Poor lil guy... never saw it coming...

So have you guys seen this thing about how the first bite you take of a chocolate Easter rabbit is a clue to your deeper psyche? Like, if you bite the ear you’re aggressive, the leg you’re passive, the neck you’re a vampire. You know, true stuff. Would someone like to tell me what it means when your 3 year old eats the ass end first? Cause I want to know.

Perhaps its time for Macdaddy to stop running around the house yelling, “I can’t wait for Easter so I can put it in your keister!”

P.S. He totally didn’t.

Sans Diego .... hehe... get it?

When Mac Daddy and I first found out we were going to have a little meathead, one of the first things we got excited about was having an excuse to watch cartoons again. Mac Daddy says he was a fan of the manlier cartoons, like GI Joe and He-Man. I was a fan of both worlds… having a deep appreciation for My Little Ponies as well as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Ok, honestly I was obsessed with TNMT… I kinda had this thing for Michael Angelo. (Hmmmm which one does Mac Daddy act most like… coincidence?)

***Just to give you an idea of my obsession: TNMT came on at 3:00... Which was also the time my big sister, Bjorn, got picked up from school. Big sisters are always ruining everything. My mom got so tired of hearing me crying over missing my boyfriend’s show that she arranged for me to go to a neighbors house everyday at 3:00 so I could watch. Yeah. ***

But I digress… Mason is finally at the age where he is able to watch cartoons. We don’t have cable but we do have a few DVDs with the more popular cartoons on them.

WOW.

Cartoons today suck.

Hard.

Like your grandma.

Enter “Bob the Builder.” Computer animated clay-mation. Really? I mean I would watch Gumby when I was little… if I had to. But you are telling me in 20 years we haven’t found a better medium than clay? And the fact that computers are now used to animate it is not only lazy but a bit oxymoron-ish. Kinda?
Bob’s one redeeming quality is all the nasty dialogue it has. Basically the animators are counting on the parents being out of the room while the kiddies are watching it… or they are counting on the parents to not be as perverted and immature as Adam and me…
A quote from Bob the Builder: “Lifty, your dumper is quacking.”

(And you know it’s a real quote cause if I had made it up I would have said, “Your dumper is leaking.” ).


Next up: Dora the Explora. Whatta whore. First of all, where the hell are this kid’s parents? She’s tramping it up all over the hillside, running around with a monkey that wears boots. She is always wearing a backpack and never checks in with any kind of adult figure. Soooo one could reason my kid is watching a runaway that stole a cross dressing monkey from the zoo. Oh but wait, it’s all ok ‘cause Dora speaks broken English mixed with Spanish. Best role model ever since a giant purple dinosaur that hides in a preschool til all the grownups are gone.

Along the same lines: Diego. Also speaks spliced languages. Awesome. There is a difference between Diego and Dora in that Diego’s parents are present… if by present you mean in another country taking care of animals instead of their kids. But it’s cool ’cause he has a lil pimp pad set up… in a tree house. (K, that part is actually really cool.) So, this kid runs around with a JAGUAR saving animals. Cause a jaguar wouldn’t totally tank out on a hurt baby animal. And can we discuss the fact that he carries a camera around to zoom in and out on different animals. Which is really just one step away from climbing a tree to watch your neighbor change. And he’s already got the tree sooo…
I’m just saying, if Meathead grows up to be all voyeuristic, I’m sueing.

Yo Gabba Gabba. Oh Jesus, Yo Gabba Gabba. Mason isn’t allowed to watch this one. Cause it scares the shit out of me. A bunch of scary ass monsters running around singing HORRIBLE songs.

Horrible.

Songs.

The show also has a mini beat boxing lesson, which would be a lot cooler if it wasn’t taught by a retarded guy. I mean reTARDed. He is huge too… like use the wide lense and take a step back, huge. Not that I have anything against fat people… sometimes I am one. Then there is the host. The host is the best and worst part. It’s like the creators said, “Lets get an Ethipoian and dress him in neon orange spandex, give him a flat top and crazy glasses. I think kids will really relate to that. And we can pay him in goats and sacks of rice.”

