Sunday, December 30, 2007

Evil People

I firmly believe that there are some people in this world that are just no damn good. Part of this is personal experience. Part of this is professional experience. And part of it is just plain old contrariness and a lack of confidence in the general goodness of humanity.

Okay, so I'm a Grinch. Deal with it.

Red's 10-yr-old has had a friend since we moved in here, about 4 years ago. They lived just down the street, and up until this morning, they were utterly inseparable - twins, if you will, from different mothers, but as alike as any two little girls can be. Last night, Little Blond Friend's older brother ran away from home, after he called his mother something highly inappropriate to her face and was facing a well-deserved whuppin' across the ass from his dad. In their search for him, Little Blond Friend's dad came past our place to get LBF, and he was reeking of alcohol, enough so that the other friends we adults had visiting commented on the odor from nearly 20 feet away inside the house (he never came in) after he left. I spoke with LBF's mom this morning and commented on it, saying that perhaps Dad really shouldn't have been driving, and that I'd had some reservations about allowing his daughter to go with him in that condition.

Big mistake. Of sorts. She went, if I can use the term (and why not, it's my blog dammit) absolutely batshit crazy. Off the deep end. Ca-waaaazy. How dare I say that her husband would drive drunk with his daughter in the car, blah blah blah. Okay, he nearly fell down our stairs and I could smell him before I opened the door....but oh no. Anyway.

So a while later, he calls me. Now, mind you, other than the two or three breif times I've encountered the guy, and the one time Red and I made the mistake of going out for a quiet drink (or a dozen) with these two in which much hilarity did not ensue, I've hardly ever spoken with the guy. He calls me all indignant and telling me I'm not allowed to say anything to anybody, I'm way out of line calling him a drunk, etc etc ad nauseum. I told him....once....that if the only reason he'd bothered dialing my number was to get in an arguement with me, that I wasn't interested - he had obviously been drinking the night before, I noticed it, and commented on it to the other adult in the equation. That was it. I told him if he wanted to fight to save his breath.

Next words out of his mouth, "Well, no, I wasn't calling to fight with you, but I just want to let you know you'd better not say anything like that about me again, or I'll..." -=click=-

Shortly thereafter, the other adult calls and screams at my pregnant fiancee. Not a recipe for success.

Then they send over LBF, who, mind you, is all of about 12, and other than our 10-yr-old, has no friends. None. Nada. Zip. The message? "My dad says I can't be friends with you anymore, because WG was so rude to him." Red, who happened to be in earshot, corrected LBF quickly on this, giving her The Facts that she obviously hadn't gotten from her parental units, and the kid went hollering back to the car that Red said her dad was a drunk driver.

Well....yeah, actually.

So the upshot of the day was that I had a sobbing 10-yr-old girl in my lap, unable to understand why a man in his late thirties would choose to have a temper tantrum and take it out on his daughter and herself. I hope I explained it okay...at any rate, she did stop crying eventually.

The moral of the story here, I guess, is that people just suck. :(

Edit: Apparently Jeff has encountered the same phenomenon. Proof!

Friday, December 28, 2007

I can haz gingerbread?

Indeed I can. Mom brought me a large pan of it. I intentionally exerted a herculaean effort (quite heroic of me, I must say) and managed to keep from eating more than 1/8th of the pan in one go. Red liked it, the 10-yr-old loves it, but the true champ of this eating contest is the youngest, who managed to devour her helping in about three bites. I believe I heard the -=whoosh=- of the air rushing in behind where it had just been, as a matter of fact.

Hopefully it'll all stay down. I haven't had any nausea issues since earlier this morning, so I'm hoping for the best and eating like it's 1999. :)

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

14-year-old mack daddy

I mentioned this story to Kate at one point in an email exchange. Looking back over the blog so far this year, I see I've dropped hints on a number of things, so I guess I should clear those up. Call it a New Year's Resolution.

