Fake Samuel

I can't believe I'm out shopping on the day after Christmas.

So at least today when I woke up I was on daddy. Contrary to what Samuel writes of the Folks, we seem to get along just fine. He let's me poke his eyes and scratch his face and stuff. Anyway apparantly all I got for Christmas this year was some clothes and a screwdriver set. Not the best in the toy department, but I do appreciate the opportunity to do some woodworking. Just as soon as I obtain some fine motor control that is.

Given the current financial crisis, I thought I would provide my knowledgable viewpoint on the situation. Money, apparently, is something of some importance. While it does come in the form of delicious looking coins, it also comes in the form of nice bendy cards. While I am never allowed to bend these cards, I can only assume this is where their value comes from. Apparently, because of how much fun these cards are to bend and play with, our country has a lot of them and we value them highly. Now, some people have too cards, and those who have them are afraid of getting them taken away. I assume they are afraid of people like me, who have no cards, but want them. The Folks won't give me one. So my thoughts: just give me the card.

Occasionally, out of town yokels will see me on the street and think "oh it's Zack from Saved by the Bell" or "hey is that Brad Pitt" or "he must be someone important-look at his entourage and the way he carries himself and orders all those people around." These yahoos thought I was a big name celeb and demanded my picture. After taking my usual fee, I acquiesed.

...another room. Everytime I wake up I'm in another location. It's a little unsettling. And they wonder why I fight them on naps sometimes.

So the folks got me this Bumbo seat the other day. You know them . They're those minimum security prisons for babies that parents buy when they want the appearance of a happy baby but don't want to spend the time with them. Yea it kinda sucks. Anyway, I make sure they know I'm not happy.

Just wanted you to have a tiny glimpse into how the other half lives. This was my lunch today: macaroni & cheese, tomatoes, and grapes. Ok, collect yourself. You may have had a grape once, when you found one in the trash, dumpster diving at a country club. Or a tomato left discarded and half eaten at a high class restauant you used to bus tables at. But this was my lunch-a plateful of such delicacies. For a glimpse into my life: you're welcome.

Ok? Happy? You probably gave it to me. And now I'm the one who's running like a faucet. And it's not my fault I can't blow my nose and I have a terrible aversion to the bulb suction. I have a cough and I'm achy. WHERE IS MY TYLENOL? What if this is cancer? Great there I go again now I'm gonna spend my nap today thinking about that. Awesome. Hey come here once. I have a present for your shirt.

So I just moved into my new office. Apparently the previous employee still works here. He keeps coming by when I'm trying to get my work done, messing with my stuff, pressing all my buttons, etc. It's fairly annoying.

So most of the time when you ask me a question, I respond with a "no." Sometimes I respond with a long, higher pitched "yeeeaass." You may wonder why this should be so. First let me rephrase that first sentence: So most of the time when you ask me a stupid question that utterly insults my intelligence, I occasionally respond with a long, high pitched, coming-down-to-your-level "yeeeaaas." As in "yeeeaaasss of course I want to go outside bozo, Where else?" Or "yeeaaasss I like to zoom the truck. Do you like to rattle off stupid comments to everyone who happens to pass by or am I just lucky today?" Or "yeeeaasss I think you should put me on your shoulders- I've only been asking for that for the last half-hour." You see, its my way of letting your know that I'm on to your little talk-down-to-the-20-month-old-cause-he's-still-a-baby game and I'm not gonna take it anymore. And, no, I'm not gonna give yo

We received our Enn Naaa by way of special overnight delivery roughly 2 months ago. I admit, I was initially uncertain of either its function or purpose. Its chaotic flailing movements and loud high pitched squealing noises left one wondering why The Folks didn't immediately "tun off" or be "all dun" with the Enn Naaa. Or at least put it "a why why." Certainly it would have fit in the closet where we put the shoes "a why why." Anyhoo, after sticking it out with, a couple months later it turns out that while I'm no closer to discovering a purpose for this toy, I do seem to find myself enjoying it, screaming out "ENN NAAA" and "ENN NAAA SEEEPING" at random, in apparent happiness. I don't know why I do these things, but I propose that it is some sort of evil toy, sent here by our enemies to infiltrate our ranks and lure us into a false sense of security. Beware! Two thumbs up.

A wheels bus roun roun roun roun roun roun roun roun roun roun roun roun A wheels bus roun roun roun roun taown

I've gone to the trouble if translating a song in to my own special lanuage. You're welcome. Nun bidge fawing down Fawing down, fawing down Nun bidge fawing down For nady. If there are other song requests, please leave them in comments.

Looking for chicks, whatever, and I look back and there's Aaron on the backseat and I'm like whoa dude who said you were invited? And he's like Until I have a car I'll have to catch rides with you to get where I need to go and I'm like your like barely born where could you need to go and he says I have yoga on tuesday nights and I'm like Oh. Whatever, hippie.