I guess my biggest problem with cartoons today is the fact that they like to pretend to be all moral and wholesome. Eighties cartoons were dirty but they didn’t try to mask it. Little blue people lived in ‘shrooms, where one blonde airhead was passed around like Thanksgiving dinner. An eight year old girl lived with her completely incompetent vambot uncle while they tried to take down a heavy smoker who liked to stroke his pussy. And oh dear God, The Elephant Show. Who can forget the Elephant Show. (Skiddamarink-a-dink-a-dink skiddamarinky-doo, I loooooove YOOOOOOUUUUU!) A prime example of what happens when you smoke a bowl and have a camcorder handy.

So, let us recap:

Cartoons suck.

So does your grandma…

Elephant Show rocked.

The End.

Corn flakes...

Adam and I have never been apart from each other for more than a few hours.... never spent a night away from each other. If I read that about someone else I would think that it was a bit weird and psychotic. Swim Fan psychotic. Buffalo Bill psychotic. IT COMES HOME EVERY NIGHT OR IT GETS THE HOSE AGAIN. Adam recently went out of town for a week. Which meant that I was pouting for six days and writing corney ass stuff like, "heartsick and pathetically so..."
Seriously?
I'm not a corny person in any sence of the word. Remember when Titanic came out? My group of Bulldog friends and I all went to see it. I didnt cry at the end (in fact I laughed when the guy falls and hits the propeller) so my friends wouldnt talk to me for a few days. Because I didnt cry during Titanic. Yeah.
I also didnt cry when my kids were born. Cause they were covered in nasty white candinda crap. I watched "A Baby Story" when I was pregnant with both of them. Every mom on there was crying, laughing and couldnt wait to hold their little bundle of... snot. THEN!! AND THEN!! They always friggin kiss it! They kiss it when it is covered with white nastyness, blood and tidbits. eh. So here I am thinking you are supposed to kiss this lil thing and that "Mother-ness" will over come me and I will not mind the nasty nasty nom nom. Well, with Mason I lucked out and they had to whisk him to the NICU before I had the head-kiss-dilema. But with Marlee? That lil brat. They threw her on my tummy and told me to hold her.
I. just. gave. birth.
You think I want to hold 7 lbs?
No. I want cranberry juice.
Lots.
Its a diuretic, ya know.
ANYWAY.
Here I am thinking I am supposed to kiss her head and it will all be good and we will bond and it wont smell or anything.
Let me just reiterate. I AM NOT A CORNY PERSON.
I pressed my lips to The Beavs head.
Ew.
Friggin ew.
I think the worst part was that it was warm.

What will it be like for my kids to grow up with a mom who doesnt cry? (Well, thats not entirely true. I bawled like a baby when dumbledore died... and when I finished Book 7).
Moms are supposed to be nurturing and soft spoken. They make cupcakes and cookies. I make EVERYTHING dirty. Just look at our daughters nickname. I make Mason wear a shirt with a cartoon beaver on it because I think its funny that nobody will get that he is wearing a BEAVER. Even better the beaver shirt has two logs on it. Its a very ambitious beaver.
Which was my nickname in highschool.

What was my point? Oh yeah. Im not corny except when it comes to my husband. But what can I say? He's friggin hot.

Act 1:

I started this blog as a little journal-esque whatchamacallit for Mason, so he can look back and see what a funny little shit he was. Leave it to the meathead to stop doing funny things. I take it back... he's still doing funny things... but how many times can I write about peeing erraticly. Or taking a dump on the kiddy slide in the backyard. (By the way... Mason took a massive dump on the kiddie slide in the back yard the other day... he quickly called my attention to it. I took a picture.)

So... until he ups the funny factor, and to please those of you who are crazy and read me... I will be posting a series of histories. So now Meathead will also be able to read this and see how he came to be. Without further adu:

The Macbeth Saga:

Act 1: In which Sandee falls madly in love with Adam...

