A Wedding, a Telepathic Dog, and a Birthday Party
Ok, this is my third attempt at sending this. I'm not typing it to the detail I was before. Actually, I'm typing this in Notepad and then pasting it into Blogger, because the damn interface timed out on me twice and deleted some perfectly good words. Friggin' thing. Oh well, I guess you get what you pay for. Which, in this case, is nothing.
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I've been trying to kick it up a notch lately at the homefront. With the wife being in the "family way" and all, more help is required. So, I've got to suck it up and do it. My list of chores includes, but is by no means limited to the following: cooking, doing dishes (ok, putting them in the dishwasher and pushing Start), taking out trash and recyclables, doing laundry, cleaning up cat yak, and scooping the soiled litter boxes (and man, can those cats produce...belee 'dat).
And, occassionally, I'll even take one for the team. That happened this past weekend when I had to turn down a golf invite. Yes, I play golf. No, I don't take it seriously, and yes, I'm piss poor at it. Actually, what I do is more like a long walk with a cold beer. But, it gets me out, gets me a modicum of much-needed exercise, and lets me talk about women with the guys. Before I get flamed for that last statement, I know you women talk about men when you get together to play Bunco or whatever so you're just as bad as we are.
Anyway, back to the show.
As I mentioned, I took one for the team this past weekend. I opted out of golf to go with my wife to a wedding. This was a union between one of my wife's friends who I hardly know, and well, some guy. Nice couple, but it's hard going to these things when you don't know anyone else. We did meet some nice people who sat at the same table we did and we made nice conversation, and had a nice time. (Notice the reuse of the word 'nice' here...?) It was nice, but let me tell ya, these south/midwest weddings ain't got nuthin' on the shindigs people put on back east. Now, before I get flamed by any of you possessive Oklahomans, let me just say that I used to be one of those smarmy wedding DJs, so I've been to literally thousands of wedding receptions over the years. So, I'm not just talkin' out my ass here.
Southern weddings (and I'm not saying all...just all the ones I've been to here) are usually held in a church and have the reception in the church as well. One wedding I went to here was held in the early afternoon and the "reception" had no booze, no DJ, no Chicken Dance, no YMCA, no Electric Slide, and no Uncle Morty captivating the audience with a drunken soliloquy on the time he had to change the groom's diapers. No, these receptions tend to be a bit more sedate. I do have to give credit where it's due. The reception this past weekend did have booze and a DJ. Of course it was just a glass of champage so that everyone could toast Mr. & Mrs. Happy Couple and it was mid-afternoon so the DJ didn't have to do much. I know I didn't have a strong urge to shake my groove thang at 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon. There were finger foods, of course, and they weren't half bad. And, for drinks, it was water, unsweetened iced tea (unleaded), or iced tea (premium). But people, that was it. Very much unlike Lance Manion's wedding reception. Now there was a party! I don't think Boston has been the same since....
Later that evening, when I got the spawn to bed, the wife had some office work to do, so I sat down to see what was on the ol' telly. Turns out the wife had grabbed a movie on the Tivo called "A Boy and his Dog" based on the Harlan Ellison novel of the same name. It starred a very young Don Johnson (no white suit or fancy Miami Vice stylin' this time) and a telpathic sheepdog named Blood who leads him around scavenging for food and sex. The dog can sniff out women. An interesting talent in a WWIV post-apocalyptic world. It was kind of like Mad Max, but not quite. I say not quite because I don't remember Mad Max having any talking dogs. Or much talking at all for that matter. At first I thought that I wasn't going to like the movie and that it was a hour and 35 minutes of my life I'd never get back. Turns out, it wasn't that bad, in a post-apocalyptic talking sheepdog kind of way.
The next afternoon, the wife started packing for her upcoming business trip on which she was loathe to go. It wasn't the trip so much as the fact that she's very pregnant now and just didn't want to deal with the stress of travelling. Understandable. Coincidentally, our friend K who had taken us to BRUS, invited us on this day to also attend a birth party for her son at a mutual friend's house. So, the wife packed and we headed off to the party for some relaxation before going to the airport.
The party rocked! Yes, the kid is only 3, but they had a blow-up castle! And, they had homemade ice cream! And they had booze for the adults! And appetizers! And, did I mention booze? The host offered me what he calls a "Club Special". Apparently he had pre-made a whole cooler of these things. I'd had one of these drinks some time ago, but I'd forgotten how good they are. It's basically a vodka margarita. I had three. They were awesome.
Then the spawn wanted me to go play in the castle. So, I tossed my shoes and in we went. No other kiddos were in there, so I commenced beating him up with a beach ball that someone had left behind. I'm kind of evil like that. But, I figure a kid has to know his father can whoop his ass at a moment's notice. After much of that and imitation wrestling moves (not for the faint of heart, mind you...) I was drenched with sweat. It was about 95 degrees outside. Hmm...time for a refreshing beverage. Club Special, anyone? Don't mind if I do. I also grabbed some finger foods. Good stuff. But you know, come to think of it, my whole diet this past weekend consisted of primarily finger foods.
