No Title Yet. I Need Chocolate First
2004-08-25, 9:05 a.m.

Today is going to be one of those "...the HELL?" days. In the last half hour, I have been assaulted with the following:

1. CIA Classified Plot To Hijack Santa Actual headline. I kid you not.

2. My fortune for today. "You aspire to be a Viking." Huh?

Not to mention the gas company showed up with backhoes for Day 6 of demolishing the neighborhood. Having the gas company lurk on your street for 6 solid days for unscheduled maintenance simply can NOT be a good sign. As I have no desire to go up like a Roman candle, I plan to be gone as much as possible.

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Today I need to do all the runnin' round to get ready for Daughter's 12th birthday on Friday. Earlier this summer Dear Hubby and I bought the kids a trampoline, with the understanding that it was their early birthday gift and was in lieu of parties this year. In true Daughter fashion, she wheedled me into having a friend over to spend the night for her birthday, which has now morphed into a 5-kid sleepover with pizza, ice cream cake, movies, and lots of nail polish.

Daughter is a master of manipulation. Since she was old enough to grab a dollar bill, she would enter a mall with my parents and a few bucks, and leave with my parents, all her money, and $350 worth of toys and clothes. *sniff* They learn so fast...

Son has no use for such subtlety. He enters a store as a Man On A Mission, armed with a list and pre-planned route to take him as far away from the ladies' clothing department as possible. He doesn't so much shop as complete a tactical engagement, a toy aisle commando with grim determination. If the store is out of his particular item, he will leave empty-handed to try again another day.

Then, there's the anomaly known as their father. It takes an Act of God to get him into a store. Once accomplished, it takes another Act of God to get him out. He whines and fidgets and fusses and argues the entire way there, but plunders and buggy-loads for hours once inside. And never, never let him shop for clothes alone. Once, I turned him loose to buy a new suit jacket. Instead of going to someplace reasonable, he thought of how my mother goes to Chez Snot to buy her dressy things (after complaining for years about my mother's spending habits, mind you.) He bypassed all places that sell clothing at less than gazillionaire prices and chose a nice sport coat from the ritz. He was very pleased with himself to get it, a coordinating shirt, and fancy tie for "only" $400+. :::::::banging head on brick wall:::::::

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Baby-faced Hubby and GroovyGuru took a boat-building break the other night and headed to the convenience store for soft drinks. Hubby is a couple of years older than Guru. The girl at the register asked Guru if Hubby was his son.

BAWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Of course, one day someone is going to ask ME if he is MY son, and it won't be nearly as funny.

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