On Christmas 2015

Christmas with a child is a lot different than any old, regular Christmas. It's different in that, you can't get plowed on egg nog Christmas night and party with your pants off. You have to be somewhat respectable, simply because there may be photos and/or videos taken, and no one wants to see your pasty ass on camera. I'll get this disclaimer out of the way right now, I'll admit it, I was pretty excited about Christmas this year because G actually seemed to almost give a shit. We talked about Santa, even though, before G existed, J and I always said, if we have have kids, we're not going to fill their head with lies about Santa, the Easter Bunny, etc. Yeah, that lasted real long.

G seemed to be interested in the idea of Santa, not so much Santa himself. In his eyes, Santa is some scumbag in a red suit plying kids with candy so they'll sit on his lap. While the boy has become increasingly interested in candy, he cannot be duped to talk to strangers just because he's got a white beard and a candy cane, and promises to bring presents. There were Santa encounters, of course. You couldn't go anywhere in the month of December without seeing the fat man. Luckily for me, G had no interest in standing in line to come any where near the old coot. For this I am grateful. Instead, during one even in particular where there was a line out the door to see the old "S" word, G told me he didn't want to see him, talk to him, or sit on his lap. We lurked just outside of where Santa was sitting and peered in a giant picture window and watched as kid after kid climbed up on his lap. I told him, even though he wasn't face to face with the fat man, he could still tell him what he wanted for Christmas and he would hear anyway because he's magic. This sweet boy of mine said Santa, I don't want anything for Christmas. Shit, I sure wish "Santa" would have known that before he went crazy trying to find the perfect items for the boy.

Admittedly, I was probably more excited for Christmas morning that anyone. I had big plans for the boy to leave out carrots for "Santa's Reindeer", we'd leave out some of the ugly ass cookies we made right before the holiday, and a sip of milk. I'd make sure to leave evidence of Santa's presence, with the carrots being gone, a bite out of a cookie, you know, the same old song and dance. However, the boy just wanted to party his ass off on Christmas Eve, we didn't get home until way past his bedtime and he needed/wanted to go to bed as soon as we walked in. Okay, no problem. I still crept up and down the stairs as he slept, placing all his presents under the tree, trying to contain my excitement for the next morning when he would open all the carefully thought out gifts that Santa got him.

And, you know what? When it came down to it, he could have really cared less about the whole affair. For weeks we talked about Santa coming and leaving presents under his tree because he was such a good boy, and he genuinely seemed stoked about it. He did "Face Time" with one of his lady birds Christmas morning who wanted to see him open the gifts she got him. He point blank told her, "I don't want to open your presents." Great, I've got a 2 year old Grinch on my hands. He came around eventually, of course, but this kid needed some serious convincing. Some of the things I thought he would go totally ape-shit over, he just gave a passing glance and moved on to the next. Way to leave Santa crestfallen, boy. However, there are a few items that seem to be his new pride and joy, the cheap drum set for kids, which, I've quickly discovered that I'll need to start socking some cash away for real drums, because this boy has a passion, and his Paw Patrol truck and cars. To be fair, the boy really packed it in this Christmas, with so many different things. I'm sure he's overwhelmed, and like his mother, can only concentrate on a thing or two at a time.  

Overall, it was a successful holiday. Despite me making him weep because I made him come home with me Christmas Eve instead of spending the night with grandma and papa, and then making him weep again on leftovers day, because he had to come home with me again. Maybe I smell funny? His social anxiety was also slightly present Christmas Eve as he preferred to retreat to the basement away from the rip-roaring party crowd, but there were no meltdowns from being overwhelmed, score!

Sure, I can reminisce about Christmas' past where the hooch was a staple and crayfish were talking at the dinner table, but honestly, I enjoy having G around to spend the holidays with, as cliche as it is, the boy might have brought back the magic feeling of Christmas.

On Living In Chaos

Most of you who follow me on Facebook know all about the epic shit storm that is my home. The mess that started all the stress about a year and a half ago. See, J and I were shopping for a new home, while the "gettin' was good" so we could raise G in a nice little area with a great school district. We looked for months and months, even considered shit holes that should be condemned as a nice little fixer-upper project. Well, after looking at a plethora of said shit holes, we decided that undertaking such a huge project with a boy under a year old would be moronic on our part.

Eventually, we found our little abode. It had everything we were looking for. Great area, close to the freeway for work, great school district, big lot. It was freshly remodeled and looked great. Granted, there were some issues. The attic was covered in mold due to poor ventilation, which was taken care of prior to closing, there had been some foundation work done in the family room and basement which we received receipts and warranties for, okay, a little off-putting, but the work was guaranteed right? There had been evidence of a little bit of water in the basement, but definitely not a swimming pool's worth of water, we weren't overly concerned.

The problems didn't become apparent until the first Spring that we lived there. We began to notice a horizontal crack in the drywall in the family room, right at the ground line, strange, right? This is a wall that had formally been worked on. I contacted the contractor who worked on it and he deduced in time that there was some movement happening and that fix would be under warranty. Great! We wouldn't have to worry about a huge fix we couldn't afford.

