Thursday, December 5, 2013

Max: They dress dead people up in fancy clothes... ? I think that's really disrespectful.
Me: What do you think they should do with the dead? I mean what would you want me to do with you if you died?
Max: Burn me.
Me: What about immediately, like if you died right now in the kitchen?
Max: Let my body just sit for three weeks, and then, I want you to do a massive prank. Tie my body up to puppet strings and take it to the play place at McDonald's, and move it around like it's real.
Me: You want me to use your body in a prank, that's your dying wish?
Max: Yep. It'll be so awesome.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Goddamn Socks

I had this goddamn box of single socks that I drug from Minneapolis to Aurora to Fort Collins.

Every two months or so for five years, I dumped out the goddamn box of single socks and laboriously laid them across the floor trying to find matches for them, and although I always found matches for at least a couple, the collection just grew and grew.

During a positive patch, I'd make a sock puppet, and during a carefree patch, I'd let the kids stuff them into punching bags, but mostly, they just sat in the closet, oppressing me with my over-dramatic interpretations of what they meant, these goddamn socks.

The collection kept growing and growing until one night a few weeks ago in an attempt to just move on, I marched the entire box of goddamn single socks out to the garbage can, and I wiped my hands of them.

But I've done the laundry a few times since then, and there's two or three or four goddamn single socks sitting on the edge of the dining room table and the edge of the dresser...




and the fuckers are getting ready to take over.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Heavy Limbs and Crowing

When you find that special personality disorder that fits your personality, you may literally sit around all day thinking up things you have done over the last twenty years or so and label them crazy, crazy, bat-shit crazy, crazy, crazy, bat-shit crazy, and then, you may think of countless things people have said to you over the last twenty years or so, and you may realize how true those things were....  And self realization is a fucking bummer. I got so depressed my limbs were literally aching.

(Note: the first literal in that paragraph is the newly defined literal as figurative while the second literal is literally literal.)

(Parenthetical fun with etymology continued: I found out this weekend during a bit of drunken googling (once a brand becomes a verb, do I capitalize it?) with my brother-in-law that the -ify of deify, justify, petrify, mollify, etc. comes from the Latin facere which is also the root word of facitious. As those are my favorite group of words and being factitious is one of my favorite things, I am pretty sure life doesn't get any funner than that.)

And this weekend certainly didn't get any funner than that. In fact, it was the worst weekend in a long time. Potentially, it was a game changer in the long term sense.

But, beyond the heavy limbs, beyond the horrible weekend, beyond potential game changers, I want to focus on something positive... And since I can't muster up any positivism in a deep sense, I will just do some crowing:  

Public school started yesterday which fills me with the whole sense of "crap, we should do something" so I was happy to note that while the public school kids were roasting in their desks in the 90-plus-degree heat that we randomly hit on the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Sydney Opera House, robot street performers, the length of intestines, and the position of babies in the womb. Then, we found a mud dauber wasp (not out on a nature walk, just there on the wall in my bedroom). So, I considered that to be a pretty successful first day of school, I guess.

Today, after the second day of school, our house filled with public school kids once school was dismissed, and I was asked to referee arguments on vocab words, the medicinal use of steroids, soldier pay, and whether or not the Brits had any role in winning WWII or whether it was just the Americans. In every argument, my third grader won against a sixth grader. Of course, that sixth grader could read circles and do math problems around my third grader, but let's not let that get in the way of some crowing.

And so here we are, and I have no idea where we are going, but I am pretty sure it can't get any worse.