Saturday night's alright.
My mom: out to dinner with some students.
The boyfriend: at a Steeler game.
Stacey: out riding motorcycles with her brother-in-law (what the fuck?)
Everyone else I know: has other plans or is in preparations to go to Bloomfield Bridge Tavern or Dee's (again) to get drunk (again) and fail attempts at flirtations with the opposite sex (again).
Me and the baby: here, both in various states of undress, apparently in a contest to see who can be crazier.
My hair is dirty. I'm wearing boxers.
The baby keeps threatening to take off his diaper. Nevermind, he's now completely nude. Great.
I don't know. He woke up early from his nap and threw an absolute fit for about an hour. He's also mad at the boyfriend for some unknown reason. I think they're lacking father-son quality time. We'll have to work on that.
Now he has his arm through the legholes of this inflatable baby boat water toy thing.
Now that he's completely naked I'm noticing how huge his head is in proportion to the rest of his body. What did I give birth to?
Speaking of Oedipal complexes, the boyfriend and I watched Dead Alive on the Independent Film Channel last night. Without a doubt, it was the goriest movie that I've ever seen. Awe-inspiring, really. It might be finding a home in my DVD collection soon, right next to Pieces.
Weird stuff going on in my neighborhood:
People sit on lawn chairs at night and watch the demolition taking place. They cheer as each bit of the parking garage gets smashed to smithereens.
The priest that baptized me was visiting Cass and Joe (my son's Alzheimer's buddies) and spotted us standing at the door. I went out to say hi and was confronted with the somewhat odd situation of catching up with the man who cleansed me of Original Sin and chatting while I held my illegitimate son and the thought, “I don't practice Catholicism anymore. I don't practice Catholicism anymore. I don't practice Catholicism anymore,” ran through my head. I kind of felt like saying to him, “Lotta good that did, eh?” and chucking him on the shouler. I refrained, though.
Okay, I'm just asking for trouble. I better go get a diaper on this kid.