In 2001, Red and I were still coworkers & friends (this was long before we were dating). We both volunteered for a project funded by our employer, mentoring kids at a local middle school as they worked through the Lego Robotics Challenge. It was a motley group of kids; mostly kids I'd call "average", and a couple that were much more what I'd classify as "geeks". One in particular stood out of these, and I'll call him Mr. Smooth.

Mr. Smooth was a brilliant kid, and like most geeks really didn't get along with his peers. Most of them, in fact, couldn't stand him because he usually had the answer to their questions, wasn't shy about displaying the fact that he knew better than they did on a lot of problems, and was, for the most part, contemptuous of them. He got along with Red and I okay, mostly because, to be honest, he reminded me a lot of myself at that age....(brains+mouth)-common sense = bad things.

I forget exactly how the conversation started. I believe the kids were asking Red if they should call her by her first name or Mrs. ____, and she told them to call her by her first name, that was fine. There was a short pause in the conversation, and then Mr. Smooth spoke up.

"You know, I used to watch a show that had a character named (Red's name). She was a koala bear."

"Oh yeah?" Red asked.

"Yeah. I like koala bears. They're cute.....and they're vicious," Mr. Smooth said, and winked at her. Red could only laugh.

"Smooth, Mr. Smooth.......very smooth."

The fun never stops around here.

On the Suck-O-Meter, there's a range of Things That Suck. For instance, dropping your food when you're about to take a bite of it sucks, right?

Getting sick right in the middle of present-opening on Christmas morning sucks.

Continuing to vomit all day long uncontrollably sucks more.

Vomiting to the point that the diarrhea you also have simultaneously makes an appearance really really sucks.

Learning midway through the day in the middle of all of this that Mom made gingerbread because she read this blog entry caps it all off nicely.

Edit, Friday morning: I actually managed to get some solid food down yesterday, in case anybody's wondering. I've missed an entire week of work, which should make next week just utterly grand. Bleh.

Monday, December 24, 2007

Various vaguely Christmasy type stuff.

Hi there. Merry Christmas to you, reader, whoever you might be, from Red, Little Red, and Thing #1 and Thing #2...and the Little Bean, of course. My five cats also wish you happy holidays, provided you're prepared with their various favorite treats. Just so you know, Freckles likes salsa, Prince likes tortilla chips and chestnuts, Snuggles likes ice, Chunk likes tuna casserole, and Peaches....well, Peaches likes anything, in very large quantities, which is probably why she weighs nearly 20 lbs.

For Christmas so far this year I've gotten to listen to my coming son/daughter's heartbeat for the first time. I have to say it's the finest present I've ever gotten.

So far, no snow. The weatherman can't make up his mind if we're going to get any or not.

Shopping is done, finally. Nothing's wrapped, that being the job of the parental units to assist Santa in for morning delivery of loot.

Right now the girls are introducing themselves to the baby. Along with the fetal heartbeat, the kit we got has a microphone and belly speakers that strap onto Red's belly, for playing of Mozart, talking, reading, and so on. I intend to expose my son/daughter to heavy metal and Monty Python. :)

Happy Holidays! We're off to Grandma's house for much devouring of food.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Sweet!!!

Peter Jackson is making two films out of The Hobbit and the time between it & LoTR. I'm so excited, if I weren't sitting down already, I'd have to go sit down.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Best comment on Trutherism EVER

Heh. Succinct, to the point, and spot-on. I'm about laughing myself silly here.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

The guilt knife in my back

So I was ready for bed....sitting here minding my own business in my PJ's. Red and Little Red (the oldest) are sitting here watching CSI. Suddenly, Little Red sits up.

"OMG....like I totally forgot, I have to go to Wal-Mart tonight, because I forgot to get a toy for my Toys For Tots little boy, WGcanyoutakemepleasepleaseplease....." bounce bounce bounce

"Uh...." I replied snappily, looking down at my somewhat-clad self.