To make a extremely long and boring story short, it took a year and half of nagging and legal involvement to get said contractor back over to complete the warranty work. These "C" channels and tie-backs are the fix and we currently get to look at these until we get this wall re-built. Merry Christmas. However, this wall shouldn't be doing much moving in the foreseeable future. This fix, if we were responsible would have cost in the ball park of $21,000. Nice, right?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Moving on to the basement. We knew we had to find the source of the little stream of water flowing into the basement every time it rained even remotely hard. J knocked out all the drywall and found it covered in mold. Hooray! It took only a moment to realize why we had water coming into the house. "Step cracks" are typically not a huge deal, they are in fact, pretty common, but do you know what's not common? When your shit is vertically cracking and you can see the road from your basement! Uncovering this little gem created a sea of "Holy shit!" responses. 

But did we try to contact our insurance company to see if they could help? Yes, of course. Guess what, they won't help. They can not do anything for foundation issues. Thanks Bro, I'm glad you're getting our hard earned money every year to not protect our house from this shit. Well, what about the legal route? Did you try to sue the seller? Absolutely, but sadly, being an investor, their ass is covered, so we got to bend over and look at this...

The good news is... if you can see it through this hot mess is, my boss knows people, who know people. So, after having several contractors and builders over, we settled on someone we were very happy with to tear this shit down and rebuild a brand new wall. So, after a week of hiring said contractor, we do have a beautiful new wall that should be as strong as a bomb shelter.

We got to have the front part of the house ripped off, a giant hole dug to rip out the old wall, our porch and walkway needed to be ripped out because water was just flowing underneath the porch. The sump pump was not connected under ground which allowed water to just sit there and freeze and melt year after year. Luckily now, we have a working sump pipe, we'll have a new porch which is properly waterproofed, and in the Spring, we'll take advantage of having the walkway ripped out to install a lovely brick paver walkway. Silver Lining?                        

Finally, we long suspected our garage was sinking as well. We had it tuck pointed when we moved in. A year later, there were giant step cracks about an inch wide right where the tuck pointing was completed, just at this front corner. However, after having the brick stripped, our contractor found that there were no wall ties (which are required) so the weight of the brick was pulling on the wall and pushing down on itself creating the broken bricks. Good news? Maybe... or maybe this shit really is sinking, though upon putting a level on the foundation, it's as level as can be. Initially we were planning on having the garage underpinned, which upon conversations with an engineer and our contractor, it was ultimately decided underpinning would be a waste of money that we don't have.

The place is coming along. We'll have most of the brick back on the house today, possibly a new porch poured. The mess will work itself out. It supposed to rain for the entirety of Christmas week, but at least I won't have to worry about making G wait to open presents while I get down in the basement and mop up rain water. 

After this wonderful experience, we're hoping this place will be worth it in the end. One of our neighbors pretty pointedly said, "Well, this just shows your commitment to staying in the neighborhood for the next 50 years!" Yeah, pretty much, because who the hell wants to deal with this again?  

On Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving isn't really a big deal to vegetarians. I mean, the last thing we want to see is a big ol' bird carcass sitting on the table while everyone picks the poor thing apart. However, to each their own. I used to be a carnivore, I can't be all uppity about people eating some bird on bird day.

Luckily, the family makes some killer "fixin's." I get to dive in to two different kinds of sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, Waldorf salad, rolls (who doesn't love carbs?), deviled eggs, stuffing, olives, and whatever else. Never mind the freshly baked home made pies. Damn!

For me, Thanksgiving is about hanging out with the family. Having a cocktail or two. Listening to the boy cackle with delight as he gets to eat dinner with a ton of people. This is his thing lately, eating around the table with a lot of people, he can't get enough of it. Luckily, I've got a good set of in-laws and there isn't any bickering on the holidays. No one gets pissed off and flips the table over. Everyone just grazes, drinks, chortles, passes out sitting up, you know, whatever. I'm also pretty lucky that the parents get along, not like Clark and Ellen Griswold's parents, so I get to have my homies at the dinner table as well. Score.

Thanksgiving also allows me the time to accept that Christmas is next month. Once "Black Friday" rolls around, I'm all like, "Yeah, bring on the Christmas carols, get Santa's fat ass over for some cookies." I'm actually quite a bit of ahead regarding Christmas this year. The gifts are bought, the Christmas cards have arrived, though I regret not making them snarky, I apologize in advance to those of you who will be in receipt of our cards. The decorations will go up this weekend, despite my house being a torn apart shit hole thanks to foundation work.

On a completely unrelated note, I must mention, because it needs to be mentioned because I find it hilarious, J was shaving his beard off this morning, and G was sitting on the toilet watching him. G began whispering under his breath, "Daddy's not shaving his butt. Daddy's not shaving his back. Daddy's not shaving his boobies. Daddy's shaving his face." I don't know why it's hilarious, but maybe he feels that Dad needs to shave these items and is trying to drop a hint." I tell ya, this kid, he really comes up with it.

So, what are you guys doing on this Thanksgiving weekend? Eating a frozen dinner alone? Working? Hanging out with your family? Hanging out with people you loathe? Whatever you're doing, do it well, Turkeys!

On Book Review #2

Have you ever started reading a book that was so bad that you just couldn't make yourself keep reading no matter how devoted a reader you wanted to be?

This has happened to me a few times, even with a few of my favorite authors. The first time was with a book by Chuck Palahniuk, Pygmy. I love all his books, I love the way he writes, but with all the damn Pig Latin in that book I was going crazy! Reading the broken sentences and the complete disarray made me dread picking it up again. I eventually gave up about half way through.

