The yellow culprit
Normally I don’t write about work, I think it’s a topic that shouldn’t be covered here. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job, I’m good at it, and I like the people I work with…we keep each other sane, I just prefer to keep that part of my life blog-less.
However, the recent actions of someone in our building has provoked so much disgust that I must divulge to you oh Internet. I work in a building with numerous suites and we have one general ladies restroom.
Normally the stalls are what I would refer to as “man clean”. They are wiped down, the floor is washed, but really….it’s not all that super cleanly. I’m pretty OCD about having a clean crapper, but maybe it’s because I can see microscopic germs with my eyes. Seriously…its my super power…don’t hate.
In the last few weeks we have had a ‘STALL URINATOR’. Let me explain. Someone goes into the SHARED women’s room and proceeds to pee ALL OVER the seat. Listen lady, I’m not talking about a little drip, I’m talking full on ‘trying to cross your own stream peeing’. It is so violent that the seat, walls, and floors are covered. You would think that a three year old boy was left to ‘paint’ the stall with his best artistic abilities.
We got so fed up with this repeat behavior that we actually taped a sign in the area of the crime scene. Maybe this will get the message across.
The Craft Bazaar
Cardin is hot for crafts; anything that involves glue or sticky tape she goes ape-shit for. I give it my best attempt, but I’m not all that crafty. I think the gene may be recessive. Instead we color or marker because I’m HELLA good at staying in the lines!! Internet, I’d be valedictorian of coloring.
Luckily, my mom is far more crafty so Cardin can get her fill. She comes home with a goodie or two nearly every day. It’s always a special time for me when I get to open her Dora backpack and see what creative genius has befallen my mother today. I say this all in the nicest, most sarcastic way possible.
Exhibit 1 was a created as a birthday present for Uncle Tony. First, I’ll direct you to the mouth of the bunny. 
This ‘x’ like pattern is actually supposed to be the bunnies whiskers, but for some unknown reason, they are not attached to a mouth. I’m not so sure how the bunny will eat his carrot without an opening for food.
Next, I’d like to direct your attention to the bottom of the bunny. According to Cardin, the blue fuzz ball is a tail. In the anatomy lessons that I took, tails were on the backside of animals. This looks distinctly like a single, blue testicle. Who am I to judge though.
Exhibit 2 was created as an Easter craft and by golly if there are not 100 things to point out about this beautiful creation.
It has a Dolly Parton-esq to it; its really only missing the ginormous enhancements.
The bottom portion is a paper towel tube that was transformed into a dress. Then of course we have the lovely lace frill. At the top we have a plastic, purple Easter egg. Listen Lady, my favorite part of this creation is the botox lips that were hot glued onto the egg. So much hot glue was used that the actual egg started to melt and now “Egg Lady” looks like she’s sporting a mustache. Classy.
Contortionist Act
Cardin was playing last night and was insisting on crawling through my legs. Normally I don’t mind, except when I’m trying to walk and feel it necessary not to step on the poor kid.
I offered her up an alternative thinking that this would provide a challenge. I asked her to crawl through the legs of her leapfrog activity table. If you have ever doubted how tiny my kid is in pictures, let this be proof to you.
Listen Lady, she is an absolute midget and 99% of the kids her age would never be able to perform this feat. I give you the contortionist act of Cardin…..
OPA!
Last Friday we decided to head out to a new Greek diner with some friends. While we were perusing the menu for ourselves, there was a flurry of activity going on behind me. I paid no attention as waiters were coming and going with other patrons meals and checks.
That is until there was a sudden rush of heat and flame like activity that caught me out of the corner of my eye. Still unsure what was actually going on behind me, I whipped around to see that one of the waiters had come out with an appetizer dish that is commonly referred to as Saganaki or Greek Flaming Cheese.
I’m not kidding when I say flaming either, as the fire is produced when a shot of vodka is poured over the cheese and lit. With the flames going, the waiter yells out OPA in jubilant celebration. Granted the flames only last for a few seconds until the alcohol burns off, but it’s like chucking lighter fluid on a fire; a sudden and exaggerated burst of flames.