"Come on," Red said. "She's going to be spending her own money, you just have to drive."

"But I'm all ready for bed," I protested, thinking Blah, I gotta get up for work in the morning....

"I have to get him a toy! You don't want him to wake up Christmas morning and not have a toy do you???? He's five, and I want to get him a fire truck." persisted Little Red.

"Honey. Come on, you had a fire truck when you were a little boy, didn't you?" Red continued. She, of course, knew the answer. I'll tell you why she knows the answer to this one of these days. "Just think, this poor little boy will wake up all excited on Christmas morning, and he won't have a truck, and it'll be all your fault."

I wrote this. I posted it. Now I'll be shutting down my laptop and taking Little Red to Wal-Mart.

Redheads.

Sheesh.

Edit: On the way out was this witty exchange:

Me: "So what do I get outta this anyway?"
Little Red: "That warm fuzzy feeling in your tummy from me not punching you."

Monday, December 10, 2007

Another Christmas Tale

Okay, so I know my dad reads my blog, or at least promised he'd start. Hi, Dad. This one's for you. :)

One year, when I was about five and my little sister was two, we arranged ahead of time to make gingerbread cookies with my mom. We were industrious tots, and I at least was determined to have enough cookies to last us through the winter. (I suspect my parents habit of referring to each other in bear-related pet names had something to do with this, but I digress...) We made a double batch of my mom's gingerbread cookies, which are one of the things about the holiday season that I absolutely love.

Actually, food in general is one of the biggest things I love about the holidays, but, again, I digress.

We made the aforementioned cookies on Christmas Eve, because, well, Santa needs fresh cookies to keep him going - it's cold and (in Oregon) rainy out there. We left him quite a few, because of course the reindeer would be wanting cookies too, and I for one was not going to see Rudolph waste away! I was satisfied in my five-year-old mind that we'd left quite enough cookies for Santa and the reindeer, and wafted off to sleep convinced that cookies would be forthcoming right after (if not sneaked before) breakfast, and secure in the knowledge that loot was nigh.

Imagine my suprise the next morning, however, to find out what a greedy bastard Santa actually was. He had eaten, not only all of the many cookies my sister and I had left for him (and the milk, too), but the ENTIRE DOUBLE BATCH OF COOKIES.

All of them.

Every.

Single.

One.

Oh, there were crumbs left, of course, but not enough to even satisfy a mouse, as the Grinch story goes. I was devastated, scarred for life, and quite distraught at the wholesale carnage. The smell of them still lingered in the air, taunting us with their sweet heady aroma. I also noticed my mom and dad looking quite guilty, and I knew with the certainty only a five-year-old could possibly muster. They had failed to prevent Santa from eating all of our cookies.

I still wonder about that Christmas, you know. I can just see Santa coming in, discovering the cookies, and like a vacuum cleaner, devouring the lot with a whoosh, a chug of milk, and a twinkle in one eye. To this day, when I leave cookies for him, I hide the rest.

Just in case.

Edit: heh

Tippling Tuesday, done early

I won't have time for my weekly beer post tomorrow - Red's got her business meeting, and I shall go as the dutiful carrier-of-things, so I'm a day early.

Today's brew is Henry Weinhard's Classic Dark. This beer is a very dark American lager beer - the website says it's available mostly in the winter (October thru March), but I've been able to find it year-round locally, so I suspect they're brewing it year round.

Classic Dark is a really deep chocolatey beer - those of you following my beer posts have no doubt noted a distinct preference for dark beers, and with good reason. I'm not a big fan of hops, really - even Northwestern hops tend to give a beer enough bitterness that the brew they're in is really harsh. This beer has three distinct malts, and a finish I can only describe as kind of sweet.

Friday, December 7, 2007

That big news I promised all six of you....

So I said I'd give out big news, and you'd have to wait....the waiting is now over (sorta). Most of the essential people having been informed, now it's your turn.

I'M GOING TO BE A DADDY!!!!!!!!!!

