All Beastie's Stuff.

It started out with me telling her it was time for bed.

"Good news!" I said, cheerily. "It's time for bed!"

She eyed me. "No, I think it's time for a party," she answered.

"Nope, time for bed! You can sleep with your Mickey blanket!"

"Time. For. PARTY!!!" she screamed.

And I, being the terrible permissive parent that I am, let her have a party. I wouldn't normally, but the baby was finally sleeping, after being awake and crabby all freakin' day, so I was like, whatever. Fine. Par-tay!

First, she handed me an imaginary piece of cake. I crammed it all in my mouth, and that set her off into a tantrum. (Cause, you know, it's bedtime, for crying out loud.) She lay down on her belly on the bedroom floor and cried. "You 'posed to have a 'poon!!" she yelled. "You can't eat it wike a mess! WAAAAAHHHH!"

"Fine," I said. "Can I please have a spoon?"

She stopped crying, handed me an imaginary spoon, then buried her face in her hands again, crying.

I saw where this was going.

"Can I please have a napkin?"

Crying stops. "Here you go," she says, hands me the invisible napkin, and resumes crying.

"Can I please have a glass of milk?"

Crying stops. "Here you go," she says, handing me the imaginary milk. Crying ensues.

"Can I please have a fork?"

Crying stops. "Here you go," she says, hands me the pretend fork, and continues crying.

At this point, I can't think of anything else I might need at this "party." So I start naming random stuff.

"Can I have a banana?"

"Here you go. [sob.]"

"Can I have a raincoat?"

"Here you go. [sob.]"

"Can I have a skateboard?"

"Here you go."

Suddenly she stopped crying and gave me a dirty look.

"Hey! No fair! You're takin' all my stuff!!"

Quicklies.

I'm in a listy mood today, so here's some random crap from my Facebook statuses.

The other day, I got an AARP card in the mail with my name on it. I was pretty happy about that, because it means fifty cent coffee from the Stop N Go. I am not saying this to be funny. I am serious. However, since everyone laughed when I said it, I put it in my "When I Become a Stand Up Comedian" notebook. (Not that I ever plan on becoming a stand up comedian. But just in case I decide to, I'll have all my material in one place so I don't have to spend a year planning out what I'll say. I can just be like, "Hey, today I'm going to be a stand up comedian," and then that night I'll be selling out shows at the Apollo. It's good to be prepared, you know.)

Five got a cheerleader set for Christmas this year. It has a DVD on how to be a cheerleader, and the big pink pom poms. When she opened it, she got all excited and screamed "CHEERLEADER HANDS!!!" It was hysterical.

A few days before Christmas, Beastie made an interesting connection. As I was pouring a glass of milk, she asked, in a horrified voice, "Did this milk come from your BOOBS!?" I explained that, first of all, there's no way I could fill a whole gallon, and secondly, the milk in the refrigerator comes from cows. Cow boobs. Later, EJ asked me if that was true, that milk came from cow boobs. "Not just cow boobs," I told her. "Cow nipples." She got all grossed out and hasn't drunk milk since.

The kids are attending a karate class, taught by a friend of mine. When the class was in the planning stages, I asked the kids if they'd like to attend. They said yes, but I had to ruin their excitement with a disclaimer: No doing karate on each other.
Five was pretty pissed about that. "What if a big bear comes and eats me, can I do karate on him?" she asked.
EJ replied with, "No, a bear's too big. But you could do it on a vampire bat!"

Okay, here's a little tiny story about The Babe. Did you know that today is The Babe's birthday? He's sixteen months old today. He makes me laugh all the time, because he doesn't speak English. He speaks... something else. I'm not sure what, but he speaks it fluently. When he gets mad at me, he points his finger at me and curses me out in his own language. "Da ba gada ta ga daba ba ga na ma!" He screams, usually at the top of his lungs.

The funniest part is, he hates singing. I mean, he HATES it. Whenever I sing, he comes up and bitches me out until I stop. Then he walks away and I start singing again, and he comes back and yells at me again. If I sing while he's nursing, he either covers my mouth or plugs his ears. And if he happens to have something in his hand, he beats me with it while yelling at me.

The girls say he's a cranky old man in a little kid body, and I believe it.

Top Ten Chihuahua Names

In case I never told you before, I have a chihuahua. He used to be morbidly obese, but he lost six pounds and now he's just overweight - however, according to the BMI charts, he's pretty much dead. His BMI is only 58.6. I think that qualifies him for some sort of stomach stapling procedure, but his job as head of security for the Ninja Household doesn't offer health insurance, so he's SOL on that one.

Anyway. My dog's name is Petey Poblano, or just Petey for short. He's got big eyes and he looks like a lemur. He's very cute, and very assholish, because he's always doing horrible things like eating the garbage or puking on the bed.

I'm always thinking of good names for chihuahuas. I don't plan to get another chihuahua anytime soon, because I will never adopt an adult dog again. Too many issues. The next dog I get will be a puppy and I don't have the time or patience to deal with a puppy right now. But when I do, it will be a chihuahua, and here is a list of names I love for a chihuahua.

1. Nacho Cheesier (or Nacho for short)
2. Guido
3. Sergio
4. Killer
5. Steve (because Steve is a great name for any animal, no matter the species)
6. Noodles
7. Chaos
8. Kissy BooBoo (but only if its a girl)
9. Carlito
10. Guapo

Right now I'm digging Sergio. Actually, I need to stop thinking about this, or I might be tempted to go get another pwecious wittle poopy-doopy chihuhaua baby....