On Another Inconsequential Book Review

Your latest installment of mediocre book reviews features, The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. This is her fifth book, but first successful one. Word has it that it's going to be adapted into a movie as well. Hey, maybe my fifth book will be a huge success... but I'm planning on making my second one a success. I digress however, let's get on with it.

This book revolves around the point of view of three women. The main character, Rachel, an apparently slightly overweight drunk who is divorced, has lost her job to drinking, but still commutes into London on the daily so her roommate won't give her shit about being unemployed. Then there's Anna, a perfect, blond haired specimen who was having an affair with Rachel's husband and inevitably ended up marrying him and popping out his baby. Finally, there's Megan, the also stunningly beautiful little waif who lives a couple doors down from Anna and (Tom, the ex of Rachel.)

Rachel, through her daily commutes into London on the train always passes her old house and the house of Megan and Scott. Though, since she's never met them, she calls them Jess and Jason. Every time the train trundles by, she sees "Jess" out on the balcony, reading, sipping wine, whatever, just having a fine time. She sees "Jason" dote on his wife adoringly. To her, these two are have the perfect life. One day however, she see some other man that is definitely not "Jason" manhandling "Jess". The next day, Jess/Megan has disappeared.

The POV of Anna is really background information. Let's be honest, no one really gives a shit about Anna. She's a spoiled little whiner. She won her man by banging him in a fancy vacant house she had listed... gross! She's exhausted by Rachel's constant appearance in her new life with Tom. Rachel calls a lot because she's still mourning the loss of her marriage. Rachel lurks outside their house, most of the time drunk. Dude, get a can of mace, you'll be fine.

We don't hear much from Megan despite the meat of this story being about her disappearance. Though, toward the end, we get to find out what really happened, even though, but then, you pretty much already know.

Rachel is key here because she recognized the man that was not Megan's husband and decides that she should reach out to Megan's husband, Scott to let him in on this information. Of course, the dude is furious, but he goes to the police with this information who promptly ask Rachel to come in and ID him to police, or the Bobbys, if you will. This dude was her shrink. Naturally, it came out that she was having an affair with him, so all fingers were pointed at this dude for her disappearance. Long story short, the shrink is relieved of charges, not enough evidence. So, as disappearing spouses go, the fingers then point to the husband.

Yes, yes, there is a lot of stress being accused of making your wife disappear. Rachel hanging around said husband all the time really isn't helping. At best, Rachel is considered an unreliable witness because she's a drunkard, especially considering the information she gave didn't turn out, and she lied about ever knowing Megan personally. Not to mention she hooked up Scott a time or two. However, Rachel is the last person to see Megan before she disappears, she thinks she was blotto though, so the events weren't particularly clear. She thought she saw him getting into a car with her shrink.

Here's the final summary, Tom, Rachel's ex, who she thought was so perfect, turns out to be an abusive prick. A lot of the time during their marriage, sure, she was drunk, after not being able to get knocked up or whatever, but what she thought was her being hammered was, in reality Tom knocking the shit out of her and blaming it on her drinking. Tom was also having an affair with Megan (this girl gets around) and Megan told him she was knocked up, though, who knows if it's Tom's baby, or her husband's baby. Tom tells her to get rid of it, she refuses, he gets all pissy and bashes her face in with a rock.

Rachel eventually recalls that it was Tom that picked up Megan the night she disappeared and went to warn his current wife, Anna. Naturally, Anna doesn't believe her, because well, it's crazy Rachel. However, Anna find out about Tom's affair with Megan. The two ladies confront Tom when he gets home from "the gym" and Tom proceeds to attack Rachel. Blah, blah, blah, Rachel gets the shit kicked out of her, and eventually comes to, to continue fighting with Tom. She runs out into the yard to try to garner some attention from anyone while Tom is trying to beat her to death. Anna comes to her aide and stabs her husband in the neck.

So, you've got two corpses in the end, everyone is sleeping with everyone, it's all pretty smarmy. It was a good read, a little predictable in the end, but overall, entertaining. I can't imagine the film adaptation will be a box office hit, but it might be a good matinee if you're still willing to pay $10.00+ to see a movie.

On An Honest Star Wars Review

Okay, so I know the movie has only been out for a few weeks, and not everyone has had an opportunity to see it yet. If you are one of these people, you gotta go! I am going to spoil the shit out of this movie, so if you don't want to see it, take a hike.

First of all, for whatever reason, I read the spoilers before I even saw the movie. Of course I heard rumors, and hoped that they weren't true, so I was really just scouring for information to see if they really were true. Then, as any good creeper knows, getting little pieces of information here and there can become addictive, so anything related to Star Wars that popped up, I read, naturally.

After reading my own spoilers, I was not expecting much out of this movie. I knew it would be better than Episodes 1-3, because you'd have to be god-awful to not make something better than those festering turds. I sat in the theater with a sour face, knowing what was coming, when it was coming, but, I really tried to get in to the movie.