This happened again with another of his books, Doomed, which is the second in a series about a snarky little girl who has died and gone to hell. I liked the first book, it was different, edgy, but when I got half way through (again) the second book, I was like, "I really don't give a shit about what happens in the end." I felt bad that I lost interest in a perfectly fine book by an author that I adore, but I just couldn't make myself care enough to finish it.

The third time it happened was with a highly anticipated book by Anne Rice, Prince Lestat. I was geeked about, it, I love the Lestat stories because he's such a scum bag and I was thrilled that another one was coming out. Again, I struggled through that book and got about three quarters through, and gave up. I really, really tried to be engaged by it, but it just wasn't gripping me.

These three books I gave up on, I may revisit in the future. Maybe all I need is a different mindset, a different perspective. Well, honestly, I'll probably never revisit Pygmy, but the other two stand a chance.

So, I started reading The Killer Next Door by Alex Marwood and right away discovered, it's British. Nothing against the British, but sorting through their slang and dialect is exhausting. I find this rang true when I read Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh, holy shit, was that a task! I got through 9 chapters, that's it. I was not excited to get to read this every night because those 9 chapters were so choppy, I didn't know what the hell was going on. Some chick disappeared from one of the "flats" in this house, presumably murdered by the landlord and one of the neighbors, I don't even know. This other chick moves in to the disappeared chick's flat with all the former chick's shit still in there and starts wearing her clothes because the only thing she showed up with was a bag of cash. Some of the other chicks that live there were all like, "Who are you? Why are you wearing Rebekah's clothes?" I don't know man, those 9 chapters were drivel, I couldn't make myself continue. Maybe this really is a good book, I mean, book reviews are just a matter of opinion, am I right? Maybe one day I'll get through the whole thing and find that it's amazing. I just don't see that happening any time in the near future.

However, this lack of interest might also be because a new Stephen King book came out on the 3rd, A Bazaar of Bad Dreams. A huge collection of short stories that he hasn't done in years with notes on each one as to how he came to write the story, pretty neat if you care about that sort of thing, which I, of course do. I'm burning through this book and find myself reading much later than I ought to.

I'll probably throw a review out for that one, to possibly bring some more King followers over to the dark side.

On an Inconsequential Book Review #1

Who am I to start writing off the cuff book reviews? No one, right? You're correct. I'm just an every day reader, like most people. However, if I hear a book is good from someone I know, then I'll consider looking in to it, in an effort to branch out and not be stuck in the horror genre, or the morbidly fabulous death care non-fiction reads. See, I'm trying to expand my horizons. In the vein, my big plan here is to read a book, then write a review for you guys, and then you can decide whether or not it sounds like something you might to spend some time on. But seriously, I'm just trying to push literature on you people.

So, here we go. I collected a stack of books over the last month, because I read an article relating to Stephen King, (one of my literary heroes, if you weren't sure.) He listed several books that scared the hell out of him. I mulled this over for a moment, I mean, what book, or collection of books could scare this guy? I thought to myself, these books really must be something to get a "shout out" from such a great writer. I got to work looking through the titles and doing some minute research. I read the synopsis for each one, and honestly, they all sounded pretty damn good. I got to work collecting. I will make this disclaimer, this review and others will contain spoilers, so if you're actually thinking of reading any of these books, keep that in mind.

You by Caroline Kepnes was a good read. It went quick, it kept me engaged, I mean, I sort of knew how everything was going to pan out in the end, but wanted to muddle through just for shits and giggles.

The book centers on Joe, a book store clerk, who in my mind from the beginning is probably a slimy, toad-looking scum bag. Beck walks into his store, and he's immediately smitten. She's attractive, of course, a writer, she throws down some books to buy which just makes Joe swoon even further. Immediately, the stalking begins.

Now, the first five chapters or so are just laden with name dropping. It's all, Stephen King this, Stephen King that. Stephen King's new book, Dr. Sleep. I thought to myself, no wonder he recommends this book, look at all the free press, shit! It passed, eventually, but it almost got to the point where I wanted to give up reading, because it was a bit too much.

We follow Joe as he begins following Beck. He follows her from a bar into the subway, where this dumb bitch is wasted off her ass and tumbles into the railway. Of course, Joe is there to rescue her before she gets splattered all over the rails. Blah, blah, blah, he's a hero and so charming. They get into a cab together, and he "wants to make sure she gets home alright," boom, he knows where she lives. She conveniently leaves her cell phone in the cab, so he keeps it for himself and starts hacking her email and social media accounts.

He works his way into her life based on this encounter. Naturally she has a boyfriend, or rather, some dip shit druggie she thinks she's in love with. Long story short, this guy is getting in the way of Beck and Joe's future relationship. Joe abducts him while cleverly posting "tweets" from said dip shit's account about how he's going on a bender, then he miraculously disappears.

As we get further in to the book, Joe and Beck actually start a relationship, all the while Joe is hoarding items he's stolen from her apartment and he's obsessively checking her emails, phone calls, and social media accounts. Beck does the normal ebb and flow with the relationship. "Oh, I'm so in to Joe..." "I don't know if I really want to relationship with him." She's friends with a couple other cronies who she commiserates with about Joe, which sends him off the deep end. One friend in particular, "Peach" who is the most overbearing, controlling, self centered of the bunch wants Beck to get rid of Joe permanently. Again, this is someone getting in the way of their relationship, so Joe follows them to Nantucket where the cryptic emails and tweets start up again with Peach. She's running on the beach one morning where he's lurking behind a rock. He hauls ass behind her, tackles her to the ground like an all star quarter back and chokes her out. Her pockets are filled with rocks and she's promptly deposited into the ocean.

