticed some broad sitting on her front porch, quietly drinking her coffee, and staring at me expectantly.

And I still kept bitching even after I grew tired of bitching to Henry and hung up on him.

Man, that dumbfuck walked right the fuck onto my war path…the van driver and Henry.

Near-Fatal Work Injury!

Yesterday, I inflicted upon myself the motherlode of all paper cuts.

Barb was supposed to be looking for a Bandaid in her drawer when suddenly I heard her exclaim, “Ooh! A Heath bar!”

That’s OK, Barb. I’m just BLEEDING OUT, THAT’S ALL.

Today, once all the BLOOD AND SWELLING went away, I was able to see that there were actually EIGHT (8) cuts, not 4.5 like I originally counted at the time of slicing.

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This is what my hand looked like by the time I found a Bandaid.

Current Favorite Glenns!

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Did a bunch more today, including a Glenn or Glenda one as suggested by my friend Chris, which so far has only been appreciated by ONE PERSON (Amber2 who is obviously super smart and has excellent taste in cinema).

Perhaps tomorrow I will drink some energy drinks and write about the pie party. I at least have all of the photos ready! Ah, memories of when I was a real, dedicated blogger.

  3 Responses to “Word Jambalaya”

  1. That cat pillow is incredible! Those paper cuts make me hurt. I used to work at a printing company and paper cuts were just part of the job, but one time I was straightening a stack of vellum and got like three hundred cuts and that was the worst thing EVER. For real, never get all up in vellum’s business. It’ll kick your ass. Love your nails! And the Jeffrey Dahmer Glenn might be my new favorite.

  2. Jeffrey Dahmer Glenn is my favorite Glenn by far.

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