Sorry for not posting like I had tweeted out, I got distracted by the SAG Awards and The Kardashians.Well no sense in sugar coating anything, so let me just jump right into the shit-show of a week I had last week. Complete and total shit-show. I mean not as bad as our country right now, but pretty close! What? Too soon?!
Anywho, moving on. I just want to put it out there that I have managed to avoid going Jury Duty for 20 years. I was very proud of this achievement until last week when my Juror number was called. Now I understand it’s my “civic duty” and all, but seriously there were 400 other people that could have handled that shit!
I won’t bore you with the details of Jury Duty as I’m sure some if not all of you have served at some point. I will tell you that I am completely traumatized from this experience. First off I only had the chance to have one cup of coffee before leaving for Court. I walked three blocks in freezing rain only to have way too many instructions being thrown at me! “Stand in line, everything out of your pockets, put your items in the bin, hold your notice so we can see, walk straight and make a right at the corner, form a single file line, once you get up to the check in table, hand the lady your notice, at that time you will give her your parking ticket, once you get checked in take a seat! I was like…
can I get a minute!?!
I got excited for like 2.5 seconds because I got a badge that said “Juror”, then I realized that I had to give it back at the end. Once I got to the check-in woman she took my notice and was like, “up the ramp and take a seat!” Now as I was approaching the ramp they had a sign that said, “no standing on the ramp”. Ummm how the hell does this bitch expect me walk up the ramp if I can’t stand on it? What did she want me to do, throw myself over the ramp? So I ran across the ramp instead. I starred at that sign for 15 minutes trying to comprehend it. Everyone that walked on the ramp I said, “um excuse me, you can’t stand on the ramp” and then just pointed at the sign.
I sit down and a woman asks me if she can go to the bathroom. I looked at her like:
“Yea sure go ahead”, I replied. Apparently I was the bathroom patrol! I never saw her after that! I think I helped her escape. So after that, we got to watch a movie. Not just any movie, but a movie on the importance of Jury Duty and Jurors. I can tell you’re all as enthused as I was. After the movie, the woman comes out and tells us to be prepared to stay there ALL DAY! Watchu mean all day?! I thought if you didn’t get picked you go home! This isn’t my civic duty, this is false imprisonment. Long story short they pulled 4 groups of 50 people and NOT ONCE was my number called. For those that don’t know I have A.D.H.D and Jury Duty is legit conversion therapy for A.D.H.D. people, pure fucking torture. After 7 hours of sitting still I was like:
On a brighter note, we managed to convert one of our cats to dogism. Not quite sure how that happened or when for that matter, but one of the cats thinks he’s a dog. I’m sure you’re wondering what I mean by this, so I shall explain. We have two dogs, which I like to refer to ass “drop kick” dogs because they’re the little yappy dogs. Now my wife, as previously mentioned treats these dogs as if they’re our fur children. Since these are apparently our “children” they use wee wee pads. Not for any other reason but because my wife is afraid to let them go out into the back yard because she thinks that a hawk or eagle will pick them up and take them away. Isn’t she pretty?! So in any event, apparently Jax (the cag) is now using the wee wee pads as well. I know, you’re reactions the same as mine:
As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, my wife’s response was “he’s so smart, he watches the dogs and now thinks he’s a dog. He even folds up the pad after he’s done, that’s why you can train cats to use the toilet!” Okay this is where I react like:
He’s a CAT….he’s not a dog. What the hell am I supposed to do, give him a treat for using a wee wee pad when he has a liter box?! There is no way I’m teaching a fucking cat to use the toilet either! Cat’s can’t become dogs. It’s just not possible and if we somehow managed to convert a cat into a dog that has a cat’s body I’m patenting that shit and I want a friggen Nobel Peace Prize!
