Comedy is. . .

. . .taking your kids to the zoo, getting off the train, reading a map, the walking toward your destination - with conviction. Not funny? How about 3/4 of a mile into your walk, you discover that you have walked in the wrong direction, so you have to walk a mile uphill? Hilarious, right?

Though that's funny, that's not the point of my post.

A few weeks ago, after almost a year of silence between the kids' father and myself, I offered him the opportunity to do the right thing by his kids. On the one hand, I'm completely okay with handling business alone, however, it's Finge and the Ladybug that end up paying the cost. I considered it taking one for the team by calling him. I cut right to the chase.

"You call me for the first time in a year, and that's all you have to say to me?"

*Silence* "Well, yes."

What was I supposed to do? Ask him about the weather? Add him as a MySpace friend? (His mother already is. I don't want to talk about it.)

The good news is, we seem to have come to some sort of understanding. The bad news is, we now have a cordial relationship. Once he felt comfortable with the fact that I was not sending knee breakers to his home, he got in the confessing mood. He chose to share with me the fact that he still finds himself "reaching for [insert my ENTIRE given name here]." *SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH*

See, little shit like that is the precise reason I like to keep our relationship set to "hostile." It keeps uncomfortable conversations such as these to a bare minimum.

My first reaction to his declaration was nausea. In actuality, I was mouthing "NOOOO MANNNNNNNNN," when I got the inkling that he was going to say something of the sort. Being sick to my stomach had more to do with the fact that his saying that had the same effect as a stranger confessing such a thing. It's not flattering; just kinda creepy. It's also just a little sad, because it's been almost seven years since I walked away from that. The person he's reaching for, frankly, doesn't exist anymore.

Another day, I probably would have called him every name in the book, and went on about how he dogged me and felt some misplaced sense of vindication. But, the truth is, it's really not about any of those things. I think where I am right now is precisely where I need to be. I am so free from that part of my past, not only could I sing, but I could dance an Irish jig.

And that's just fine by me.

Chronicles of the Luscious

Another day has passed, and I'm, again, awake at an ungodly hour. Trust me, this was not due to a lack of activity.

I woke up at the crack of dawn (and by crack of dawn, I mean 9:25) and decided that it was high time to do laundry. The laundromat is always crowded. Always. I thought going during the week would give me a break, but alas, I was wrong. It was more crowded than ever. Despite that, I was still able to do a hellacious amount of laundry in less than 3.5 hours. No small feat, trust me. I won't say that my issues with the laundry mat are plentiful, but they do exist.

I am probably the only English speaking person that uses this facility. I am by no means one of those elitists who believe "yer in Amerrrikkka, speak Ainglish!" However, when people walk up to me and begin to speak in rapid fire Spanish, it makes me forget the few phrases that I know to convey to them that my Spanish is beyond piss poor. For some reason, it kind of makes me feel like a douche. On the upside, going to this place is impelling me to learn the language, because telenovellas look like they are the BOMB. I don't know what they are saying on "El Diablos y los Guapos," but it looks like the shit and I want to be a part of it. (Side note: Does the Latino community view Univision the way we look at BET. I've seen some activity on that channel that looks like flagrant coonito-ism. I'm just saying.)

My kids are far too sociable, and they always befriend some random miscreant in the making that works my nerves. One kid almost got the taste smacked out of his mouth today, and though he was a tester, he was not crazy and he saw his future. I am really not the one for kids that like to test adults. I make it known to all children: I do not test well, but I'm in the 99th percentile in juvenile beatdowns. I will not hesitate to bust open a can of whip ass on the kids I brought into the world. Do you really think I'd second guess putting one of those Big Show chest slaps on a three-year-old that I've never met who happens to be tap dancing on my last nerve? Sheeeeeee...

I have somehow become the damned pied piper of the laundry mat. Small kids have always liked me, so I guess that means I am a fairly decent person. Aren't they like puppies where they're supposed to be a good judge of character and predict earthquakes and shit like that? Plus, everybody loves the big titty girl. I swear, babies start drooling when I round the corner. I almost feel bad when they discover that these are only display models. In addition to the kids, ever since I've gone natural with my hair, parents have become all loosey goosey in leaving their kids unattended around me for long periods of time. I guess I look like a nanny earth mother or something. Two problems here: 1) this is dangerous as all hell, and 2) I don't want to be saddled down with your damned kids!