Oh, but there's one more antagonist ruining Joe and Beck's relationship. Dr. Nicky, Beck's shrink, about 20 years her senior, married, with kids. Naturally Joe sets up an appointment to see if this guy is a threat. After a couple of sessions, he decides Dr. Nicky is a cool cat. Eventually though, Beck pulls away and says she needs some time away from Joe. He breaks into her apartment and finds a new laptop and a secret email in which she converses with Dr. Nicky about their sordid affair. Joe is furious, here's one more ass hat that's got to go. He stalks Dr. Nicky around town and happens upon him with his wife. Well, he decides Dr. Nicky is miserable enough just being with his wife that death would be too good for him.

Instead, it's Beck's turn for abduction. He knocks her out and brings her to the basement of the bookstore where the owner and his boss has set up a cage for specialty books. Lo and behold, this is where Beck ends up. He gives her literary tests, and they end up reading The DaVinci Code together for whatever reason. She's really playing it off like everything will be alright and they'll go on with their relationship as it was before. Naturally, they end up rutting like rabbits and he feels confident that they're back on track so he leaves the cage and basement door unlocked, big surprise, this bitch tries to high tail it out of there. Big mistake. Now it's her turn to be choked out, thrown in a trunk, and buried in a remote area.    

Was I terrified by this book? No. I mean, I can see, having someone invade your space and your life that sufficiently is a frightening concept, but I didn't have trouble sleeping while reading this book, which is ultimately what I was looking for. To be honest the only book I've ever read that literally scared me and kept me from sleeping was The Amityville Horror. Now, that book, will haunt your dreams, and your waking hours too. All in all, like I said, it was a good read, entertaining, if only mildly predictable, but it did its job in keeping me reading until the end.

On Shit My Kid Says

I'm amazed at what comes out of G-Money's mouth sometimes. "Kids say the darnedest things," right? He's two, he's extremely inquisitive for a two year old. We carry on full conversations, the rate at which he's picking up on dialect is frightening and amazing. Here's a sample of some of the more outlandish and vulgar things that fly out of his mouth:

• Upon waking up the other day, he grabbed his stuffed cat, held it in my face and said, "Mom, my cat's dead, he's not alive, he's dead!." I believe he was relating this to the dead rabbit we saw on our walk the night before.
• While driving to grandma and papa's house, under my breath, I let a "son of a bitch" out. G didn't acknowledge it. Later on, he was convinced there was a bug stuck to his shoe, so he began scraping on the patio wall. The "bug" was not coming off his shoe, his response was, "Son of a bitch bug won't come off my shoe!" Noted, my kid has bionic ears.
• 99.9% of the time, he's awesome in public places. He gets dragged along to a lot of boring stuff, like shopping. However, he loves the lingerie section at clothes stores. His eyes light up, and he says, "Mom, look at all the boobies! I have to touch those boobies!" 
• In relation to bras and boobies, he often tells me I need to take my boobies off.
• He enjoys his bodily functions, and what boy doesn't? He alerts us all to farts, poop, burps, coughs, boogers, and so on. "I'm farting, I'm pooping, I've burped, it was a good burp." When coughing he makes sure to tell us he's sick. "Mom, I've got boogers, get the boogers out of my nose." 
• In bouts of frustration, he has the mouth of a sailor, much like his mother. He'll belt out, shit, dammit, the occasional "F" bomb, and the like. He uses these terms in context because he pays too much attention to me while I talk.
• If his cousin is around and has filled his diaper with #1, G will announce that "A is a piss-pot!" 
• The other day when grandma and papa were going home, he announced he wanted to go with them. I explained that they didn't have a car sear in their car. He came back with, "Well, papa can hold me in the car." The boy is using deductive reasoning. It won't be long  before he outsmarts me now.
• "Dad, you're harshing my mellow."
• "Shut your lips, Boogie!"

Of course, I realize a two year old shouldn't be dropping the curse words like a seasoned adult. It's not like we don't correct him when he lets one fly. We don't say, "Shit, baby, way to use the F bomb." Instead we say, "Hey man, those are grown up words, not for babies." And he's like, whatever, and goes on to something else.

He's at a great age where he can communicate what he wants and what he doesn't want. "Yes, I'd like the fruity Cheerios." "No, I don't want granola." "I'd like to pee on the potty." You get my point. He'll read along in his books and randomly recite part of the book to me while we're playing outside or doing chores.

I enjoy the normal, every day conversation with him, but I also love the oddities that come out of his mouth, even the curse words, because everyone needs a laugh now and then. Don't worry, I secretly laugh as to not encourage the cursing, jeez.

What sort of off the wall things have you heard your kids or kids you know say?

On Fall Happenings

This post was meant for a couple weeks ago, more specifically, the end of August and very beginning of September when all the retail asshats started rolling out all the "Autumn" items. I'm talking about your pumpkin spice everything, Halloween decor, Thanksgiving decor, I'm sure in a week or two, I'll start seeing Santa's fat ass slinking around.