I can't remember the exact day... or what I was wearing. I do know I was with my regular posse of fellow Bulldogs. I would be willing to bet my life I had a scrunchy around my wrist. Probably one in my hair, too... but I had to have one on my wrist otherwise, "O-mi-gawd, I like, totally feel NAKED without it." This was sixth grade... so it's possible that half of us (there were about 8 in our regular little group, I think) were wearing overalls, discussing our up coming volleyball/basketball/softball game, standing in a circle. I was the annoying smart-ass of the group. Making fun of everything and everyone... so cool because of my extra scrunchy and the fact that my mom would pack just a Coke and Doritos as my lunch. Way to go Mom.

My right hand man was prob at my side, let's call her Sticky... cause even though she ate like a pig, she was thinner than any part of my body ever would be. And feisty. And shared my enthusiasm for Ace Ventura. But actually we bonded in kindergarten, when we got in a fight over the twin boys in the class, Jake and Jim.
I don't know how we got in a fight over who got which one, cause A) I don't know which one was which.. and B) They were way more interested in playing cowboys than being our boyfriends. But from those fateful days Sticky and I were inseparable. Always somewhere between laughing hysterically and clawing each others eyes out over boys. I learned early on not to tell Sticky when I thought a boy was cute... cause it was only a matter of time before she turned her attention to my beau. (Sticky if you are reading this, I still maintain that I saw Trevor first and you completely ruined first grade for me by stealing him away). ANYWAY. This story has taken a slight detour... go figure. On we go.

We were all standing on the black top, waiting for P.E. class to start. P.E. was an exciting time for us sixth graders because it contained 6th, 7th AND 8TH GRADERS!!! Rest assured there were extra hair tosses and toe-pointed-hip-out stances from Sticky and myself. (The other girls, though I loved them, were not as boy crazy as us...). Here is where my memory starts:

I remember seeing a cluster of manly-ness walking up the pathway to the P.E. congregating area. Two of which caught my eye.

They were the loudest of the group. Yelling jokes, making farting noises, screaming randomly... you know, sexy stuff. The two were similar in looks... bowl cuts ( a must for any mid 90's junior high-er worth his weight in Devon Sawa Teen Bop pull out posters), taller and thicker then the other boys around them. The second boy had very promising buds of an early beard. The first had braces *drooooool* and a sharp, cute nose. Both held my attention as I flipped my hair and switched pointed toe sides in perfect unison.
Mr. Harrison, the balding P.E. teacher, who was always inexplicably carrying a gallon ziplock bag full of carrots, blew his whistle signaling the start of class.

We were playing soccer that week. I hate soccer. IT's dumb. It makes me want to eat chips and salsa. And yell "EYEYEYEYEYE!!!!" I was walking back and forth across the field, pretending to be following the ball... when I heard the "thwap-thwap-thwap" of helicopter blades. Followed by a deep baritone screaming, "THEY'RE COMING FOR US!!!!"
Followed by my new founded heart throb streaking across the field...
DIVING into the tall brush growing along the side...
And taking my heart with him.

Needless to say, it took only braces and obnoxious-ness to steal my affection. The bowl cut helped too...

Now, for SOME reason... the future MacDaddy did not fall madly and desperately in love with me and my overalls, scrunchies and broken arm. Despite what the Weejee board foretold. This MAY have something to do with the fact that he didn't know I was alive. (I'm sorry, but how many times do I have to call and hang up before you realize, "Hey! I bet its that girl with the broken wrist. I shall make her mine.")

Boys.

School ended a few months later... moving Adam up to high school and throwing me into 7th grade, and an ensemble of new crushes. Luckily, little junior high hearts are fickle and I didn't give Adam another thought... for about 2 years...

To Be Continued...

Don't worry... there are like, 4 more acts or something...
You might not even want to read the rest of the Macbeth Saga, cause I'm pretty sure someone is going to approach us to make a movie out of it soon...
In the mean time...
Cheers to scrunchies and Devon Sawa. (OMG remember when he came walking down the stairs all slow to some Mariah Carey song in Casper??? HOT! "Can I keep you?" Ironic foreshadowing anyone???)