I dragged Henry and Chooch to the Reptile Expo at the Washington County Fairgrounds (worst fairgrounds ever) on Saturday specifically to search for a Pacman frog. I’ve had two in the past (RIP Hubert & Gustav) and have felt the urge to mother a new one. They used to be available in local pet shops but I hadn’t seen any in awhile.

As soon as I saw this one, I knew he was mine. The neon blue dart frogs didn’t have SHIT on this guy. I paid the guy and we left after being there for only 15 minutes. Poor Janna, she drove all the way out there to meet us only for me to say, “OK, got ‘em! See you!” And in the parking lot, Chooch decided for everyone that he was going to go home with Janna, so I was like, “Have fun, guys!” and Henry and I quickly left the parking lot before Janna or Chooch changed their minds.

Later that day, we went to Petsmart to get some accoutrements for FRANCIS!’s new abode (which would be much more pimped out if Henry hadn’t vetoed 99.9% of what I wanted to buy) and of course they had a Pacman frog for sale there. Same price, but not nearly as majestic as my babe.

Anyway, all that has nothing to do with my new babe, FRANCIS! (That’s how it’s spelled, all caps and an exclamation mark, and said in an angry, hoarse whisper a la Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.) FRANCIS! has been doing well, loving his new digs (as much as I can tell from his stagnant expression), chowing on crickets. Surprisingly, Chooch hasn’t been shoving his hands in the tank like I suspected he might. I think I successfully scared him by telling him about how Hubert (who I used to sneak into high school with me) used to latch on to my fingers, mistaking them for sausage.

FRANCIS! is a real mama’s boy. I think I might take him to work today.

I took these with my iPhone Saturday evening when we were walking across the bridge back to Station Square from the art festival to distract myself from the fact that OMG I’M WALKING ACROSS A BRIDGE & GOING TO PERISH!

I hate bridges and rivers. I live in Pittsburgh, so I’m doing a LOT of hating on a daily basis.

It was too nice on Sunday to spend the day indoors at the roller rink, so I suggested we go back to Old Economy Park and get our nature on.

“But you hate nature,” Henry reminded me hesitantly.

“That’s not true! Only sometimes,” I argued, forgetting that my “sometimes” actually means “all of the time.”

I grabbed some old school Fall Out Boy (as in: pre-mainstream explosion) and Finch for old time’s sake, and we actually had an enjoyable, leisurely Sunday joyride to the park, which is no small feat when there’s a  hyperactive five-year-old in the backseat. I’m pretty sure he has nature’s equivalent of Pixie Stix and Pop Rocks coursing through his bloodstream on a daily basis.

We were at the park for ten minutes, but probably much less, before I started bitching about bugs and humidity and foreign stenches. Then I walked through a spider web and bitched about that for awhile.

If you ask Henry, he’ll tell you his favorite part was when I started sliding down a muddy deer path and gained so much momentum that the only way I could stop myself was by slamming into and promptly hugging a tree.

But if you ask me, I’ll tell you my favorite part was taking pictures of Henry pissing on God’s landscape and then swearing to Chooch that I heard Jason Voorhees in the woods. Because it’s not truly Sunday afternoon until urine, fear and paranoia enter the picture.

MOIST.