Okay, I'll admit, I love Fall or Autumn, or "oh shit, it's going to be Winter in like two months" as much as the next person. You'd have to be dead inside to not appreciate the fire in the trees, the smell of sweet decay as those fiery leaves fall on the ground and you have to get outside and risk a heart attack in an attempt the rake them up and wrestle them into a lawn bag. I love haunted houses, hay rides, scary books and movies. Fall is my go-to season after Summer, I also enjoy the pumpkin flavored items. I will indulge in pumpkin spice something, a piece of pumpkin, a pumpkin roll, whatever. My point is, I'll enjoy these things in due time,

Technically, according to the natural cycle, it's already Autumn. Meteorological Fall started September 1st and lasts through November 30th. That's here in the Northern Hemisphere anyway. Interesting right? Yes, the calendar says Fall starts on the 23rd, but you've already noticed the days getting shorter, the nights and mornings cooling. So sure, according to this logic, I could have happily enjoyed a Pumpkin Spice Frap on September 1st while it was 90 degrees outside. But really, is your heart going to be in taste of Fall while you're sweating your ass off, thinking about how you were at the beach just the other day? Well, maybe. Maybe you can trick yourself into feeling Fall while Summer still has you in its clutches, but I for one cannot.

I understand, the retail zombies have to do their thing, they've got to get their product out there, set up their displays according to what their corporate puppet masters tell them to do, hey, I used to be there. I'm going to defy "the man" though, I will not indulge in anything "Fall" until the calendar officially declares Summer 2015 null and void. This also includes dressing for the season. I am still dressing summery as the weather allows. I mean, if it's going to be like 60 degrees one day, I'm not going to walk around half naked, I'm stubborn, not a dummy. Give me 70 degrees and up though, I'm still wearing skirts to work, short sleeves, light sweaters. The key is, don't give up on Summer prematurely, because it never lasts long enough, especially here, where it could be 95 one day, and 55 the next.

So now it's Q & A time. What are your thoughts? Are you on the Fall bandwagon as soon as the calendar hits September? Or are you anxiously clutching to the last bits of summer and long, warm nights for as long as you possibly can?

On Vacationing With a Two-Year Old

Have you ever been on a week long vacation with a two year old? Let's just say, mama needed some high grade liquor when the boy conked out. Oh, I kid, I kid. Y'all are going to call me a bitch and hate my guts, but G-Money was pretty exquisite on his first week long vacay. I think it had something to do with Grandma and Papa being there too. I mean, the worst part was on the way up, he got weepy in the car and his tiny little ass wanted out of that damn, dirty car seat. On a side note, I'm convinced car seats are just tiny torture devices for kids. Granted, they're supposed to save them from an untimely death in the event of a crash, but this kids are buckled in seventeen different ways, their heads are surrounded with padding, and they can't even readjust in their seat because they are basically tied down. No wonder he wants out. I'd cry too if I had to spend any amount of time in a seat like that.

The lake and the beach agree with this boy. He spent his time at the lake shore, playing in the sand, sitting in the waves, pushing a paddle board around. He did a little fishing with Grandma, Papa, and Dad. J caught a bass, G touched it and said "Ewww!", watched Dad release said bass and said "Bye Bye Fishie!" He took his first ride on a paddleboat, which he thoroughly enjoyed, though he didn't particularly care for wearing a life vest. The only time I was stressed and having a coronary was when he decided it was appropriate to run on the rickety ass docks with his wagon while not looking where he was going. Which, would have been somewhat okay if the water wasn't pitch black because it immediately dropped off the 40 feet. There were no meltdowns, the boy was just in a great mood for a week straight.

The end of the week approached and while we had one more day at our cabin, we noticed some undesirables moving in. It looked like  Harley Fest meets Deliverance. We decided it might be in our best interest to maybe go home one day early. Mom and Pops took baby G and headed for the hills. J and I went a little further north to spend the night with our homies. One is never too old for a little 'round the campfire debauchery. There's fold up chairs and a pizza slice suit that will never be the same.

Now that the vacation has come and gone, there isn't another one in sight (for myself) until next summer, more than likely. I thought spending a week straight with a toddler in an unknown place might get to be a little "cray cray," but I underestimate the boy. I got to see that he really is the chill person I suspected him to be. He truly is a nature enthusiast. He loves being outside, being at the beach, playing sports. It's just a shame we have nine months of winter here in the Mitten. Maybe it won't be so frigid this year and the boy can be introduced to snow sports.

On Summertime and the Big City

Holy shit, it's officially summer! That little bitch, "Mother Nature" has been teasing us with warm, beautiful days here and there since last month, and here we are, officially in summer, and we've yet to receive consecutive "summer weather." It's all part of living in the Mitten, right? I mean, we're shaped like winter apparel, why are we surprised by the erratic weather patterns up in here?

With that being said, allegedly we're supposed to get our asses kicked with some severe storms and possibly tornadoes later today and overnight. Doesn't that sound nice? Who doesn't want to deal with tornadic weather in the middle of the night? I'll be sweeping my family into our flooding basement in the dark at 3:00am and using myself as a human shield while twisters sweep my money pit of a house away. Aside from being homeless for a while, getting a new house out of the deal might not be a bad shake.

All kidding aside, I don't wish to be involved in a tornado, nor do I wish for my toddler to have to experience that, not to mention, Leopold and Jameson would be shitting their fur to be involved in such an event. There, there's my disclaimer.

In other news, J and I went to Chicago last weekend for a family wedding. G had his first overnight weekend at Grandma and Papa's, in which he did amazing. Mama bear over here was all nervous for nothing, but, I guess that's what we do.

