In Towels
We're all in towels here, as Milwaukee has returned to it's normal "sauna" status. So, I'll just give you a brief roundup of life at the Frogurt estates.I'm slightly pissed at Yost for pulling a Ray Rhodes on Sunday and costing the Brewers an important (for statistical and psychological reasons) game. Next time one of you readers dials up the old Ouigi board, tell Yost to "LEARN HOW TO FUCKING HANDLE A PITCHING STAFF ASSHOLE!" Thanks.
I'm slightly less pissed that it looks like I will miss out on the entire summer. The Fidgit Midgit (baby) can't really go anywhere and prefers to eat on an almost hourly basis, so it's not like we have time to go anywhere anyway. Plus, I'm taking that VB class on web which is sucking up about 6-9 hours a week. Also ...
we're looking for a home. Yes. Relocation time. We've outgrown our fashionable locale, and the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the "one". The "one" being me. The many being wife, Squeak Box (baby), World's Naughtiest Dog (WND). Climbing three staircases to get into my flat was no biggie when it was just me, my beer, and my video games, ...try it with a kid and a stroller. Same deal with parking 1-2 blocks from my house because the Waukesha-transplant-asshole-firestarting neighbors don't know how to park their truck-piece of shit sedan-crotch rockets. Fuckshitters.
So, yes, a home. A big one, with spare rooms, high taxes, gun turrets, and all the latest mish-mosh. The market is tough for castles at the moment, but we're soldiering on. So eager sufficate in debt, we are.
The Midgit Monkey (baby) is squeaking and cooing her way into a personality. She's possibly left handed (if only she were a boy, I'd start teaching her to throw curves balls now), she's impatient (get's that from her mother's side), actively fights the sandman (from me), and cannot be woken from slumber unless dipped in cold water (from Mom).
The best (or worst) part is that she has my mannerisms. As a baby, child, and adult, my most common expression is the patented Frogurt synical wrinkled brow. She's got it. One of my favorite childhood pictures is of me in a BATMAN tank top, staring at the camera with a studious, slightly irritated expression, as if to say "Bite Me". She looks at everyone with that exact expression. Welcome to the family, sweetheart.
WND just ignores the Fuss Budget (baby), occasionally sniffing her in a search for food. WND is getting a little too curious about the formula bottles. Some day soon she will get a hold of one. She's a thinker, that one. If she wants a bottle of formula, I'm sure she already knows how to get it. She's just biding her time. She did the same with the diapers, sniffing the Diaper Geenie each time she entered or left the room. She can't get inside the Diaper Geenie. She knows this. So she observed and waited until one day while I was gone, the wife placed a wet diaper in the Diaper Geenie (but did not completely close the lid) and ran to the bedroom to open a new pack of diapers. Upon returning, WND already had the diaper down, open, and ripped apart. She had one opportunity to get a hold of one of those, it's no accident that she happened to be right there waiting for it.
That's all. Time to hit AC and the my half of the sack.
As always, there's a long week ahead.
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