If I keep eating like this, I'm definitely going to have to play more golf. Because, you know, I need the exercise and all.
-la
-------------
I've been trying to kick it up a notch lately at the homefront. With the wife being in the "family way" and all, more help is required. So, I've got to suck it up and do it. My list of chores includes, but is by no means limited to the following: cooking, doing dishes (ok, putting them in the dishwasher and pushing Start), taking out trash and recyclables, doing laundry, cleaning up cat yak, and scooping the soiled litter boxes (and man, can those cats produce...belee 'dat).
And, occassionally, I'll even take one for the team. That happened this past weekend when I had to turn down a golf invite. Yes, I play golf. No, I don't take it seriously, and yes, I'm piss poor at it. Actually, what I do is more like a long walk with a cold beer. But, it gets me out, gets me a modicum of much-needed exercise, and lets me talk about women with the guys. Before I get flamed for that last statement, I know you women talk about men when you get together to play Bunco or whatever so you're just as bad as we are.
Anyway, back to the show.
As I mentioned, I took one for the team this past weekend. I opted out of golf to go with my wife to a wedding. This was a union between one of my wife's friends who I hardly know, and well, some guy. Nice couple, but it's hard going to these things when you don't know anyone else. We did meet some nice people who sat at the same table we did and we made nice conversation, and had a nice time. (Notice the reuse of the word 'nice' here...?) It was nice, but let me tell ya, these south/midwest weddings ain't got nuthin' on the shindigs people put on back east. Now, before I get flamed by any of you possessive Oklahomans, let me just say that I used to be one of those smarmy wedding DJs, so I've been to literally thousands of wedding receptions over the years. So, I'm not just talkin' out my ass here.
Southern weddings (and I'm not saying all...just all the ones I've been to here) are usually held in a church and have the reception in the church as well. One wedding I went to here was held in the early afternoon and the "reception" had no booze, no DJ, no Chicken Dance, no YMCA, no Electric Slide, and no Uncle Morty captivating the audience with a drunken soliloquy on the time he had to change the groom's diapers. No, these receptions tend to be a bit more sedate. I do have to give credit where it's due. The reception this past weekend did have booze and a DJ. Of course it was just a glass of champage so that everyone could toast Mr. & Mrs. Happy Couple and it was mid-afternoon so the DJ didn't have to do much. I know I didn't have a strong urge to shake my groove thang at 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon. There were finger foods, of course, and they weren't half bad. And, for drinks, it was water, unsweetened iced tea (unleaded), or iced tea (premium). But people, that was it. Very much unlike Lance Manion's wedding reception. Now there was a party! I don't think Boston has been the same since....
Later that evening, when I got the spawn to bed, the wife had some office work to do, so I sat down to see what was on the ol' telly. Turns out the wife had grabbed a movie on the Tivo called "A Boy and his Dog" based on the Harlan Ellison novel of the same name. It starred a very young Don Johnson (no white suit or fancy Miami Vice stylin' this time) and a telpathic sheepdog named Blood who leads him around scavenging for food and sex. The dog can sniff out women. An interesting talent in a WWIV post-apocalyptic world. It was kind of like Mad Max, but not quite. I say not quite because I don't remember Mad Max having any talking dogs. Or much talking at all for that matter. At first I thought that I wasn't going to like the movie and that it was a hour and 35 minutes of my life I'd never get back. Turns out, it wasn't that bad, in a post-apocalyptic talking sheepdog kind of way.
The next afternoon, the wife started packing for her upcoming business trip on which she was loathe to go. It wasn't the trip so much as the fact that she's very pregnant now and just didn't want to deal with the stress of travelling. Understandable. Coincidentally, our friend K who had taken us to BRUS, invited us on this day to also attend a birth party for her son at a mutual friend's house. So, the wife packed and we headed off to the party for some relaxation before going to the airport.
The party rocked! Yes, the kid is only 3, but they had a blow-up castle! And, they had homemade ice cream! And they had booze for the adults! And appetizers! And, did I mention booze? The host offered me what he calls a "Club Special". Apparently he had pre-made a whole cooler of these things. I'd had one of these drinks some time ago, but I'd forgotten how good they are. It's basically a vodka margarita. I had three. They were awesome.
Then the spawn wanted me to go play in the castle. So, I tossed my shoes and in we went. No other kiddos were in there, so I commenced beating him up with a beach ball that someone had left behind. I'm kind of evil like that. But, I figure a kid has to know his father can whoop his ass at a moment's notice. After much of that and imitation wrestling moves (not for the faint of heart, mind you...) I was drenched with sweat. It was about 95 degrees outside. Hmm...time for a refreshing beverage. Club Special, anyone? Don't mind if I do. I also grabbed some finger foods. Good stuff. But you know, come to think of it, my whole diet this past weekend consisted of primarily finger foods.
If I keep eating like this, I'm definitely going to have to play more golf. Because, you know, I need the exercise and all.
-la
posted by Lex Armenia at 1:42 PM
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