I'd never been to Chicago. J had been years ago. We've been to NYC and DC on past trips, and I must say, Chicago is the tamest in regards to traffic and crowds. Don't get me wrong, it was still hectic as hell, and there were people everywhere, but somehow, it seemed calmer, I don't know why. We got a little sightseeing in, you know, the standard Navy Pier visit and Millennium Park. Of course we wanted to get to Willis Tower, but my ass is so scared of heights, I couldn't bring myself to get up there, and forget about that sky deck or whatever. I couldn't even get on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, okay? This is how much of a sissy I am.

I won't lie to you, I missed my kid, alright? I got choked up here and there when I saw little toddlers running around, having fun. However, this does not mean I didn't enjoy my adult time either. I got to spend an entire weekend being pre-mom me. We went out to the bar with the family and their friends for a little pre-wedding imbibing. It didn't matter what time we finished up or how lit up we were. We could just go to the hotel and fall asleep. We walked and biked around the City not having to worry about whether or not we were giving our son heat stroke or stopping for nap time. We went to the wedding without having to worry about leaving at a certain time to be home with our boy. It was, refreshing, needed. Naturally, when we saw him on Sunday afternoon, we wouldn't let go, but that's neither here nor there. Now that we know he's cool with spending a weekend away from us once in a while, it might be prudent to indulge our pre-kid selves and have a weekend. Right... we'll see.

On Giving Up

Typically my posts are smarmy and full of humor because I want to make you people laugh, only if it lasts for just a split second of your entire day. So I'll throw this disclaimer out there right now... this post probably won't be humorous, it probably won't leave you feeling jovial on the inside, you probably won't think about something you read here and laugh about it later. It will be downtrodden, and depressing, it will echo the feelings of a forlorn pet owner. If this shit isn't for you, it might be best to stop reading this post right.... here.

For years and years, our family owned a parrot, Paco. My mother met him at the pet store she worked at 30+ years ago and formed a bond with him as he sat at the cash register. One day, she decided to bring him home to join the family. For about the first 8 years of my life, Paco and I were rather indifferent of each other. I knew if I tried to pet him, he would bite my damn finger off. Still, I talked to him, and tried desperately to be friends with him because I found him incredibly interesting for a hateful bird. Paco had a big mouth, as most parrots do, he would screech and carry on and just over all be a noisy bird. This eventually led him to be placed in one of the bedrooms, which would have been fine, but it was the bedroom my dad slept in while he worked mid-nights, so it was dark, and it was cold.

Being the big ol' softie that I am, I brought him in to my room as I spent a lot of time in there and it was the warmest room in the house. A great environment for a warm weather bird, right? Eventually, I wore him down. After spending countless hours with him, reading, playing board games, having conversations, he finally warmed up to me, and we became pals. That is until we got a cat. He fell in love with the cat, and I was yesterday's bitch. Though, through the years, the three of us would hang out in my room, playing board games, the cat swatting away the pieces to be a dick, like most cats are. Paco would grab a piece in his mouth and run away, something he learned from the cat undoubtedly.

We got about 10 years with the cat before we lost him to cancer. Paco and I were devastated. Paco wasn't the same after he lost his cat. He stopped speaking, and just sat there quietly, observing, mourning. Eventually the time came for me to move out. Since Paco and I were still pals, he moved out with me. He was the center of attention, the only child, but still something was missing. While, his quietness was a blessing while living in an apartment, I felt bad that he had fallen in to such a depression. I thought, I'm ready for a new cat, maybe he is too.

Leopold entered the scene and once more Paco was in love, and again, I was yesterday's bitch. Leopold was the center of his universe and he only wanted to be around him. I think Leopold became his mate. He would holler until he got to be with the cat, and when he was with him, he was happy. I should mention here, that we also have a dog, who Paco hated and dive bombed on the daily. He's always hated dogs, big and small, I don't know why. He didn't care how big they were, he'd dive bomb them and bite the shit out of them, he had no fear.

Time passed, and then there was a baby. During the first months of his life while he was immobile, Paco could give a shit less about the baby, until the baby started getting around, then he was a threat. He was a threat to his cat, who the baby adored and wanted to pet. Paco did not want anyone touching his cat and would pretty much peck anyone's eyes out that dared pay attention to Leopold. So, he took some swipes at the baby.

This got to be a problem. I thought... why is he having such an issue? He was around when I was baby and he didn't dive bomb and bite me. Of course, he didn't have the freedom when I was a baby that he had now. Was he jealous? Maybe. I think it mostly stemmed from him wanting no one touching his cat.

After this behavior continued for a long while, it was decided that Paco might be better living with a foster family who didn't have young kids or dogs to incite his anger. This decision was not settled on lightly. Paco and I had been together for 30 years. As much of a dick as he was, he was my family. I found a lovely bird rescue through my vet. The plan was to place him with a foster couple who are members of their bird club and the foster couple might elect to keep him, or he could be adopted out.

This broke my heart. During the time I communicated with the rescue group to the time they found him a foster home (which didn't take very long) I felt an emptiness, a dread that he was going to be leaving. I did learn he was going to live with a very nice couple who had 2 cats and 2 birds. This information helped a little, but I still didn't want my little asshole to leave.

He left for his new home on February 28th. The second I closed the door, I wept. I wept for three days. It's been three months since he's been gone. I get regular updates on his progress and hear he is doing quite well and is happy. He loves his new cats and has made friends with the Macaws he lives with. Which, for a bird who tried to murder his cockatiel friend years ago is amazing. He went to his first bird meeting and was quite convivial. He stepped up on random people's hands and was quite social. The couple he is with now, is the couple he'll spend the rest of his life with.