As if my week couldn’t get any worse I ran out of windshield washer fluid and kept forgetting to stop and pick some up. Which means every day I drive to and from work like this:
Pretty sad right? Wait… there’s more. I come home last Thursday night to an empty house and by empty I mean no kids, candles burning and incense burning. I’m thinking to myself “oooh it’s date night!” No, nope, not date night! My lovely wife greets me with a hug only to inform me that she almost burned our house down! How you ask? Let me enlighten you. She was making a pork roast but “forgot” that she had a box of twinkles in the bottom part of the oven, so when she preheated the oven, the twinkles caught fire. She tells me that Carlton noticed the flames behind the oven and ran over and ripped the box of twinkles out of the oven and threw it on the floor and hosed it down with the sink hose. Somehow the oven catching fire turned into “ya know we really need to re-do this kitchen because we need more cabinet space!”
First off I want to start off by saying that all these children in this house and their germs need to go. I don’t care where they go but they have to get the hell out of here! They can all sleep in the shed outside until I decontaminate this house! Why you ask? Well, they’re germs had finally broke through my hazmat suit and layer of lysol and hand sanitizer. Yes I sprayed myself down with lysol and used sanitizer as moisturize, get over it! When you live with this many germ breeding, walking viral infections you do what you have to do to survive. It’s like a an episode of Survivor up in this house. In between the chills, coughing, sneezing and trying to breathe I declared:
Yes I may have declared that this is my island from my death bed and no one batted an eye, but it had to be said! So with me declaration I slept from Thursday afternoon to Friday night. Friday night my wife woke me up and forced me out of bed to eat chicken soup and drink her famous hot toddies. Then she force fed me liquid DayQuil. Now here is my question… if you want people to buy your product and use your product don’t make it taste like complete shit! Seriously why? Why can’t adults take medicine that taste like bubble gum like kids? I mean even dogs get medicine that taste like bubble gum but us adults have to take medicine that tastes like you drank a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Okay that was a bit extreme because I have never actually drank a bottle of rubbing alcohol but I imagine if I were to drink a bottle of rubbing alcohol it would taste similar to DayQuil and NyQuil. No matter how hard you try, you will always make this face:
Now I just want to briefly touch on the fact that while my wife brought me chicken soup, medicine and made me two hot toddies. I’m lying on the couch convinced that I’m actually dying, curled up in a blanket, trying to cuddle up against my wife for some “babying” and this bitch is getting the belly rubs:
As if that isn’t the kick in the ass, she’s smiling at me, as if to say, “Hahahaha you nothing human, you lay there and die because I’m getting belly rubs!” Just spiteful!
So today is my wife’s birthday and we had planned an overnight stay up in Saratoga a while ago with our oldest son, daughter-in-law, his father and wife (yes, we are really good friends with them). Now, I had to suck it up about being sick and drive yesterday to the hotel because it was the wife’s birthday celebration with our oldest son who lives in west bumble weeds. She’s smart, my wife, she waits until we are an hour into the drive to tell me that the hotel we are staying at is haunted. No big deal. Hold on everyone wait for it….it’s haunted because it use to be AN ORPHANAGE! FantChildrenTastic! Now this is where I draw the line…is there at all ANY time we can escape friggen children!?! We’re going away from our children for a night only to be tortured by ghost children for a fucking night… fantastic hunny! So now the whole ride up, I’m thinking if I hear this…..
We are out!