This sudden and exaggerated outburst was similar to Cardin’s reaction; complete and utter hysteria. The ENTIRE restaurant turned and looked at my kid. Probably a good 100+ people, all staring at this flaming concoction and the screaming, crying toddler trying to claw her way out of her highchair and onto my lap.
This is what the Saganaki looked like:
And I imagine that this is what Cardin saw:
It took a good 10 minutes of convincing and soothing to calm her; assuring her that the nasty man with the fire was gone and it was again safe to retract her claws from mommy’s skin. We got her settled back into her highchair and our food arrived.
As we were finishing up our meal, two things occurred simultaneously. To my left I heard the hot sizzle of a skillet and to my right, I heard Cardin begin to scream. Before I knew it there was a mess of flames, OPA had been yelled, and Cardin was reacting in mass hysteria. We thought the first time was bad, but the second time…..whoa boy….triple that reaction. Her tiny body shook in her highchair and I saw her brain go through the fight or flight response right in front of me.
I jumped up, grabbed her, and ran for the nearest vestibule. Of course this only brought a flurry of attention as I carried her screaming, sobbing frame throughout the restaurant. Listen Lady, we clearly have a fire phobia.
At this point the waiter felt so awful that he came over to us and brought not one, but two huge cookies in attempt to cheer her up and distract her. She was having none of it as she sat in a sobbing heap on my lap, shouting “GO WAY” to the fire waiter.
Since we were almost ready to go, I left the bill and cleanup in the hands of Brett and our friends and Cardin and I chilled in the vestibule. It was a little chilly, what with the doors opening and closing, so I decided to venture back in and grab our coats. It was at this time that I was practically mauled by an onslaught of waiters shouting that someone else had just ordered the Saganaki appetizer and they were about to bring it out to the table. RETREAT!!!!
Clearly we will not frequent this establishment again.
The Spring of ’79
Although not as cool as the summer of ’69, courtesy of Bryan Adams, it was nonetheless an important era in history. Today is my brother’s birthday, his 32nd birthday in fact. Four years my senior and I somehow managed to pave the way for him to live in sin with his girlfirend, get married outside the church, and have a baby whose name is not Joe or Mary. You’re welcome Shaun!
In just a few short months he’ll become a first time parent. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine how we went from kids having a squirt gun war and staying up late to listen to try to record Mr. Boombastic on a cassette to each being responsible for another human life. It makes me recall the childhood antics we pulled; Hot Box, Capture the Flag, Hand Hockey, Snow Football.
We were a very creative bunch of youngsters. We invented a couple of our own unique games to play. One of our favorites was dubbed Human sacrifice. Always played in my Uncle’s pool, we’d form a permieter along the edge and our job was to keep the ball in play for as long as possible, performing as many death defying leaps as needed so that the ball never actually touched water. In accordance with the rules, you were required to scream out H.S. each time you lept to your doom to save the ball.
Inevitably, when we had family get togethers, one of my cousins would get put on the couch in a timeout zone. Not allowed to get down from the couch and feeling for the neglected prisoner, the game of Turtle was born. The rest of us would buddy up on the couch, while one person would remain in the middle of the living room floor, taking up their hands and knees; they became the Turtle. It was up to the Turtle to get as close to his constituents as possible without getting smacked. We were very safety conscious.
Then there were the times where we tried to deter my Uncle from picking up my cousin after my mom had babysat him all day. We’d set booby traps in the yard with hot pink jump ropes and Frisbee’s that would magically turn into landmines if stepped on. Or my favorite time…when we tried to dig a whole in the yard so that my Uncle would step into it and twist his ankle; all but destroying his plans of capturing my cousin. That plan was thwarted when my mom found us digging up her yard. We narrowly escaped a shovel beating that day.
It’s a strange transformation when you become the ones to say “If you two don’t stop bickering I’m going to drive this car off the first cliff I come to”. I can just imagine what our kids will conjure up when they play together. I only hope they are as creative as we were.