Egg on my face

I came home from visiting Grandma on Sunday to find my block having, err, a block party at the end of our court (in other words, directly in front of our house...) Sweet, right? And I would have been totally cool with it, HAD WE BEEN INVITED!

*sniff*
*scuffs toe*

We are the token d.i.n.k.s. on the street and the only house without playground equipment on our front yard. We are also the only house not in the street every night, chattering about juice boxes and Leap Frog with at least two children heaving off our legs (not that I'm bitter... I have a very lovely cat.) But we always smile and wave and make efforts to chat people up when we see them. And I'd love to be included in their reindeer games if it wasn't weird for me to join their post-dinner shenanigans carrying Bert in a Baby Bjorn. So I stick to the sidelines and water my plants and hope to get invited to the block parties.

Needless to say, both Orange and I threw down the WTF when we rolled into our driveway sidestepping the toddlers and sidewalk chalk.

"Why didn't they invite us?" questioned Orange, peering out from behind the curtains.

Mom and the Beefs we're on their way to our place for a family dinner regardless, but shared our slight with equal angst. We concluded "we had been weighed, we had been measured, and we had been found wanting" and that seemed to include (exclude?) fun things like block parties. Fine. Whatever, neighbors. We don't need you or your pooy parties, damnit!

So we had our dinner, and went for a walk, and as we left we awkwardly waived to the @ssholes blocking our driveway with their balloons and BBQs and smiles, and hoped our body language conveyed our indifference.

Le sigh.

-----

The Canada Post strike is over, so last night when I got home from work I checked the mailbox for the first time in a week. No mail yet. But I did find our invitation to the block party.

The Shore

Orange and I took a min-break to NJ last weekend, and what a trip it was!

It was planned on a whim after finding a favourite band was touring again for the first time in, oh, I don't know...  forever? Not able to pass up the opportunity for shenanigans we pulled out our credit cards and purchased two tickets for the closest venue: NJ. Thank the sweet baby Shiloh for Orange's quadruple platinum hotel points and Air Miles on which the remainder of the trip was funded.

But you can't just go to Jersey for the night, right? Pfft. So we left Friday with plans of hauling our fabulous @sses to the Shore for the day, back in town (well, Hoboken) for the concert Saturday.

Let's begin by saying if I never have to drive in Jersey again, I will be a happy Library Lady. When an address can be as complicated as "US Route 1&9 78 local" (different from US Route 1&9 78), you know it's not a place you want to navigate. It's like a bad math joke... You can't even punch that sh*t into a GPS! Trust me, I tried (with Orange breathing down my neck.) And for those who might think I'm exaggerating and/or a bad driver, feast your eyes on the all-star road engineering pictured left. How many turnpikes does it take to drive one couple to fisticuffs? Ask the New Jersey city planners...

Once we actually arrived at the Jersey Shore, we opted to leave the car at the hotel and taxi to the boardwalk. Orange wanted to enjoy the weekend, and his fun was being stifled by my nails digging into the side of his face. The nice hotel lady hailed our taxi, and when "Linda" arrived she handed us her "business card" which read "I'll drive you to drink." Heck yes! Bet your butters that card is now proudly displayed on our fridge.


And Linda was serious... Without prompting she dropped us off at the front door of a place called EJs, home of the $2 pints, which naturally became our second, third, and fourth stop (*blush*). The boardwalk is exactly what you want it to be: deep fried mozzarella balls, Snookie hair, Guidos, old ladies picking up young men, "beat that beat up" house music pouring out of every arcade at ear-piercing decibles, and the best people watching I've had in a long time. And let's not forget more Rastafarian bananas than I could count!

Orange (ironically) got angry trying to win an angry bird. We took a ride on the iconic Shore roller coaster. I bought salt water taffy. Jim debated purchasing an "I heart puggles" garden stone (they were fresh out of "I heart truffle pigs"), and I got a back tattoo (I considered the Jesus piece, but opted my boyfriend's name instead...) And no, it's not permanent.