So we finally arrive after a nice 3 hours and 20 minutes of my wife trying to force feed me a buttered role that tasted just as nasty as the medicine, while pointing out every time we passed the Scooby Doo Mystery Mobile…yes this really happened! But the wife insisted that I needed to eat because I was taking medicine. Not to mention that she decided to periscope the entire venture of me trying to force down a butter roll….isn’t she pretty! Since the hotel was haunted, I’m hoping that at the least our concierge should look like this:
After we get to the hotel, get our key, given instructions on how to get to our room, we ventured upto our room on the third floor. Now I get off the elevator and I immediately feel like we’re staying in the hotel from American Horror Story. It’s that old, creepy style hotel that has the erie feeling in the hallway, that has the weird old smell. At this point, I’m waiting for Lady Gaga to just appear in the middle of the hallway like:
I told my wife if Lady Gaga jumps out and whips out the blade, first I’m gonna let her hug me then she can kill me. I mean if I am going to go out, what a way to go out but by Lady Gaga slicing and dicing…come on now! Sadly no Lady Gaga, but my wife insisted that the hotel reminded her of the Overlook Hotel from the movie The Shining. My worse mistake was saying that I never saw the movie because then everyone made me watch the movie, which wasn’t so bad until everyone decided to go ghost hunting on the fifth floor after the movie in the middle of the night! So here we all are, in pajamas, strolling through the floors of the hotel trying to “sense presences of spirits” and now I’m thinking if I see this:
Children spirits or not, they are getting the shoulder down, head down tackle! Look, I ain’t playing. There will be no “Herrrrrrrreeeeee’s Johnny” or “redrum, redrum, redrum, REDRUM” up in this bitch. This isn’t Ghost Adventurers and I’m certainly not looking to bring home any more children! Sorry but not sorry… you all can stay here! Bye Felicia!
So we made it home safe and sound and no new children that we’re aware of! Now we are getting ready to celebrate Mamma Tammy’s birthday with the kids and of course the kennel of animals that we have, because…you know…they’re family too!
After the debacle with the eye glasses, the next night we had to attend a “parents Confirmation” meeting for our 13 year old. As if I haven’t been traumatized enough, I had to endure a meeting about Confirmation. Now anyone that knows me, knows that I hate meetings of any kind. I just don’t have the attention span for a “meeting”. The minute I walk through the door to any meeting, I’m immediately off in my own world. So here we are, my wife, Alessandra’s father and myself walking into the basement of the church. I was waiting for the gates of hell to open and swallow up my wife and I. No such luck, we were stuck at the meeting. I could imagine how it looked when the three of us walked in kinda like this:
There we are all sitting at our own table. The woman in charge of CCD starts talking about how it’s very important that their community service and Sponsor paperwork gets submitted by the end of this month. She starts talking about how everything that happens in our lives gets recorded onto the back of our birth certificates. I immediately thought “what a bunch of stalkers”, then I was like “well I wonder if they documented when I came out”. At that point, I got an elbow in the rib cage from my wife. This is how she explained it to us and how it’s being explained to the kids:
"Everything you do in life is recorded with the church. The day you're born gets documented, then your Baptism, your first Penance,your first Holy Communion, your Confirmation, your Marriage and then ultimately your death!"
I was all good up until the “ultimately your death” part… that shit had me like:
I could only imagine how many kids are going to be leaving their Confirmation saying, “well, up next is marriage and then my friggen death!”
From that she went on to talk about the Confirmation retreat that they had to attend. Apparently the retreat is to teach them how to respond when asked if they’re Catholic. Why someone would come right out and ask if they are Catholic is beyond my capabilities of comprehending but hey, at least she’ll be ready for the question! This woman said that the Catholic religion has a bad reputation so the retreat teaches them to educate people on how God loves us all. This is when she looked the three of us sitting in the back. Bitch please, I know Jesus loves me, he’s my homeboy we go way back! Now the woman doesn’t mention anything about Sponsors not going, so we assumed based off of the nun that teaches Alessandra that sponsors had to go. In any event, the retreat was scheduled for 8:30 am to 1:30 pm on a Saturday but they have to be there at 8:15. First off, this interferes with my sleeping in, secondly it interferes with my sleep, which had me like:
Saturday morning comes along and here I am waking up at the ass crack of dawn on my day off to take Alessandra and Bianca, who’s Alessandra’s sponsor to a religious retreat! I walk up stairs and say “good morning, rise and shine, time to get up!” The girls simultaneously respond, “Ughhhhhh, why is this thing so early?” My response is simple, “because Jesus is a morning person, so lets get moving!” Off we go to Church. On the way there, Alessandra said to Bianca, “thanks for coming, I’m glad you’re going to be with me in case I forget any information.” I said, “what the hell are you talking about, what information could you possibly forget, you’ve been in CCD since the first grade!” She said, “I dunno any kind of Jesus information”.
