I hate to say it, but this was practically a crab-free weekend. I almost didn't know what to do with myself. Sure, there was great potential for crabbitude, but somehow, it all ended up being narrowly crabverted.
Yesterday, I spent a good hour and a half inflating the new hippity-hops we got for Mr. Z and Miss O. I started out using our minuscule hand-held bike pumpette, but ended up blowing the things up with my now completely 'sploded lungs. I almost passed out about 80 times and I think I burned out about half of my alveoli and an odd O-ring or two. But seeing the spawn bounce around the yard, almost breaking every spindly limb on their bodies made it all worthwhile:
Then, I took Miss O to a birthday party at the zoo -- I know, HUGE potential for taint-rippage. But, it was pretty fucking enjoyable. The key was that the parents giving the bash ACTUALLY HAD A FUCKING CLUE HOW TO PARENT and, for once, I didn't have to end up basically hosting the goddamn thing myself. They kept things moving at a timely clip, they had food and liquid served at the right time, AND they offered me a big hunk-o-cake, which I gladly snorted. Oh, and another AND, they didn't give Miss O a godfuckingshitass goodie bag at the end of the party, thank Zeus, so I won't be stepping on plastic whistles and spider rings and tops and mini bottles of bubbles that would all be scattered all over the fucking house for the next month, if they had. It was the closest thing to a non-painful 6-year-old's birthday party that I could've possible hoped for.
And I got to pet a chinchilla.
What else? Uh... oh, I cooked a fucking incredible dinner tonight. Grilled Mahi-mahi (from the Fish Truck, no less) with garlic mashed potatoes and salad. A real grown-up family kinda dinner. It rocked the hizzy. The key was the Soy Vey teriyaki marinade. I recommend it highly for all you fish-grillers out there. My mom always uses that stuff, but I never imagined I'd find it here at the Kroger, which, strangely, I did. Didn't think they let "that kind" of condiment into the state of Michigan. Must've slipped by the ethnic food brown-shirts that rule this state with an iron oven mitt. Regardless, the food was tits.
AND, to top it all off, I tried out my new SwiMP3 player today at the pool, and the thing actually worked! First, I tested it out in a controlled, highly scientific test in the tub this morning, just to make sure. The SwiMP3 passed with flying colors, while I got water up my nose and bumped my head on the faucet.
But the thing is pretty fucking wild. As I mentioned in an earlier post, you don't wear it in your ears, but rather, the pads rest on your cheekbones, and the music is conducted through "the bone" into "the head." You can't really hear it until you stick your head in the water and then, presto, instant music, that kinda floats around your skull, right about here:
I was kinda flipping my lid for a few laps, thinking I was going to start convulsing and then all the bones in my body were going to instantly turn to powder, but I was able to chill and, eventually, really enjoy it. Listening to tunes while swimming... who'da thunkit?! Technology -- here to stay? I say "probably!"
And that's about it. I'll leave you with a conversation between Mr. Z and Miss O that I overheard as they were getting ready for bed:
MR. Z: Shut your pie-holes!
MISS O: Pie holes?! There's only ONE pie hole!
MR. Z: That's what YOU think!