I'm thrilled he won't be bounced around further. I'm thrilled he's found a new loving environment where he can thrive. However, there's still a huge hole in my heart for him. Part of that hole is missing him, and other part is the fact that I gave up on him. I couldn't give him any more and I had to let him go. I wasn't a good enough bird parent and I couldn't give him what he needed so he was letting me know by acting out and there was still nothing I could do.

It hasn't gotten better in the three months that he's been gone. Sometimes, I still hear him fluttering around, or I'll hear his bell in his cage or some other toy jangling. I haven't had many pets, but I never let any go, they spent their lives with me, and that's what I intended for Paco. He deserved better though, better than what I could ultimately offer, and that's the kicker, I'm a bird parent failure.

I miss him. I think about him often. It feels strange that he is someone else's. It feels strange that he has other cat companions, bird companions, and people companions. It still feels like he should be with me. I haven't felt the same since he left. There's a part of me that's just gone, and maybe that's silly since I'm talking about a bird, but I grew up with him. He got to hear all my tales of woe and teenage angst and all my achievements and happy times when I was younger. He always just listened.

But... the important thing now is that he's happy. He's thriving. He's loving life. That's what he deserves.

On Total and Utter Randomness

I had a couple different topics that I could probably milk and get a couple of blog posts out of, but they seemed so insignificant to merit their own post, except for maybe this news right here:

As some or most of you might know, I am an attempted writer. I do have one fiction book published at the moment, that has remained rather stagnant since its publication in 2011. This year I decided I'd spend a little money and enter it in a couple book festivals, not expecting high results, because, what writer does? My first festival was the San Francisco Beach Book Festival. "Stress Test" did not win any of the grand prizes... however, it did win First Honorable Mention in the General Fiction category. Not such a huge deal to most, but a pretty big deal to me, as its creator who though my first book might very well be utter drivel. This little milestone is quite exciting to me, and almost a week later, I'm still riding the high from it.

This second bit is just a general observation about G-Money. I will preface this by saying, I know my boy is only almost two and things will change for him drastically as he gets older. I brought him over to a school a couple weeks ago to play, his future elementary school actually. One of the many things I like about him is his ability to stand back and observe his surroundings before he dives right in and reacts. There were about a dozen other kids playing while we were there and he cautiously walked up to the playground and kept a safe distance and watched each of the kids doing various things. He stood there for probably about 20 minutes just taking it in. He then started to play on his own, near the other kids, but not trying to play with them. I could see that he was hesitant about engaging them and it brought me back to my own elementary school playground happenings where I'd often times either play alone or with a set group of friends. I was painfully shy throughout all of my school years, and am still very shy, I know how it affected me, and I shudder to think that my sweet boy might take after me in that aspect. On the other hand, I know he's still so young and he may blossom into a social butterfly by time he reaches school. Either way, I just want him to be happy.

This third bit has to do with dating. I was at a bar with some co-workers the other day, having a good time, relaxing, when totally unsolicited a freakishly tall biker man approached me. He asked my name, I told him, he told me his name, he asked if he could hang out (at the bar) with me, I quickly said, I'm married. He was like... "that's okay." Red flag number one. Now, when a woman almost immediately tells a stranger she's married, does that not tell said stranger that she is not interested in talking to him any further? He still persisted. It must have been something about my red nosed, puffy eyed, sick voiced, no make-up personality that really got this guy. Then I was like, look dude, I'm married to this guy's sister (pointing at my co-worker). "Oh, that's even better." Seriously, bro? It took him a minute or two to let it sink in, then he was like, "Oh, so it's like a f**k off kinda thing right?" I stared at him while it set in. You'd think he would of gathered that from the whole, I'm "married" thing. Don't get me wrong, just because I'm married doesn't mean I'll be an asshole and refuse to talk to the opposite sex completely. But, I'm not completely blind, creepy biker man approaches one of only a couple mildly okay looking chicks in a bar asking to hang around after knowing she's married, and to a woman (so he thinks) and won't back down. Man, I can't be a party to that.

See what I'm saying? Three somewhat interesting pieces of information that really do not merit their own post, but it's something to think about. So let me know, any of you have any scum bag stories for me?

On Starting a Publishing Business

 

If you follow me on Facebook, this is old news to you, if not, then you won't be completely bored by the following information. I've done some thinking and deciding, and planning. After successfully publishing the first book all by my lonesome, editing, doing the cover art, getting the ISBN numbers, copyrights, etc., I thought it might be time to start my own press. If one is going to ride the self publishing train, it seems like the next logical step. Reading up on it, it makes sense. No one wants to look on the inside cover of a book and see that the publisher is in fact, the author. It does in fact, look hokey.

So, with that in mind, I've set the wheels in motion to officially start my own press. I've got the name picked out. Research is done to make sure said name is available. Next week I'll be putting the papers in to claim the name and business. This might sound like a bigger deal than it really is. Officially, I'm just doing this for myself so that my own books have an actual publisher, instead of just me. However, if it so happens that some other newbie Indie authors want an actual publisher without going through the hassle of starting their own press, well, hey, I'll be available, and maybe I'll pick up some proceeds from it. Yes friends, it really is "All About the Benjamins." Though in my case, it'll probably be "All About the Hamiltons."