I dropped them off and went home and went right back to sleep! About 45 minutes to an hour into my peaceful sleep the phone rings and its our daughter Bianca. She tells us that she escaped and that she was standing outside the church. At first I’m thinking how the hell did she escape an army of Nuns, then I pictured this happening:
Bianca proceeded to tell us that she was the only sponsor there and the one Nun kept making her set everything up and had her running back and forth to the Nun’s car. As if that wasn’t bad enough, all the kids thought she was 13 and making her confirmation. Bianca told us that once the kids started to come in, the Nun had her start taping single words written on paper to the backs of the kids. She said she escaped at the point where they all sat in a circle holding hands playing charades. Now I’m not exactly sure what that has to do with religion, I mean what was next, duck duck Jesus? This is what I paid for? If I’m paying for our kid to get confirmed, then she better have the bible memorized by the end of the retreat!
Alessandra decides that in the middle of the retreat that it was so important to text Bianca and tell her that she held hands with a “really cute boy”. I’m sure Jesus loved that one!
I picked up Alessandra and she shows me a “party bag” they all got after the retreat, which had rubber rosary beads so they don’t break, a crucifix, a journal and holy water. Alessandra said, “what do I do with the holy water”? I suggested dousing the cats in it. Anyway, she then tells me that her group won a book because they won at… ready for this….. SCRABBLE! Our kid is at a religious retreat supposedly learning about Jesus and Catholicism and the importance of being Confirmed and she’s making fucking words for a game of fucking scrabble!
Jesus better have been the winning word or I want my money back!
Well I suffered my first casualty of 2017 when the other day the screw to my glasses decided to just fall out. No warning, no “hey, I’m loose you might want to tighten me up”, it just fell out! The first thing I did was immediately snapchat my wife a picture of myself wearing my glasses with one arm. Why you ask? Well because I’m mentally 12 and found it funny that I was trying to wear glasses with one arm. Oh stop it! You know ya’ll would be holding up your phones sending selfies. After I sent the picture to my wife, friend and kids, I figured I should try and fix my glasses, because wearing glasses with one arm isn’t exactly professional and without them everything is blurry.
Now this is where I have a problem with glasses. Why, for the love of baby Jesus would they make the screws so damn small. Don’t they realize that the people wearing these things can’t friggen see? I personally would like to know what the thought process was behind this. Were they are all hanging out in the eye lab and one of the eye glass makers said, “hey let’s really screw with people, lets make the screws so small that they can’t hold them, see them or find them if they fall out?” Seriously really just throw a kick right to the gut of a visually impaired person by making the screws so damn small. I digress.. In any event I spent an hour trying to fix my glasses, finally gave up and spent the rest of my work day wearing glasses with one arm.
This is where it gets interesting. When I get home, my wife tells me to let her fix them because she has “smaller hands and fingers” than I do. First of all, thank you hunny for telling me I have fat hands and fingers. Secondly, her eyes are worse than mine. So here we are at the kitchen table, the blind leading the blind with tweezers and mini screw driver squinting trying to put the glasses back together. After 45 minutes of performing surgery on my glasses and the screw spent more time on the table then it did anywhere near my glasses I gave up.
