"Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."
My Boog Pages
Tuesday, March 9
It's My Party, And I'll Blargh If I Want To
Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It's been a month since my last blog...
I was all set to write an entry called "Homeowner's Ass." detailing how the local homeowner's association sent me a notice telling me I had ten days to clear all the grass out of my flowerbeds. "Look at the freakin' calendar!" I would say. "It's WINTER!" How could those heartless bastards do this to me when my wife is about to kick out another baby? (that last part is true.)
But then I found out it was actually a management company. They get paid to send people like me off on ranting benders. If they happened to see what I wrote, it would be a nice break from doing any actual work. Well, screw them if they think they can use me for a cheap laugh!
So I'm going to write about my weekend instead.
The Saturday just past was my son's seventh birthday party. He's not actually seven yet, but with the new baby due any day (ANY day) we thought it best to get things out of the way. So my wife arranged for a pirate party at our house, with swords and hats and booty and whatnot.
For a while I thought we were going to be celebrating two birthdays. On Friday evening my wife called me at work and said, "You'd better come home." I made the hour-long trip in only 60 minutes and rushed her to the hospital, where they said... the baby wasn't done yet. So after getting her tucked in back at the house and picking up the kids from her sister's, I finally had dinner (a bowl of Frosted Flakes) at ten o'clock that night.
When I got up the next morning, I felt pretty good. When I got up. Here's a timeline of my day:
8:00: Get out of bed, feeling pretty good. Have breakfast: Frosted Flakes.
8:40: Pull on yesterday's clothes, climb up to the attic to retrieve the folding table. Ominous rumbling down below.
9:05: More rumbling, now requiring immediate action.
9:35: My son and I jump in the car for the trip to Museum School. Today's lesson: brains! I now have a headache and am feeling a little under the weather.
10:40: I'm back, and now feeling pretty crappy. The fever spots in my back are starting to ache, and I feel a little disoriented. No rest for the weary, however, as I'm drafted into configuring our "trapdoor" pinata - none of that brutal stick fighting, with this thing, you just pull a string! More hippy corruption of manly American virtues.
11:20: Off to pick up the boy, and now I wonder if I should really be driving. The corners of my mouth feel like they have anchors dragging them down. I yell at the other drivers and think secret thoughts of revenge. More than usual.
1:05: I arrive home with the boy and the birthday cake, both mostly intact. I am definitely queasy now, and the party starts in less than 1 hour. I wonder if I will live to see tomorrow.
1:15: BLAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
1:16: Me to wife: "I just threw up. I'm going to lay down for a while."
1:20: My dad and sister arrive from Louisiana with my two little nephews. I put off the nap to give them a tour, nearly redecorating the kid's playroom in the process. Finally I crawl into bed.
2:30: The party is in full swing. My wife pokes her head in to check on me, and I ask for some Gatorade, as I'm getting pretty dehydrated.
2:55: I am going to die.
3:15: GAK!!! (dry heave)
3:22: The party kids have found the air hockey table set up outside the bedroom door.
4:01: GAK!!
4:12: I cannot die soon enough.
4:27: My dad and sister leave. I have spoken maybe 20 words to them. I ask them to have my wife arrange for some Gatorade.
4:38: More fun: I am now so dehydrated my feet and lower legs are cramping severely. I have to get out of bed to stretch, which results in...
4:39: GAK!!
5:30: I have given up hoping for death. My son comes in to tell me how much fun he had. I ask him to send in his mother.
5:31: In the loudest voice I can muster, I DEMAND GATORADE!!
6:00: My brother-in-law returns from the store with Gatorade. I take on sip every 5 minutes and manage to avoid further puking. I begin to think living through this won't be so bad after all.
6:20: I sleep.
New Phonebooks Dept.: My latest story, "Cutting Diamonds", is up over at Hardluck Stories. Two Mob legbreakers decide to play detective to figure out who set up their boss. Guaranteed offensive to Italians, Lexus drivers, members of the US Attorney's office, sex workers, asthmatics, guys named Fat Tony, and I'm sure there's a few I left out.
