Well, it's December and there was a light dusting of snow last night, so that can mean only one thing -- THEY CLOSED THE FUCKING SCHOOLS ONCE AGAIN! These motherfuckers will close their doors if someone so much as spills laundry soap on the ground. Wait a minute -- laundry soap?! Who the fuck am I, Scrubby Von Washboardenson?! Nice fucking metaphor. See, that's how pissed I am about this school closing -- it's making me sound like a grandma from 1943.
And I KNEW they were going to close, too. Shit, yesterday, when I went to pick up the spawn at school, Mr. Z said, "Mr. G [the principal] came into our class today and told us to wear our pajamas inside-out tonight, so there'll be no school tomorrow!" First of all, that's kinda creepy -- I don't want fucking adults talking to my kids about how they wear their pajamas. B, the dude was obviously going to close the goddamn school anyway. And what kind of fucking dark arts is this guy practicing, getting all the kids to adjust their clothing so as to change the laws of nature?! What's next, is he going to have them sleep under their beds in order to open up the hell-mouth under the school?! Fucking Principal Mephistopheles over there.
So, I had the kids for the morning and the old lady took over for the afternoon. Luckily, they were pretty accomodating today, mainly because they didn't have to go to school. The old lady had a great idea, though. We got out all of our old videotapes and they basically sat there and watched their childhoods from, like, birth until the present. It was fucking wild to see that shit. First of all, I forgot how fucking cute the two of them used to be -- they'd make you crap your pants, they were so cute.
The crazy thing was that the old lady and I were so patient and sweet and tolerant sounding on those tapes. It was like we were heavily dosed up on quaaludes, or something. I remembered every single moment as I watched them, and it seemed like it was just yesterday and then seemed like it was forever ago. I just kept thinking, "Man, that dude is awesome -- I've gotta be more like him." I mean, compared to back then, I'm like Johnny Buzzkill now. Sure, I was probably playing it up for the camera a bit, but still. I've gotta chill my shit out a little bit.
You know, it'd probably be easier to be so chipperiffic if Mr. Z and Miss O still walked around in onesies and mashed pureed peas into their faces. They have to be held a little responsible for my escalating crabbitude over the years. But it's not like I've turned into Uncle Charley from "My Three Sons" around here, though. I just have to remember those tapes from time to time and spazz down a little. Again, a packed bong would be mighty helpful in facilitating such a change. I'm just sayin'.
I'm sure we're going to be watching more tapes over the weekend. We're up to Miss O's first birthday party. You know, they're cute and all and I really miss them being so tiny and cuddly, but I do not understand those people who look at old pictures and movies and say, "We've GOT to have another one!" Are you shittin' me?! I remember the cuteness, but I also remember the no fucking sleep, and the carrying those ungrateful lumps around for hours trying to get them to fall asleep, and I remember getting puked on and shit on and peed on and wiping their shitty asses and all those fucking diapers and cradle-cap and vaccinations and waiting for their dried up, bloody bellybutton stumps to fall off and the whole house smelling like a fucking turd and having dried boogersnots on the shoulders of every shirt I owned and singing "Baby fucking Beluga" every goddamn night, not to mention the teething and suctioning out their snotty noses with that blue bulb thing and cutting their tiny fingernails and missing and making them bleed and not being able to go anywhere because they took a fucking nap like every half hour.
Fuck that shit.
They were pretty fucking cute, though.