Weekend Whackos

Some weekends are relaxing and quiet. Others are overcast with whiskey-tasting over-hangs and not-so-silent kids who have lost their marbles. This weekend was an all-inclusive trip to the Whacko ranch.

It started out with a relaxing and quiet dinosaur dig.

This nice block of cement was Peter's leftover birthday gift from Brian. Peter's been dying to crack at it since April, but wise Papa avoided this with thoughtful comments like 'you're not strong enough' and 'you're just going to make a complete mess and get bored after two minutes.'
I don't call myself 'wise Papa' for no reason. Over the years, I have measured the height of my children's attention span and come on; Peter's not exactly the king of endurance.

After, imagine that, two minutes of chipping away at their prehistoric brick, the boys gave up and started playing with their Gormitis, knowing full well that Papa would really like to take the digging hammer and chisel and go to work on these little bastards. And just witness the archeological patience needed to chip away such a huge corner in only two minutes!

Speaking of impatient fossils, Angie was busy in the kitchen falling in love with potatoes.


Aahh, that's cute. The potato is shaped like a heart - isn't that so sweet...

'Yo, potato head! Snap out of it and get back to your salad - I got a work party to go to. Chop-chop.'
I actually cannot publish Angie's witty retort without getting into all sorts of trouble with a few animal rights groups. You sure have a creative imagination, though, honey.

To make up for Angie's politically funny references to animals, I thought I would slap a few bugs on Peter's landing strip.

Angie, the teacher, was quick to start babbling about slugs not being bugs and some other nonsensical phrase that rhymed, but did nothing for me. At least she didn't whack me in the face with a squishy ball. Yes, this is one of her patented techniques that manages to keep her students quiet while she schools them. Whatever, psycho bug lady - you can throw all the squishy things you want; you won't shut me up.

So after Angie was done beating the crap out of me with bean bags, she handed me two bowls of potato salad and told me to have fun at my party.

'Uh, what? You're not coming?'

'Moron, it's Chiara's birthday party. In our garden.'

'Didn't she already have, like... three birthday parties?'

'Yes, but this one is in our garden.'

'Why isn't it in our family calendar? You know, right next to the entry that says 'Steve's BBQ Party' that's been there for a few months?'

'A better 'why' question is what you are still doing here.'

'That wouldn't be a 'why' question, that would be a 'what' question. Who's the moron?'

'Go. Now.'

Not one to argue with Master, I left and went to party, fully expecting to end up on the sofa at some point. The BBQ was great and all was fine and dandy until the whiskey-tasting train left the station. I hate missing trains, so I kept boarding every chance I got.

At one point, I got bored with boarding and wisely switched to a taxi as my preferred means of stumbling home. Despite a few marital calls like 'are you coming home soon?' followed by 'when are you coming home?' followed by 'you need to come home soon' followed by 'you better get your ass home soon', I still did not sleep on the sofa. To be honest with you, as I always am, this had more to do with the limited size of our sofa than any attempted kicking of my ass to said sofa.

That's right, Angie was hogging my place. I didn't like that my better half was snoring away and drooling all over my expected sleeping arrangements, so I woke her ass up and told her what a horrible teacher she is so that I could regain my coveted spot. It worked.

The weekend did not stop there, though. Oh, no, I had the entire Sunday to continue irritating family members other than my lovely wife. I knew there was a reason we had kids.

The day after the night before we invited Sheyeste and Sharpur over. Before you ask, no - I did not force him to change another flat tire for me, since that is something that I can do without help. Really. Quit laughing!

For some strange reason, they decided to bring their kid and before long, Sharpur was getting Artin and Peter high.

Getting high invariably ends up with a bad case of the munchies or inexplicable urges to get wet. So I've heard. Our boys had obviously eaten enough.

At some point during their wet trip, the little munchers started trippin'.

Luckily, they were under close adult supervision. Kinda.


As Shayeste and Sharpur enjoyed their bird's-eye view, David was quietly enjoying a bagful of choking hazards.


Not only did David lose his marbles; Tom also decided to WOW everyone with his newfound Johnny walker.

My only thoughts at first glance - 'WOW - that kid should be taken to the Whacko ranch.'

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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I get to sleep with the Gormitis.
David: When I go down in the pool and I go BOOM and water goes out.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't sleep by you.
David: When my belly hurts.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with David Gormitis, but only when he steal not.
David: To play with Peter Gormitis.