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    I knew I would find some of me in him

    September 22, 2005

    The kid may look like a carbon copy of Derek, but he is all me.

    We went to Gymboree and the movie today. One of those theaters that provides the free Gymboree every other week to all those moms out there that are cheap asses and don’t want to pay $17.80 a session to have someone blow bubbles over the top of the kid’s head. For $17.80, I want you to nurse my kid for me AND teach him how to do his own laundry. I can do bubbles at my own damn house. But free is good.

    The kids were playing in the center of the parachute and off squirrels E. Right over to Logan (who is a girl, for those of you who weren’t sure–I know this because she was wearing a dress). He put his arms around her and gave her a big wet kiss on the back of her head. All the moms “ooohed” and “aahhed” and Logan just swatted the back of her head like she was trying to rid herself of a pesky fly.

    Pulling Rico Suave off of the girl, I gave him a short lecture on showing decorum or at least obtaining consent prior to any and all public displays of affection.

    He was then off to kiss Marissa. The child is 7 months old and has now kissed half of the amount of girls his father has ever kissed. Now his mother, on the other hand, well… let’s just say E is well on his way.

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    Notes to self (continued):

    September 21, 2005

    4. When Father Paul walks by you and the sleeping baby at Viewing #2 and says, “Ah, the sleep of the innocent,” go with the second comment that comes to mind (“Finally….”) and just let your first reaction (“I think he is sleeping off all his evil deeds for the day”) go. Father Paul is nice but I am guessing his sense of humor wouldn’t go as far as yours would.

    5. Don’t worry about the red tank top/potential haunting incident from Sunday. Thanks to the Olsen twins in matching midriff tops on Sunday and twin #1’s hot pink peek-a-boo bra under the blank mini tank top from Monday, Grandma has her haunting work cut out for her. Special thanks to the girls for giving us a veritable runway show of what’s new a Wet Seal this fall. I wasn’t up on the latest funeral ‘ho wear…

    7. When discussing the funeral arrangements for the next morning and your best friend says, “the service isn’t at my church,” don’t say, “don’t you actually have to GO to a church to call it YOUR church?” At least not in a public setting. This will not be considered funny by anyone other than yourself. Further, don’t add, “and you are probably so going to hell for not going” either. Just don’t.

    8. When your best friend’s “third-time-heartbreak-had-better-be-the-charm” ex-boyfriend shows up and you have been required to be pleasant to him as part of your contribution to this depressing affair, allowing him to watch the baby for two hours will soften your heart towards his pathetic situation. He will not be forgiven, but he will no longer be threatened with handguns in dark parking lots. You got a break, for heaven’s sake. Who cares if he put the baby’s ass on top of the shooting button of Centipede so he wouldn’t have to get carpel tunnel from pushing it?

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    Three wakes and a funeral

    September 19, 2005

    Note to self:

    1. Wearing a red tank top under your black suit at Viewing Session #1 will get you strange looks. Especially when the woman you are honoring has promised in advance that she will come back to haunt everyone who dresses inappropriately at her final hoorah. OK, so you may have done it on purpose, hoping to get one last rise out of her. At least you aren’t like the cousin who is threatening to wear a brown suit to Viewings 2 and 3. She is SO gonna get it. Bad weather and bad hair days for year for that sin.

    2. Put socks and shoes on your infant before going to a funeral home. Otherwise he will look like a little Amish baby sans straw hat. Actually it is probably important for your child to own socks and shoes. Or even just socks. Or be prepared for a barage of wrath from Aunt Margie about people that don’t dress their kids properly. As she is standing beside Grandma’s casket. With 20 other people. And everyone turns around looking at you like you are obviously NOT FROM JERSEY and NOT ITALIAN.

    3. Just buy the damn shoes, even if they are from Payless, they are $12.99, they don’t fit him and he screams so loudly when you put them on him that the nice man who works at Payless is torn between coming to see what is going on or calling 911 to report your abusive ass. Overlook the fact that the baby got a crazed look in his eyes and started pulling the shoes off with his teeth. He’ll be fine.

    It’s going to be quite a day.