Let's start with the name, The Force Awakens? Really? Was it sleeping? Where was it? I'm pretty sure it was always there, just dormant, maybe? I guess I can see what they were trying to do there, but it's lame. I don't have any good recommendations on what this should have been called, but I feel like they could have done better.

There have been opinions that these new additions, Daisy Ridley and John Boyega were great in the movie, their charisma was much better matched than anyone in Episodes 1-3. I'll give them credit, they do seem to be pretty good at what they're trying to accomplish, but I really didn't feel any connection to them. Like oh boy, poor Rey was ditched when she was a child and stuck on some desert planet where she had to trade junk ship scraps for food. So what? Life sucks, salvage your scrap metal and get over it. Oh, and Finn, this dude was running all over the place like he was looking for his inhaler. This poor little Storm Trooper reject was trying to cop a feel on Rey whenever he had the chance. Who cares about these people? No one, that's who!

Han and Chewie entered the scene, and there was the magic. Harrison Ford at 73 is bad ass, I don't care who you are. If you listened close, you could catch on to the homages to the original flicks, especially with the banter between Han and Leia. Obviously, this time around, since it's a Disney flick now, Han isn't quite the smarmy scumbag he was in the old days, but the likability and the underlying scumbaggery of the character is still there.

Everyone is talking smack about how Carrie Fisher has not aged well. The chick is 59, she's a former drinker and druggie, of course she hasn't aged well. Do people really think she's going to look like Christie Brinkley given her past? To her credit, I don't think she looks as bad as everyone is saying, and who cares anyway, the broad is pushing 60! The bigger shocker is how deep Leia's voice is now. I bet Han wasn't expecting that when he saw her again. Seriously though, she was Leia, but not really Leia, if that makes sense. There was that sense of Disney again. She couldn't be her sassy little self anymore, but maybe she and Han grew up.

Don't even get me started on Kylo Ren. Basically, he is a huge pussy with daddy issues. He's a spoiled brat who can't control his temper and throws tantrums whenever he doesn't get his way. He sucks as a villain. Grandpa Vader would have whooped his ass on any given day of the week, and he was essentially just a torso. He thinks he's going to be some bad ass Sith Lord, so in an ultimate bitch move while facing his father, Han Solo, he cries like the little bitch he is saying his emotions are tearing him apart, whatever! This is the scene where Kylo impales Han with his stupid looking light saber and Han falls to his death. On a side note, Harrison Ford wanted George Lucas to kill off Han in the original trilogy, so I guess, he ultimately got what he wanted. But... why couldn't they kill off Leia instead? Nobody would miss her.

A battle between Kylo Ren and Rey ensues where Rey is starting to realize her abilities with The Force. Okay, Rey is a newbie to The Force, people! She doesn't know shit about shit, and she beats the cat piss out of Kylo Ren. Does this not provide an excellent example how much Kylo Ren sucks? He is not a force to be reckoned with, and frankly, he's a goober.

Perhaps the biggest slap in the face comes at the end of the movie. Chewie, Han's loyal friend doesn't seem that distraught by his friend's untimely death. Like, oh, I'm going to holler about it for a minute, but I'm pretty much over it. He shows up in the Millennium Falcon to pick up Rey after she beats Kylo in one of the sorriest light saber battles ever, and takes her back to base to celebrate blowing up yet another Death Star-like station. Chewie and Rey then set out to find Luke since they have the completed map of his whereabouts. This bitch has the audacity to sit in Han's captain seat and take over HIS ship while Chewie rides bitch. If anything, Chewie should be piloting the ship, and she should be in the back making sandwiches or something. They arrive on the planet that Luke has been sulking on since quitting training Jedis and they just stare at each other while she holds out his old light saber to him. Oh by the way, she's probably his kid. Way to be an absentee father Luke!

This will of course lead us into two additional movies that I'm loathe to see, but I feel obligated to, just like everyone felt obligated to watch Episodes 1-3 even though they'd probably rather gouge out their eyeballs than actually sit through that rubbish. The movie was done well, okay. It was missing something, it was missing emotion. You could feel the chemistry between the seasoned vets, but those kids don't really have the chemistry or the chops yet. This movie wouldn't have worked at all without Harrison Ford. Nobody would have went to see it, and it wouldn't have broken records. Everyone can bitch about how he got paid so much more than anyone else, well, that's why. Because he's the meal ticket and the execs knew it.

Is it worth it to see? Sure, I guess. If you're a true Star Wars fan, you've already seen it, or plan to see it soon. I mean, I was pissed off about this movie for the whole day after watching it, so that's got to mean something, right? If it were a little less Disney, and a little more rock n' roll, it might sit better with me, Oh, and if Han Solo wasn't slaughtered. The end.

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.