Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Sixty is the new forty

This is the biker sign for 'give it more gas'. Opa has been doing exactly that for 60 years now. When not on his Honda or BMW hogs, he was cruising on a ride at a completely different altitude. Opa has since retired, but for over thirty-five years, he was pushing the pedal to the metal on DC 10's, Boeings 707, 727, and 747, and the Airbus A310. Some people take the high road, some take the low road. Opa has throttled them both.

Originally, we were planning to go to Opa's big 60th bash as a family. Inconsiderate little Peter decided to throw a sick wrench into our plans by getting an ear infection. WHAT?! An ear infection. WHAT?! Tom did not want to feel outdone, so he started burning up with a fever.

All of this happened while I was at work and stupidly not checking my voicemails. I was busy getting my busy work done so that I could leave early. Why? Because Angie told me to. Ok, I admit - Angie tells me lots of things that I forget or simply ignore, but when it comes to leaving work early, I need very little prodding.

As I left work, I ignored the flashing red light blinking on my phone and headed to the car. Only then did I call Angie to tell her I was on the way. Instead of the sarcastic 'congratulations' that I was fully expecting, I got an earful of screaming. In addition to the Wailing Johnson's lovely tune, I heard Angie shouting.

'Didn't you get my message? We're not going to the party tonight, but you still need to get your ass home...'

My ass happens to like home, which is the only reason I succumbed to this demand. That, plus any feable arguments I might have had would have been completely drowned out by Peter's crying, Tom's screeching and David's gleeful laughter. Yes, David was feeling just fine.

I made it home early, fed the sick sickos and dumped them in our bed. After checking my watch and David's energy pulse, I made change 5 to revision 3 of amendment 6 to our plan A. I snatched up healthy Dave and wished Angie a fun night with the infected.

David thought it was cooler than Papa that we were going to a party without Peter. He immediately jumped into his BIG BOY role and explained to me on the car ride that he would not fall asleep, 'cause I are a big boy and not a baby like Tom'. And just when I thought that making fun of sweet little innocent babies was only hilarious to me...

Although very, very close, David did not fall asleep and immediately woke up when we saw the approximately 60 people there to celebrate Opa's Hawaii Six-O.

Keeping with both the theme for the night, and our usual track record, the Johnson's showed up 60 minutes late. Apparently, the appetizers took quite a while, because everyone was just finishing their salads when we walked in.

Instead of eating, David wanted to run around the place like a chicken with it's body cut off. I know, normally it's with it's head cut off, but without the head, there is no way that David could have made as much noise as he did.

As with any chicken without its torso, you start to get mighty hungry. For the bodiless white-meat kid, the meal of the day was orange and rhymed with ferrets.

For those neither familiar with the domestic rodent, nor very good with rhyming, I was referring to carrots. Yes, carrots. As in the vegetable, not the shiny car on Angie's ring finger. I know that would be carats, but don't correct me - your the wun with the speling isues. What's up, Doc? I'll tell you what's up by giving you a little hint - it is stuck between Elmer Fudd's teeth if you go for the close-up.

After making the rounds to the various tables to swipe any uneaten carrots, the birthday boy summoned the head chef to bring the little rabbit some more Soylent Orange. After a belly full of the root vegetable, David's droopy eyes started to droop.

This was a clear indication to me that I had approximately five minutes to get him into the car before he completely passed out. We got his jacket on and spent the next four minutes saying goodbye to 58 people. This left one minute, which was spent carrying David to his chariot. As I placed the royal carrot-eater into his throne, he let out the most repugnant expulsion of carrot fumes that has ever curled my nose hairs. Like his grandfather, David apparently likes to 'give it more gas'.
Ladder Talk:
[No Ladder Talk tonight - Peter was busy being Mr. Sickly and David crashed hard after a night of partying like Carrot Top]

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