Tuesday, June 1, 2010

It ain't over till the fat man streaks

Tommy inadvertently gave himself a new nickname today when he saw the oversized bathtub and began shouting 'Tiny like splish-splashy!' to everyone at the pool. In Tiny's defense, we had not yet jumped in the water, so I don't think that it had anything to do with temperature.

Angie has two weeks off from school, so we (she) wanted to plan a mini family vacation. We (she) decided that we would go to Eurodisney in Paris. Oh, how romantic (puke). I questioned Master whether it really made sense for us (me) to drive for five hours to an amusement park full of rides that would scare the shit out of Peter and frustrate David because he is not as tall as the goofy-looking cardboard kid in front of all but two rides.

Master either hates questions or does not like the concept of answering. To make a serious story even funnier, I took vacation for yesterday and today and gassed up the car. Not the big family wagon with the huge trunk that would be ideal for such road trips. No, this was the much smaller rental car with enough trunk space to fit Angie's purse that I am driving for a week now, compliments of the jackass that smashed into the back of me at a traffic light. It's called a freakin' STOP light, asshead!

In addition to pure luck, three things got in the way of our trip: the weather, our bank account, and Peter's new indoor tree house. The last two are actually related. See, Angie has been nagging about building a deck in the baby room for two years now. Like most problems, wishfully ignoring it didn't make it go away. She finally found someone who made an offer we couldn't refuse, leaving the Godmother with a tough choice - Disney or Bob the Builder?

The shitty weather finally decided that we would skip Goofyland and take the kids to an indoor mega pool. In the end, I still wasn't able to completely avoid goofy characters.

The mega pool was actually another battle that I've now lost to Angie. For years she has wanted to take the boys, but I have always argued that they are completely happy with the normal pool which is a convenient five minute walk away. Sure, there are no slides, no man-made wave machines, and no waterfalls, but they were not aware that such things even existed. Now they know. After today's excursion, I can no longer expect them to enjoy themselves in such a boring pool. No, now I'll have to pay 30 times the price so that they can swim in luxury. This also means that swimming will become a yearly event. Thanks, sweetie!

Just behind Peter, you'll find the alligator slide. It may look like a mild and easy ride but, according to Peter's brain, the raging rapids would most certainly pull you into a dark, watery grave within seconds. After an hour or so of watching me go down it with David and Tom, Peter finally agreed, but only after making me promise that I would lift him up at the end. What, does your hair melt if it gets wet?

David lost interest in the 'kiddie-baby' slide and went over to impress Tiny with how he could walk up the baby slide. The first two steps up the wet and slippery slope were great. After that, his feet kinda slipped and he accidentally catapulted his face into the slide. It actually made a pretty cool 'gong' sound that turned quite a few heads. If that didn't impress Tiny, David's nose bleed certainly did.

After plugging David's nose, he caught a glance of the big 'slide in the sky' and decided to drift into more dangerous waters. It calling me, Papa.

He didn't really ask me if he could go on it; he just ran off laughing towards the tower of death. I didn't want to look like a chicken, so I followed him as he climbed up into the clouds. While we were waiting in line, I noticed a sign that recommended the slide for ages 8 and up. I also noticed that they didn't have anyone checking IDs, so we acknowledged the warning and then promptly chose to ignore it. Warnings are overrated anyway; what's the worse that could happen? That thing's not flammable - give it here, I'll show you.

Another bloody nose, a lost pair of sunglasses, and two heart attacks later, we landed on Earth, quite relieved that we had survived reentry. After plugging David's nose and dragging the pool for my shades, I high-fived Daredevil Dave.

'Can we go again, Papa?'

'Hell no.'

David didn't put up much of an argument, which told me that the ride was probably a bit scary for him, too. I just wonder what the hell he's going to ride when he actually is 8. I'll also need to come up with a convenient way to have Mama take David on the rides. It's okay, honey - I'll just hang out with Peter.

Tom is still developing his personality, but today he demonstrated good 'lady gazing' skills. I thought he would appreciate a lesson from the mack Papa himself. First, I tried teaching him how to flash a smile.

A little bit too fake, but still good for his first lesson. Next, I threw him in the shallow end next to a couple hot baby-citas and told him to look nonchalant.

Mr. Suave nailed it long enough for me to snap a picture. Then Tiny's tippy-toes gave out on him and he went under. I fished him out, of course, but I have to say that he might have lost a few cool points with the female persuasion. If ladies really wanted two minutes of coughing, gagging, spitting and crying, they would just rent Ghost and watch the scene where Sam responds to Molly's 'I love you' with 'Ditto'. I would really love to know how saying 'Ditto' to a chick in any context can be considered romantic, but right now, I'm just trying to teach Tiny to walk the walk. Man up!

David's kiddy slide nose-plant earlier had an impact on Tiny, but it was apparently not big enough to deter him from following in David's slippery footsteps. The first two steps were great; after that, I heard a 'gong', signaling that now two of my three sons had received nosebleeds today. Cool! I only need to convince Peter to walk up a baby slide, and I'll go home with a free toaster.

Peter was actually too busy surprising the hell out of me. After spending six hours on the crocodile, he had finally braved enough courage to tackle the deadly reptile by himself. His only condition was that I would be waiting in the water to catch him and scoop him up so that his hair didn't get wet. No problem, buddy - go for it!

I was a little torn, though. I really wanted to photograph Braveheart making his solo slide, but I knew I could only do so without destroying the camera if I moved off to the side; but then I would not be able to catch my perhaps too-trusting son. Mmmmhhh.... decisions, decisions.

I opted for the photo op and probably ruined any chances of him ever trusting me again. He picked up on my deceitful treachery as he slid down the home stretch and saw me sitting on the wall. What you see here is Peter burning the skin off of his palms as he unsuccessfully tried hand-braking. It wasn't a nose bleed, but I think that friction burns and wet hair should count for something. Where's my toaster?

You might wonder why there are no pictures of Angie. She was there, so allow me to explain. It's because she's extremely opinionated. No, wait, that's not it. It's because she gets irritated at almost anything. Damn it, that's not right either. Hold on, I know - it's because she was wearing a bikini. Bashful! Yeah, that's the word I was looking for. She is full of plenty of things, but I didn't realize until I tried posting pictures that 'bash' was one of them.

Shortly before packing up, I heard another 'gong' and was sure that Peter had tried walking up a slide. Suddenly, everyone in the pool started cheering and stripping off their swimsuits and waving them in the air. I was completely baffled and Angie was completely disgusted as a big fat balding man streaked by us screaming at Angie to 'get naked - whoooooo!!!'

In Germany, they have a nudist group called FKK. Apparently, they have convinced the mega pool to allow a flash party every Tuesday after 18:00. A 'gong' signifies when people can get their buff on. I checked my watch - 18:02. Shit.

FKK translates to Free Body Culture. I was a translator for over ten years and even though it's been a while since I switched to management, I think I would have interpreted the F as Fat. Bashful Angie used a couple interesting F words to express her desire to leave. I knew that there was no way I could convince her to get rid of that bashful bikini without inducing the third bloody nose, so we packed up and started rounding up the kids.

My huge brain realized that a gathering of nudes is probably not the best venue to start screaming out 'Tiny!' so I asked Peter and David to go look for their bother. They found him by the bar, pointing and screaming 'booby!' at some naked chick trying to order a Mai Tai. Man, those lessons paid off BIG TIME!
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I ate with Davey and Tommy strawberries.
David: The swimming pool! We swamd and swamd and swamd.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When we can't have a dessert.
David: When I had blood from my nose by the pool.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with Papa darts in my new room.
David: Play with Peter darts.

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