Monday, September 03, 2007

Whatta Beach...

Well, we broke down and drove out to Lake Michigan yesterday for a long fucking day at the beach. Two hours there, two hours back and a blurry haze of whatever happened in the six hours in between. I think the spawnage dug it, though, so it was probably worth it. Although I think they only really dug it 'cuz we ended up buying each of them one of these fucking ripoff Webkinz stuffed animals at some shitty-ass toy store while we were waiting the 40 minutes it took to get a table at the world-famous Clementines restaurant, home of the amazingly devoid of taste perch sandwich.

The beach was nice, though. Miss O and I went to town on a dee-lux sand castle that made Hogwarts look like a fucking Motel 6:

Okay, so it didn't photograph well -- if you saw it in real life, you would've shit your speedo. Mr. Z, as usual, proved once again that his real father is Icelandic, as he jumped right into the lake and basically stayed in that fucking ice-bath until we left. Here's a picture of him peeing in said ice-bath:

He said, "Dad, I have to pee. Where's the bathroom?" and I informed him that he was soaking in it. I told him to just walk out as far as he could and then just let it fly. I also told him to pretend he was looking at the boats and to just "not look down." So he looked down the whole time.

Miss O had to pee the minute we got there, but refused to whiz in the lake. She held it for the entire day. Five bucks I'm gonna be taking her to the urologist this week for a busted ureter.

But we did it, and I'm glad. We made the effort. We were can-do parents on a holiday weekend, we got the spawn off their asses and outta the house, and we had a good ol' family time.

And that better hold 'em until spring.


Anonymous said...

On inquiry if there way no provision for females , my friend called my attention to this remarkable psychological fact, namely: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEMALE PUNSTER.. She had met with snub after snub, and cut after cut, in her social climb, she had had the cook quit in the middle of an important dinner, she had had every disconcerting thing possible happen to her, but this--this was the last bale of straw.. The essential content which stood out clearly and broadly in the dream must, after analysis, rest satisfied with a very subordinate role among the dream thoughts.. A frequent, not very intelligible, symbol for the same is a nail-file (on account of the rubbing and scraping?).. He would walk up those steps according to plan and agreement, if at all.. Other stories of his deserving of special mention are: A Corner in Farmers (February, 29, 1908, Saturday Evening Post ), A Fortune in Smoke (March 14, 1908, Saturday Evening Post ), Easy Money (November 14, 1908, Saturday Evening Post ), The Triple Cross (December 5, 1908, Saturday Evening Post ), Spoiling the Egyptians (December 26, 1908, Saturday Evening Post ), Whipsawed! (January 16, 1909, Saturday Evening Post ), The Bubble Bank (January 30 and February 6, 1909, Saturday Evening Post ), Straight Business (February 27, 1909, Saturday Evening Post ), Sam Turner: a Business Man's Love Story (March 26, April 2 and 9, 1910, Saturday Evening Post ), Fundamental Justice (July 25, 1914, Saturday Evening Post ), A Scropper Patcher (October, 1916, Everybody's ), and Jolly Bachelors (February, 1918, Cosmopolitan ).. Nevertheless the Colonel quitted the building alone, and apparently unarmed except for his faithful gold-headed stick, which hung as usual from his forearm.. Capital punishment ! the Jew was overheard saying, with reference to the guilty parties.. Somebody's coming, Ross muttered, hoarsely.. But from the moment that I received the gift of the spectacles, I could not resist their fascination, and I withdrew into myself, and became a solitary boy.. His father wants to pull off a big piece of this, but first looks around to see if any one is watching.. 'Fo' God! Kernel--I hope dey ain't nuffin de matter, but you's lookin' mightly solemn! I ain't seen you look dat way, Kernel, since de day pooh Marse Stryker was fetched home shot froo de head.. He'd pass on, said the girl.. It would be spite, not retaliation, and not at all sportsmanlike.. The Rotunda, he said, is my genital, the captive balloon in front is my penis, about the weakness of which I have worried.. I want to buy this place, he stated.. A change can occur only if in some way a feeling of gratification is experienced--which in the case of the child must be through outside help--in order to remove the inner excitement.. Suppose he had laid on the card and asked for Miss Claiborne! What's the matter, Champe? inquired Ross, in a fairly natural tone.. After dinner that night--or rather, after supper, for we had dinner in the middle of the day at Jacobus's--I walked down the long verandah to ask Brede, who was placidly smoking at the other end, to accompany me on a twilight stroll.. Finally, we have by no means abandoned the relation of the dream to mental disturbances, but, on the contrary, we have given it a more solid foundation on new ground...

crabbydad said...

Wow, Isabella! The Rotunda is MY genital, too! You're so right -- a frequent, not very intelligible, symbol for the same IS a nail-file.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to quicksand shoe elephant in the helicopter turtleneck.

nora said...

opps, I must have accidently pasted my top-secret diary to your comments section.
I'd love to know what is, but I don't dare click it.