In the end though, it's not about the money (obviously because I'm not making any). I mean, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be Stephen King or James Patterson rich, but if I can get a story out there, and entertain even one person, then that's what it's really about in the long run. It's also about perseverance. Following a story through to fruition, editing it, editing it again, and then one more time. Choosing your cover art, setting your price, your publishing platforms, filing all the paperwork. Being stubborn enough to get shit done. I did it once, and it was awesome. Awesome when it was done, mind you. Knowing that I had it in me. The during is what really grates on you. Having these ideas swirling through your brain, but never really knowing quite how to put them down on paper, or screen.

Case in point, the short story book, the first story is out there, it's started off on a gritty note, but I fear it's treading into the contrite shit realm. I don't know what the main problem of the story is going to be. I don't know who the antagonist is going to be. Maybe the main character? How? This is shit I just don't know. I can't stop thinking about it though. I make little notes, I scribble those notes out, I make more notes, I throw the page away. It's like throwing away your feelings.

It will be done though. Someday. Probably not this year. Sure, I can shoot for November. That would give me 6 or 7 months of writing and a couple weeks of straight editing. For the typical writer, that should be more than enough time, but I'm a procrastinator, I make excuses. I choose sleep over writing most of the time. However, I may be back on the evening writing train some time soon. But, it will be done.

On Giving It Away For Free and Always Working

It's not what it sounds like. I know what you're thinking, get your mind out of the gutter.

I've recently been alerted that this is "Read an e-Book Week." Who knew such a thing existed? Certainly not me. In any case, since I personally have an e-Book floating around the world, getting read by exactly no one, I took full advantage of throwing my book into promotion mix. For this week only, until March 7th, you can download a copy of my book for FREE! Yes homies, I said FREE! Not like paying for the sucker would break your pocket book. It's typically .99 if you're all about paying for things. But, now you don't have to regret throwing that dollar out the window and you can read my drivel for free! Much like reading this blog. To download your free copy, follow this link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/49360 and use the code: RW100 at checkout to get it for free on your e-Reader or computer.

Now that I've got the shameless plugging out of the way, I'll get down to brass tacks. I may never be a renowned writer, I may never have a best seller, hell, I probably won't ever be remotely popular because I don't write dumb ass sparkling vampire fiction or downright abysmal fan faction based on said sparkling vampire fiction. I've accepted that, it's ok, it really is. The point is, I like writing. Even if it's just for me. I like entertaining my small sphere of influence, even if they're just humoring me by telling me they're entertained.

I've been working a bit on my short story book. I still don't know what the hell it will be about in the long run, but that's part of the adventure. A lot of writers will outline the shit out of their pieces, they'll have everything planned out, and the story will be written exactly as it's been planned. I tried story boarding, I really did. I always stray from the plan and then I think, why did I bother in the first place? So, now I fly by the seat of my pants. The inspiration has been flowing lately. It's exhilarating. Some people get their kicks by jumping out of air planes, and swimming with sharks, or whatever else, but me, I'm electrified by ideas flowing through my mind and getting jotted down on paper.

So even when I'm working my day job, or I'm at home with my son, I'm always driving ideas through my head. I'm always thinking of the next book, the next story, the next disaster. The hopefulness of what that story might be is entrancing. It might not be much, but at least it's something. 

On A Month Deep Into 2015

Well... now that we've got that nasty bitch called January out of the way, why don't we breeze through February and March while we're at it too?

To quote Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day, winter in the Midwest and Northeast really will be cold, it's going be grey, and it's going to last you the rest of your life. At least... that's what it feels like when you're ass deep in it.

Then again, without the shitty Michigan winters, how can one truly enjoy the majestic pleasures of the summer and fall. You know, the nice four months, maybe five of warm weather you get to enjoy before you totally freeze your ass off for the rest of the year. Without one extreme, you really can't enjoy the other.

In any case, I've held true to my promise to myself. I sat my bony ass down in that chair and started my new project. It happened one day after work when I happened to have an hour or so to myself. No one was home, the house was quiet, I thought.. I... I might get to write right now. By golly, I'm taking advantage of this. I eagerly climbed the stairs and walked into my office that is still lined with boxes despite having moved in last May. I turned on my computer, opened the word processor, and looked at that blank white screen, that blinking cursor taunting me again. I felt a rush of fear, starting over again. Will it be any good? Will I see this one through to fruition? Will I write what I really want to write? Should I be worried if people will judge me? Piss on it, I thought, and started typing.

I'll be honest. I know this will be a book of short stories. Probably four good length ones in total. Aside from having a few quick ideas of how to start them, I really have no idea how any of the stories will turn out. I don't know the characters, I don't know the story lines, I'm really just swinging blindly in the dark. I know I want the stories to be real, to be visceral, gritty. I want to impose some sort of shock value, I want the reader to really imagine what it might feel like if the story on the page were real. Of course, don't all writers want that? Maybe... or maybe some of them just want to make boat loads of money and have their crummy stories being made into crummier movies. I won't lie, I'd love to make boat loads of money on my stories and have my best selling book made into a blockbuster movie, but I really don't think that's in the cards. I really just want to write to get people's imaginations churning.

While it will be slow going, I'm thrilled to be back at it again. It's somewhat invigorating to be at the beginning again. To go through the whole process. I'm looking forward to going through the finished project piece by piece, to edit, get the copyright information, register it, design the cover, put it out into the world. I think this one I'll work a little harder on advertising, I feel like this one might really be something. Or maybe it will be drivel, something only useful in starting your campfire. Time will tell.