Feliz Navidad

She won't like this, but I will.

Opening presents.

I think she's pretty.

Puzzles.

Watching Planet Earth and fucking around.

I was sitting in the swivel chair at Grandma's house finishing some peppermint tea after eating the Christmas dinner. I watched Gavin play around, making his fort on the sofa, then moving over to sit on the ottoman for the glider rocker and watch the DVD. He gets bored and starts falling off of the ottoman, which turns into jumping off it. He jumps, is parallel to the ground and extends his arm. I hear the brisk snap and watch his right arm crumple at an odd angle, then his body hits the floor. He realizes something is wrong at about the same time I do.

"HE BROKE HIS FUCKING ARM!" I scream, over Gavin's cries and in front of all of Felicia's family. I get up to run get a towel so we can make a simple splint.

"CALL 911!" Felicia yells.

I stop going for the towel and get my phone as Felicia and others try to console him make him immobile. "Keep him from fucking moving!" I walk out on the porch in my socks and make the call. The 911 people are worse than useless, so we decided to take him to the ER. Then it's speeding to the hospital with him in the back, Felicia cradling his disformed arm, trying to calm myself and him, telling him it will be okay.

Waiting to get this shit set.

He's a trooper.

I don't know who the fuck reads this shit, but if you've got kids, and they've been fucked up, then you know what it's like to hold your child while he screams and you try to console him and tell him that the doctor who just wrenched his arm back into the proper position is actually helping him. Their eyes well with tears and their little voices squeal as they undergo what feels like grievous, life altering injury. Felicia left before we did this. My mind keeps playing the whole thing on a fucking loop.

I'm proud of him. He certainly earned it.

Desecrate You

Two wine-swilling hippies at a fund raiser for the recycling center.

Hanging out at grandma's house.

Sledding.

Why the fuck would an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent being do that?

Feety Jams rule.

Some fake mustaches.

Stockings.

Making some Christmas paper rings.

Hmm.

Making some ornaments.

Ornamented.

So here are some photos of the preparation for fucking around after the semester is over. I'll probably start up the whole blog a day thing because I'll be so bored and shit, so expect some of that for your holiday goodness. So, I've got shit to do so I'll leave this until later, so check out this new comic I've been digging on. It rules. I'll probably do some updating of links or some dumb shit also. Fuck it, I'm out.

Yule-i-tude

Iced out, not in a G-way.

Kiernan, the child who never smiles.

Gavin, showing fools how unwrapping is done.

We had Christmas five days early because otherwise, the shit wouldn't get done. The kids got loads of shit and I bought Felicia a camera that she didn't like and I got a new PS2 controller. I'm getting old, son. Anyway, see you later, it's lunchtime.

Back for the First Time

No, it's not Luda and this isn't my Christmas Tree

So, I finally got my end of semester grades and I told myself that I would post when that happened. I've just kind of been boozing in a post semester haze of loneliness and boredom before the requisite family time that Christmas is going to bring. Let's see what's been new around here that you missed.

I sent out my portion of the annual Christmas letter. I wrote it this year so I'm sure it was the best fucking Christmas letter ever. Felicia was hesitant to let me write it and even ended up censoring the letter a little bit, the fucking fascist. The part she left out was where I tell everyone that she was the one who decided it was time to move out of her parent's house. She objected to me identifying her as the decision maker on that one but that shit is the truth. So now the Christmas letter reads like it was partially my idea to move, which is total bullshit. It was all her. In fact, if she had her way we would have moved back to MS, and that is direct from her. So, take that censorship! The truth fucks your grandmother's ass!

We have been the proper American consumers this holiday season. For two people with no income we certainly know how to rack up the credit card debt. I bought Felicia the best Christmas present ever, and I say that just to chap her ass because we have four more days until we open them. Ha Ha!

I don't remember too much from my childhood, really, and it doesn't bother me too much. However, I was listening to Pandora the other day and 2 Live Crew's song Me So Horny from their album As Nasty As They Wanna Be came on and I had this memory float to the surface. I remember one summer when I had to have been eight or nine and Jude had this album and was listening to it before our parents got home from work. My memory is just of the intro to the song where the Vietnamese prostitute is saying, "Me so horny, me love you long time" but I undoubtedly heard the entire track as a child. So with this memory in mind I was listening to the lyrics more critically than usual and it got me thinking about how maybe the most insignificant shit in your life can influence you in ways unknown in the future. For instance, hearing this track at age eight/nine and growing up to be some crazy, misogynistic, porn fiend with a penchant for V.C. hookers. I mean, not like I'm that or anything, I'm just saying...ahem.

Damn, these bitches are hot.

Well, soup is good.