Edit: I realized this morning that I probably should share a bit more info. The newest lamb to this flock is due in July. I got to see movement and a beating heart for the first time yesterday, and I must say I handled it exceptionally well...no fainting, hyperventilating, or weak knees to be had. Nosiree.

I did get a little choked up when I saw the little butt wiggling, though. It's about the size of a kidney bean at the moment, and quite the lively little bugger. I hope for Red's sake s/he behaves him/herself prior to birth, because I've heard many times that I used to kick my mother's ribs so hard she could hear them creak. Red's family is also prone to big babies - she's a fraternal twin and she & her sister were both just a little over 7 pounds at birth.

Edit #2: Well, the kids have all finally been told. We couldn't tell the youngest two because they went to their dad's house for the weekend. Reactions thus far:
Oldest: You're joking, right. Look, you guys, this really isn't funny at all (repeat).
Middle: YAHOO!!!! MOMMY'S GOING TO HAVE A BABY!!!! (continued exciting jumping up and down)
Youngest: Yay! Now, knucklehead (looking up at me), this had better be a baby brother. There are too many girls in this house already.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Me in 40 years

Heh...

Christmas stories

You know how some families have those stories having to do with Christmas and Santa? I was listening to the radio the other day, and they were having readers call in. One lady said she had programmed "Santa" into her speed-dial on her cell phone, so she could show her 4 year old when he was being particularly trying.... "Mom has a direct line to Santa, young man. Look, I'm calling him now."

I started thinking about my own family history.

See, Grandpa was quite a prankster. I'm not sure what prompted this particular episode, but as with most of his really big ones, he put quite a bit of planning into it. In (approximately) 1952, the family was living in northern Idaho. Grandpa was an avid hunter, and decided to use that fact. Well in advance, he set aside deer hooves, deer blood, and started complaining about how Santa rarely brought him anything really good for Christmas.

Christmas morning, around 4 AM, he went out and industriously put down fake sleigh tracks in the snow on the roof, with deer prints, boot prints, and a copious amount of blood. Once he got back down off the roof, he sneaked back into the house, got out his shotgun, and then ran hollering through the house about intruders, out the front door, and cranked off several shots into the sky. My father, his older brother, and two older sisters all came running out to see what was going on, and when Grandpa came sauntering back in, very satisfied, at least one of them got up the nerve to actually go out and check the roof (very aware of what day it was supposed to be and who would be likely to have been sneaking around in the house). The sight on the roof was, as one can imagine, appropriately horrific.

The fun part of this story, however, is not the immediate aftermath. The fun part of this story is knowing that until the year Grandpa died, in 1998, he got in his stocking a handful of walnut shells and a largish lump of actual coal.

Every. Single. Year.

It actually got to be quite a family tradition. Every year that the grandkids were around, Grandpa would pull down his stocking and look in it last, after everybody else's presents were open. Several pairs of expectant little eyes would be looking up at him, and he'd say, with a twinkling blue eye, "Weeeell.....let's see what he got me this year." A short dramatic pause, and he'd stick his hand in, and pull out a handful of the obvious contents. "Oooooooooohh......doggone it, he got me again!!!!!" accompanied by a smattering of delighted giggling.

Good times.

Monday, December 3, 2007

Yep

Bit slow blogging...busy with work, more work, and that other item I mentioned (and no, I'm not telling you yet...you have to wait till next weekend).

I've lived in Oregon all of my life - the storm system that came thru yesterday & today was as bad as any I've ever seen. (I'm not old enough to remember the Columbus Day Storm, sorry.) Yes, it really is that bad here...well, not here here, but you get my point.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Things that are awesome

Is there anything better than hearing a 7 year old reading fluently?



I can't think of anything.

Saturday, December 1, 2007

Grammar Nazis

Heh.

I always liked the Grammar Nazi when the now-defunct Queen of Wands did it, and it's just as funny done by somebody else.