So Tammy and I are sitting at the table trying to come up with a plan on how to get the tiny screw into the tiny hole when our son Mike walks in and tells us both to let him do it. He tells us that he can do it because he’s “younger and has perfect vision”. At that point I’m like:
I looked at my wife and said, “did he just call us old?” Wow, he really went there. He must of lost his damn mind forgetting who feeds his young ass! Anyway, my wife yet again brings up how she has the smaller fingers and hands out of everyone…okay “Miss All About Me and My Small Hands and Fingers”!!! Tammy decides to offer her assistance despite Mike wanting it. After about another hour the screw goes missing. You wanna know why the screw went missing? Because none of us in this house are fucking eye glass repairers! So now here we are, the three of like like:
Carlton comes in and offers to run to the store to pick up an eyeglass kit. He tells us that he does it all the time with his glasses, finally a professional! Right before Carlton and Mike leave for the store, the second casualty of 2017 occurs when Alessandra breaks a nail. I tell them to pick up nail glue for Alessandra’s nail along with the kit. I’m stressing out about how I’m going to see tomorrow but that’s apparently nothing compared to a broken nail on a 13 year old because this is what happens:
So the boys come home with the eye glass kit, candy for the girls and gorilla glue. Yes, you all heard right… they came home with gorilla glue for Alessandra’s nail. We aren’t trying to get Alessandra to hang from the ceiling by her nail, so what possessed them to buy gorilla glue instead of nail glue had me a little like:
Somehow they managed to get the girls candy right and Carlton’s ice cream but Crazy glue boys… CRA-ZY GLUE… nothing in that name sounds like Gorilla Glue! There was a family gathering in our bedroom to fix my glasses. Mike is sitting at our desk, the girls are on our bed eating candy and trying to repair a nail with glue strong enough to hang a steel beam, Carlton is kneeling on the floor fixing the glasses, the dogs are fighting with each other and Tammy is picking out all the green sour patch straws from the girls candy. I’m glad my glasses breaking turned this nigh into a party! Mr. “I do it all the time with my glasses” sucked at fixing glasses and couldn’t do as he stood next to me eating his ice cream! At that point, I was like everyone………..
Getting to and from work in without my glasses was fun. It was like an adventure… something kind of like this:
Have no fear, I made it to the eye doctor and got my glasses fixed. Now I will admit when we were finally reunited, there was some tears, hugging and appreciation going on! I put those babies on and all of sudden I could see! The next morning when I got to work I was feeling like a brand new person, even walked in to work like:
With the holidays being over, the debate on the appropriate time to de-decorate the house comes up. Now if you’re superstitious (which at times I tend to be) you take that shit down before January 6th and pack that shit away till next year, never to be seen or heard from until the next holiday season. Now I figured I would take the tree down first, but the cats really do a better job at getting the entire tree down in 2.5 seconds so I figured, “what the hell, let them have it!” So the cats took the tree down:
My plan was to get all the decorations away before the sixth, but Mother Nature and Old Man Winter decided to be fucks and it’s been snowing here since Friday. Have no fear my superstitious friends, I unplugged all the outside decorations and we’re just pretending that the christmas tree trio with lights are just regular trees. I don’t really have an explanation for the christmas presents so I’m just ignoring them. I actually like having the house back to the normal state. Actually, I’m lying. I’m just happy that I no longer have to sweep the floors every 5 minutes because the cats had ripped off all the berries and fake snow from the christmas tree and half eaten christmas cards that they had managed to ripped down from our door frame. Fucking assholes!
So my wife told me to not be a “slave driver” in 2017. Now I didn’t think that I was ever a slave driver in 2016, BUT I did what any normal wife would do and agreed. I’m not stupid I know the drill. I know what would have happened if I didn’t agree. Here we are a few days into 2017 and I’m trying NOT to do what I didn’t think I was doing to begin with so I’m kinda like:
I’m afraid to ask for some of the blankets for the sake of being a “slave driver”! In any event, in the last blog we discussed the horrifying event of cleaning Anthony’s room. We finally converted his room from a room that required a hazmat suit into a New York Giants fan room! Tam and I were on mission, we turned that room around like we were on an episode of “Flip This House”! Now that his room is nice and neat, he had asked me to hang some pictures of Odell Beckham and some other Giants player on his walls. I get all of Anthony’s pictures hung and my wife comes in and says,”yea, no. I think we need to rearrange the pictures on the walls!” I’m sorry… “we”? Apparently my placement of Odell Beckham versus action shots wasn’t good enough for the boss, so here I am taking down all the pictures I just hung!