Today, this dude and his girl came in to do laundry with a small baby. By small, I mean she was *this far* from me wondering why she had the baby out in the streets. The kid was so small, it still had that unisex look, and could not hold a bottle. Two months MAX. Anyway, son strolls in, plops his baby on the counter RIGHT next to where I'm folding clothes, walks off. On top of that, he goes about his business for at LEAST twenty minutes before he looks back. The trifling bitch he was with NEVER looked back. What in the blue hell? I'm telling you, if this shit doesn't stop, I'm getting a perm and a breast reduction. I really need a personal assistant to handle these things.

Springtime Goodness

Hellooooooo Spring!!!

I've been out of the loop for a minute. My keyboard had an unfortunate incident with ramen noodle juice. Don't ask...just...don't.

I've been home with the kiddies. Last week, they had a bout with the flu, and this week, they're off for Spring Break. Tell me my kids don't know how to do it! I'm really not going to know how to act when I get back to work. Probably roll in around 10:30, still wearing my robe, bitching about how they don't have Florida's Natural orange juice.

So I'm up at this ungodly hour, after feeding my America's Best Dance Crew addiction. I LOVE that show. Watching people dance has always been one of my favorite past times. My love for dance is only preceded by my love of literature and music. I guess literature places first because I can neither dance nor sing, but I'd like to think that I can write my ass off.

Now, one of my favorite things about spring is the bevy of new movies to come. One of my favorite pastimes is watching superhero movies. Nothing like a little kicking ass and taking names to get the blood pumping for the warm months to come. I'm sure that by now, most of you have seen the orgasm that is the "Iron Man" trailer. Holy shit dude! That's all I can say. May 2 really can't come fast enough.

I'm sitting here watching the GREATNESS that was X2, remembering how X-Men 3 was set up to finish in FANTASTIC style, and I am really fighting the desire to hunt down Brian Singer and punch him in the mouth. I've already discussed how pissed I am with him ruining TWO superhero movies (his departure from the X-Men franchise was due to his directing the insufferable bore that was Superman Returns), so I'll spare you that old chestnut. I just hate when directors completely drop the ball on the third movie. They did it with The Matrix, they did it with X-Men, and it's my understanding that they did it with Spiderman. I won't even touch the way Batman was disgraced. They hype you up with this PHENOMENAL sequel (I cried at the end of X2), then COMPLETELY drop the ball with the third (did they really have Wolverine crying like a little bitch). There should really be a law. And speaking of Batman...

I read this blog about one of my favorite shows, "How I Met Your Mother." Besides the fact that I didn't agree with the opinion that the show sucked, this interesting tidbit was divulged: Alicia Silverstone pulled out of this episode because of Britney Spears' guest spot. Sooo...let me get this straight - she was a willful participant in the filmed diarrhea that was "Batman Forever," and "Beauty Shop," but working with Britney Spears is where she draws the line. Really? Really? Wow.

I think I have a crush on Harry Potter. I'm fairly sure that's legal right? Not like a crush crush, but I LOVE those damned movies. I can't help it. It appeals to that inner kid that is still fascinated by magic, whimsy and all that other good shit. I believe the latest installment will be released this fall. YAAAAAAAY!

But in the meantime: go out, get some sun, show some cleavage!

Smooches!

Petty Inconvenience

A while back, Grizzly was at my desk and effed up my WHOLE PROGRAM. He acknowledged his scruffy appearance as a "Grizzly Adams thing" he had going on. What the hell? Of all the damned nerve. How am I going to call this fuzzy bastard Grizzly, when he's calling himself Grizzly? It can't happen. Him using the name just takes the fun out of it. Now, I must suffer the inconvenience of coming up with another name. And if that weren't enough, I have been put on the spot, because I had no intention of changing his name.

So, until I come up with something snappy and fitting, I will refer to him as The Alpaca King.

[One may ponder, "Wh name him at all? Why not live and let live?" The answer: he will invariably work on my nerves, and when he does, I'll have to blog about it. I think it would be far LESS polite to put his "gubment" on my blog, wouldn't it?]

Calling All Readers

It's been quite around these parts. Is 2008 kicking your butts? Well, this blog's for YOU.

Pick a topic, ANY topic, that you'd like me to post on, and I'll do it! I swear I will.

Get at me!