After buying Poomobile a pair of underpants with the words "Team Meatball" printed on the seat at the legendary Shore Store (note the Jersey Shore roof top patio in the photo), we stumbled over to Karma where we were told--in not so many words--that we were too unattractive to join in their reindeer games. Eight hours at EJs will do that to a person... So we took our fabulousness home and raided the vending machine in the lobby instead. I love me some Cheezits.

The concert on Saturday blew my mind. They are hands down the best group I've seen live. The talent is amazing, none of them actually playing one instrument, per se, but rather rotating duties throughout the night. At one point Brad was playing the bongos, the harmonica, and singing... WTF? The clip I've given you is crap, but gives you an idea of the crowd at Red Bull (which is the biggest venue I've ever been in...) If you don't know Dispatch, for a better look at the kind of music they're capable of check out the video of them at Madison Square Gardens:

Aside from the irrationally enraged mother and her seriously annoying infant sitting in front of us on the plane ride home (who consequently picked a fight with the both the flight attendants, sticking around to yell at the pilot after disembarking), this was a top notch mini vacay. Next time I'll bring my Bumpit.

A new blog post is coming, with pictures of our recent mini break to New Jersey (heck yes!) but I still have to upload the pictures... Maybe tomorrow.

In the meantime: who are these people who don't know they're pregnant? I stumbled on the show last night, and the girl was talking about the extreme cramps she was experiencing, and assuming she was getting her period "used a hairdryer on her abdomen"... She then promptly called 911 because "it felt like her abdomen was on fire".

I'm not a scientist, but 1) how do you not know you're pregnant and 2) how do you not know holding a blowdryer to your abdomen might, oh, I don't know, make your abdomen feel LIKE IT'S ON FIRE?!

Also, who are the actors who audition for this show?

"Um, so basically we want you to act carefree and la tee da and then boom, there are three fake children coming out of your woo-woo real fast in a grocery store dairy aisle and all this time you've just thought it was gas so you're panicking, you're panicking, you're panicking and then you're like 'oh my gosh, that's why I gained 350 pounds over the last 9 months?"

When are the Emmys? This is some award winning stuff, guys. And don't worry if you've missed it up until now because there are many, many seasons of this show... Like hundreds of these shows... Many women. Many babies, most of whom are named Shawntel, Mawntell, and Darknell (silent 'k').

"Your ear drum's connected to your... Sinus!"

Yesterday morning I woke to the sound of church bells, which was both lovely and surprising being that they don't usually ring in our neighborhood. "I wonder when they started ringing?" I pondered...

Last night on our walk Orange and I heard the bells again. "Isn't that nice?!" I said. "I wonder why they started ringing them?"

*insert awkward pause*

"Um, really? The church bells ring every weekend... are you telling me you've never heard them?"

Turns out my sinus infection was affecting (infecting?) more than just my sense of smell.

We take every opportunity we can to praise Lil' C for using the potty, the point of course is to reinforce the behaviour with positive feedback: "good job, buddy, we're so proud of you!" etc. etc. And he will proudly tell you any chance he gets that "when I use da potty I get wear 'Pool Ups'..." (that's Lil' C speak for "Pull Ups"... His pronunciation makes him sound Polish...)

Anywho, our praise is clearly working. Whether he's using the potty more or not I'm not sure, but this morning at breakfast when I did what he asked me to do, namely move over on the booth bench so he could sit next to me, he said: "tank you, Mana, I'm proud of you for using da potty."

And while I'm not rushing out to buy myself Pull Ups, I certainly sat a little taller and puffier next to my big boy nephew.

I'm sorry, but I really, really like this...

... Goosey Two-Shoes.

I like it almost as much as the story Beef told me yesterday about a friend of hers who asked her toddler son what they should name his new baby sister. His response? Officer Pete, of course!