But I’m the slave driver!? B’oooooooooookay! Here’s a resolution for you hunny…Don’t be an interior designer slave driver! He’s 9! Do you really think he gives a shit about feng shui or balanced pictures? This is a child that had growing organisms in a cup hidden the corner of his room…isn’t she pretty?! Lets not forget all the times I hear, “oh baby, I need you to hang this, can you make sure you make plans to pain the living room, when are you refinishing the floors, oh the basements needs to be your top priority”! But I’M THE SLAVE DRIVER???? Just the other day I come home and she tells me that I have to hang three decorative mirrors above the washer and dryer in our laundry room? I’m sorry, what am I hanging and where? For the love of marriage, why am I hanging mirrors in the laundry room? Who the fuck wants to look at themselves while they’re doing laundry? What purpose are these fucking mirrors serving, besides giving me a fucking leg cramp from stretching over a washing machine and dryer to hang them?! Then I have to hear, “make sure they’re centered babe?” Centered over fucking what? It’s a fucking laundry room, we don’t entertain down here!
Today it has been snowing all fucking day, which means we’ve been stuck inside all day with the animals. Now, I will pretty much repair, hang, rearrange, re-do anything inside this house, but there are three things I DO NOT do. One being cutting grass, secondly I don’t take out garbage or recycling and the other is shoveling snow. I mean, that’s what sons and a future son-in-law are for. Carlton went to start shoveling while Mike was at work, however the shovel was in our shed. Now I would have volunteered myself to go out in the back yard and get it, but lets be honest, I have no idea what’s living in our shed. Not to mention its dark as hell back there, the yard is about an acre and a half and I’ve seen possum, raccoons, fox, skunks and evil squirrels back there. If I went out there I would be all dramatic like this:
So I sent Carlton out there to fetch the shovel! What? He’s 5’8″ and about 200lbs of muscle from playing football. I told him I would go out there but I don’t know what’s in the shed. As he starts to zip up his jacket, he said, “what do you mean, like you don’t know what you have in the shed?” I respond with, “no, I know what I got in the shed, I don’t know who decided to move into the shed!” He looks at me like:
Meanwhile our daughter tells him to “be careful” as if he’s entering the fifth dimension from the Matrix. She then asks if he wants her to watch him from the window and he’s all like, “yea babe”. So now our daughter is in the kitchen with the blinds up, behind a window that’s cracked open just enough for her to say “you ok babe?” watching Carlton walk to the shed like:
The fuck am I witnessing right now? What is she going to do from inside behind a glass window? Scream “help” and run into the living room?
Needless to say, he survived the walk. Man, you would have sworn he was walking the fucking Green Mile the way he was acting and the snow got shoveled. When he came back in he was acting all cool like he didn’t just run his ass back in trying not to slip and fall in the snow with a shovel in his hand.
Winter has finally arrived and I for one am good and over the snow. All I hear from my wife and kids are “look how pretty our yard looks with all the untouched snow on the trees”. When I look back there all I see is me laying in my hammock with a drink in one hand, no kids, no fucking cats, no dogs, just me….. slave driving my wife from the comfort of my hammock………..just kidding!
Well hello 2017, nice to meet you. First off, I hope everyone had a great holiday season, whatever it is you all celebrate. I figured I would split the blog up as an Ode to 2016 and then move on to the regularly scheduled chaos of the Gaydy household. I just have to get one thing off my chest first. As I was leaving work on Friday afternoon someone said “See you next year”. At first I was like “really? We’re still saying that?” I mean let’s be real, you’ll see my ass in 3 days. If you really wanna see me next year I have no problem sitting my ass home for 365 days, pssh, girl could use a little vacay. Let’s pay tribute to the shittastic year of 2016 shall we:
You were a giant asshole! Lets take a look at some of the shitty things you did:
For all of the above reasons and more, you have sucked at being a year and shall be forever remembered as the Negative Nelly that you were for 365 days and deserve a giant FUCK YOU! Now that I have paid tribute to the hell that I’m sure all of us have endured over the past year, lets focus on some positivity as we enter the new year! Just kidding, I still have 7 cats and 2 dogs… no matter how hard I try I ain’t seeing any positivity in that.