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    The End of an Era

    September 16, 2005

    I was lying in bed after my long shift at work when I heard her come in the door at quarter to twelve. It was a common Saturday night occurrence. The 25-year-old tenant lying in bed alone, after a dateless evening, while the 80 year old cruises in after her weekly date with her 82-year-old boyfriend Benny. “He is no Mel,” she said, “but he drives a Cadillac, buys me dinner every Saturday night and takes me dancing too.”

    True he was not the love of her life like her husband had been for several decades before he passed away, but Benny sure liked her. As the door slammed, I could hear them arguing in the kitchen. The door slammed again and Benny was gone. About three minutes later I heard a knock at the back door. But what happened next you could not make up.

    “Ann, I just want a little love,” Benny said with a whine.

    “You get out of here. GET OUT OF HERE!” she said.

    Then came the crash of the furniture and the sound of him chasing her around the kitchen table.

    She told us later that he was trying to feel her up. As I recounted the story, obtaining the perfect reaction from her horrified middle-aged children at a family gathering, one asked me if I had contemplated going downstairs to help her.

    “Hell, no. Would you get between your mother and a good fight? She is a 5 foot nothing Italian grandmother that could kick your ass to Timbuktu and back. She knew that there was a ‘no boys in the house’ rule. That and I was having too much fun listening to her.”

    For three years I lived with her. She used to give me crap about store bought spaghetti sauce and for dressing like, and I quote, “a hobo.” Once she even called me a “sporty girl,” whatever the hell that meant. She wanted me to dress more like my best friend, her granddaughter B. I told her that I didn’t have that amount of class. She used to laugh.

    When I got engaged to Derek and she met him for the first time, I caught her flirting with him like he was a flyboy home from WWII. I overheard her asking him if he knew how crazy I was. He replied that he did and that he loved me anyway. She then regaled him with stories of every stupid thing I ever did while living at her house, to include her favorite story of me falling down the stairs while carrying a mattress.

    I loved her like she was my own. She leaves behind a son, two daughters, her very favorite granddaughter and five grandchildren. But now she is with Mel. She threatened us for over a decade that she wouldn’t make it another year without him and she finally made good on her promise.

    You will be forever missed, Ann, and the void you leave behind will never be filled.

    Rest in peace.

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    Because everyone in the house needs a computer for his very own

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    It’s all about the presentation

    Barrrrrrrrrrrring! Barrrrrrrrring!

    There it was on caller I.D. The number of my spineless, lazyass, “I-have-9-months-to-retirement-so-don’t-give-me-any-trouble,” “I-don’t-know-what-you-are-talking-about-but-you-can’t-work-part-time-now-and-you-have-to-come-back-full-time-as-of-next-Monday” second in command of yet another worthless governmental entity formerly known as my employer before I got the huge shaft.

    K: Hello?
    SL: Hey, Kristen. It’s Spineless Lazyass. How are you doing?
    K: I’m doing well. How are you? (getting excited because I’m sure he is calling to grovel)
    SL: Well, we were thinking that you have the manuals that you were working on updating before you left and we hope to get them from you.
    K: (thinking that the depth of his daftness had exceeded my every expectation) Of course I brought the manuals back on my last day of work.
    SL: Well, bipolar, pathological liar, “Is-it-OK-to-purchase-anti-depressants-from-those-emails-that-I-get-even-though-I-run-a-law-enforcement-department,” “what-are-you-talking-about-I-never-would-have-told-you-that-you-could-work-part-time-after-you-had-your-child-even-though-you-left-a-better-job-to-come-here-because-of-my-false-promise,” bigoted ex-boss of yours looked on the shelf and didn’t see them.
    K: Wow! Let me guess. She took three seconds to look for them on one shelf and then called it an 8-hour day. Tell her she can find the manuals where she left her integrity. Oh, that’s right. She never had any. You are giving me a hard time because of that comment I made that the only thing that would make her and the job tolerable would be to have Prozac put in the water cooler. Funny that you got rid of me because you needed the work done in a short period of time and couldn’t afford to let me work part-time and you haven’t touched the project in five months.

    What a piece of crap! It’s crap like this that earns the government all its lawsuits. I hope he got hit by a bus on the way home from work. Nothing terminal. Just something to ruin the weekend.

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