May 282008
 

The lamest parade passes in front of my house every Memorial Day. For as lame as it is, I haven’t missed a single note from the high school marching bands, a single lopsided cartwheel from the toddler dance troupe,  a single Shriner go-cart in the eight years I’ve lived here. And then afterward, I heartily bitch about how lame it all was. I know, I know, some towns don’t have parades, so I should be grateful, blah blah blah.

I spent the majority of the parade hissing every time a patrol car passed by. Fuckin’ pigs.

Chooch is at that age where he could give a shit about waving congressmen, the Kennywood trolley, and Boy Scouts carrying tall flags; it was a feat to keep him from running away until he discovered that sometimes, people passing by might toss a little candy his way. He turned back toward the street with a crazed hunger in his eyes, interest mounted. He recruited two of the neighbors to be his candy-gathering bitches and quickly built up an impressive mound of treats. Eventually, he would just point at people until they personally handed him suckers and mini Snickers, then he’d run to the porch and proudly show me his bounty and I would steal the good stuff when he wasn’t looking.

The downside to that is that now every time we go outside, he starts spastically chanting, "Candy! Candy!" like he expects it to be a common occurance. Really not as cute as you’d think.

Our neighbor Chris watched the parade from his porch, and if I’m not mistaken, I do believe I picked up on several covert glances exchanged between him and Henry. Probably there is some sexual tension there now since they fixed a mower together on Saturday. You know how weird dudes get after they fix something together, like two chicks sharing a tampon or some shit.

My other neighbor Robin was out and about with her ragtag children and their spawn. Alarmingly, she was hooked up to an oxygen tank, yet still the perpetual cigarette dangles ever so delicately from her fingers.

Later, it rained and the Pens got slaughtered in game 2 of the Stanley Cup finals. Happy fucking Memorial Day.

  11 Responses to “Memorial Day Bullshit”

  1. “Eventually, he would just point at people until they personally handed him suckers and mini Snickers, then he’d run to the porch and proudly show me his bounty and I would steal the good stuff when he wasn’t looking.”

    his pointing tactic acyually worked wonders!!!!

  2. hmm. robin appears to be wearing more clothes (and less bleach in her hair!) than the last time her likeness appeared in your journaling.

    so, hey. for the eyeballs you want me to make, i plan on making a little optic nerve-y bit that comes out the back on them, but do you want them to connect together or should they be separate from each other?

    • I’m not used to seeing her with her chest and shoulders covered! Where’s the terry cloth tube tops, I wonder?

      I love the addition of the optic nerve. I guess, keep them separate? He’s going to love these!

  3. The oxygen and the smoking….
    I’m speechless.

  4. smoking whilst trailing an oxygen tube behind you. wow.

    cooch = q-t-pie!

  5. “The downside to that is that now every time we go outside, he starts spastically chanting, “Candy! Candy!” like he expects it to be a common occurance. Really not as cute as you’d think.”

    *cracking up* What kind of candy does he like best, then?

    • He seemed to really like the Smarties, and then Christina brought him a big box stuffed with assorted candy and he liked the Sour Patch Kids, which made me happy!

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