So recently just the other day my wife, two daughters, our little guy and myself were headed out somewhere. Our son was trying to make a meme and had put “A Avocado” on a picture of an avocado, not sure where this meme was going, but this prompted our 13 year old, Alessandra to grammatically correct his use of A vs. An and when it’s appropriate. As usual a debate ensued as Alessandra was trying to explain that “an” goes before words that start with a vowel and “a” goes before consonants. Now, I can see that the word consonants is not a word Anthony is grasping so I decided to jump in and clarify. I looked at Anthony and said, “bud listen if someone were to say you’re an asshole that would be correct. They wouldn’t say your a asshole, it just doesn’t roll off the tongue. Now, on the other hand if someone said you’re a fucking asshole, that would be correct!” He stared at me like I was in trouble and when I looked over at my wife all smiles for clarifying and teaching english to our little guy, my wife was like this:
What? What I do? I was just teaching him the right way! Hey she’s the one that says I never take have the patience to teach them things! She looked at me and side mouthed “your an idiot Kris” and then proceeded to say, “Anthony, you know that we don’t use that language and Mommy should have come up with a better example!” Ok Miss Goody Fucking Two Shoes, let them hear you yelling at me for being as asshole! I swear you make up some new curse words! But ok, ok, well played but I see you. During the same car ride, Anthony from the back seat said “Mom?” So I responded and said, “what’s up buddy?” Apparently I’m just the fucking driver, because he said, “not YOU MOMMY!” I said, “but you said Mom?” He then responded with, “Okay, one more time, you’re mommy, she’s mom. Jeez we’ve been over this a million times!” I’m sorry you’re fucking 9, a million times my ass! Needless to say, I remained silent for the rest of the car ride.
If you recall, I’ve discussed the atrocity of Anthony’s room in previous blogs. Well the wife had the brilliant idea of cleaning out his room. I was all for it until she said I was helping. Now, I will say this, I will be forever scarred from this event. I’m not joking, I have severe post-traumatic stress and nightmares from what we found in his room. I had the deed of cleaning out under his bed. Now I looked at my wife with fear stricken eyes and said, “I’m going in, if I’m not in ten minutes call for help!” She called me an idiot, isn’t she pretty!? So I go under his bed and immediately backed out and yelled, “ABORT MISSION, ABORT MISSION, something is alive under there, ABORT THE FUCKING MISSION!” Seriously I was like:
I sent one of the dogs under the bed, duck taped one of those hand brooms to their snouts and threw treats under the bed. I wasn’t going back under there! Shit, we could stand to lose an animal or two! Seriously, I can’t even mumble the words of what we pulled out from corners, behind furniture, in drawers and under the bed! On a positive note, we did find a bunch of missing socks. Once we cleaned out all the science projects of things growing, we went through toys he doesn’t even look at. I admit I wanted to keep a few things, but the wife was yelling at me that I was the reason he was becoming a hoarder. This then prompted a 20 minute dissertation that if she allowed me to let him clean his room, nothing would get thrown away, he would continue to hoard and end up on the show Hoarders! My reaction to this dissertation was at first, how much does he get an episode? Which then prompted the famous wife glare like this:
By now, you all know what follows after I get that look… yep, you’re right.. I got, “YOU’RE AN IDIOT, now hold the bag!” I have to admit, I find it very cute when she calls me idiot. I mean, as Forrest Gump said, “I’m NOT a smart man, but I know what love is!” I’m gonna start calling my wife “Jeeeeeennnnnnny”!
Poor Bianca has been fighting off virus after virus since working in a day care. I keep telling her to bring mase filled with lysol and spray those little fuckers down when no one is watching. In between viruses, Bianca re-did her room, which prompted Alessandra do re-do her room so those two have the nicest rooms in the house. You know why they have the nicest rooms in the house? Because I installed a second lock on their door and the cats can’t get in. This has set the cats into destructive mode, which means now they just destroy the main floor! Lucky fucking us!
2017 is looking up already!