So my bro says this is an appropriate forum for my intellectual pursuits. I'm familiar with the weblog medium as a tool for information dispursal to the masses. I have been until recently unable to blog due to the fact that Gmail requires a name to sign up. Now that the problem has been remedied, my bro has graciously allowed me to tap into his readership, which he tells me is substantial. For the price I'm paying, it had better be. Well I can barely keep my eyes open get tired purple giraffe tomorrow

For those of you who haven't heard, apparently the guy that The Folks found over the weekend is coming to stay with us. At my house. I know what some of you are thinking. What biting piece of sarcasm is he gonna pull out this time? How is here gonna react to this new and different situation? How will he in his seventeen-month-old, intellectually sound but emotionally immature state hand this nearly overwhelming situation, coping with the demands of new found brotherhood while still coming to grips with his own independence in a new world full of rocky shore, and precipitous mountain peaks? You would think that. On the contrary, I'm opening my life to him-who-till-recently-resided-in-mamas-tummy. Since through this blog, I have found a strong outlet for my thoughts and feelings, a place to come to grips with the world around me and the battles within me, a respite from the stressors of daily living, a place where everyone knows my name not because I have to remind them of

On occasion, I'm asked to say certain words, apparently for the amusement of others. There are other times when I'm asked to repeat certain words - often repeatedly - until the listener thinks I said it "right" or they finally understand that I DON'T CARE. Anyhoo. Can you blame me for throwing in a few mispronounced words? The Folks are so easily frustrated. For example they can't stand it that I call all of their "Jason" friends: "Jesus." Or that I prefer to pronounce every letter in words like "leaf" (leeaaf) or "clean" (clee-aan). I don't buy that whole A after E crap. Or whatever it is. Basically if its a rhyme that supposed to tee-aach me English, I don't buy it. Anyhoo.

Those of you who know me well, and honestly, you all should by now, know that I enjoy narrating every detail of my life. From the smallest observations - "Fan off" - to profound insights - "Mama baby tummy" - I enjoy letting you all know how I see it. There are some who have questioned why I do this, why do I take the time to supply you with a running commentary of every last minutiae? Why should I, someone in the prime of his life nowhere to go but up destined for great things futures so bright you gotta wear shades, so carelessly supply the world with my point of view - a view not replicated anywhere, so new to the world that the world doesn't quite get it yet? And I too ask myself: why do this? Who are these people who feed and clothe me that they deserve my endless stream of at times nonsensical ramblings? I supply them with the chance to watch me grow and develop, the opportunity to watch me eat and fill my diaper - why should I also give them this -

Apparently there is a baby in the Mother's tummy. I've been researching the whole thing, trying to see it from all angles and this is what I've come up with so far: 1-mama has the baby 2-no baby in daddy 3-the baby is in mama 4-daddy has no baby 5-baby 6-no baby 7-baby 8-nobaby 9-i have a belly button I'll keep you updated on what all this might mean. I'm still putting it all together.

Actually I'm not saying "C" - its "see." When I'm on my dad's shoulders its "See the widening forehead? See the thinning spots? See the occasional gray hairs? See how I can pull his hair and he doesn't even do anything to stop me? See the control I have here?" When I'm playing with Grandma's hair its "See the drool I just left there? See my snot smeared all over the place? See how I place my bodily excretions anywhere and on anyone I want?" See?

I've been catching up on past issues of "Medical Economics," a journal that the Father gets and throws away after coloring on all the pages. I figure I'm gonna need it someday, to get him out of some royal financial mess he's gotten himself into.

Listen, about that pineapple video , I know my speech is kinda slurred, my responses are a little delayed, and it probably would come out at some point in the futures so let me just get it out in the open- yes: I was drunk when that video was made. Trust me - If you had to listen to stupid questions all day from The Folks you'd be hitting the sauce pretty hard too. "What are you eating?" "Are you poopy?" "What letter is this?" Sheesh its annoying. Anyhoo.

So like the rest of the country I'm waiting for my economic stimulus check. I'm planning on putting a down payment on a new crib as I barely get any sleep in this one. The Folks seems to think I wake up hungry or poopy every time I'm up at 4:30, cause they're always shoving a bottle in my face or shoving my butt in their face (which I love by the way). In reality its this mattress. Horrible. Anyhoo, I'm getting a memory foam mattress, you know that stuff invented by the astronauts when they were doing mattress research on the space shuttle all those years. Good night. For now.

The Father has this great 'Tarr that he pulls out once in a while to amuse me with. I've tested it out myself and I have a few thoughts. 1. A bit large. They could shrink this thing a bit I think. 2. Music? Not when he plays. And the playing style that he employs, this "Nice" method, its very outdated. I'm all for playing, but I don't really want to be limited by having to always play "Nice". 3. Bye Bye Tarr. Done. Oh oh oh wait, I wasn't done. Ok, Buh Bye. 2 strums up.

I was out all night last night. Partying. Insane. The chicks are all over me, of course. Think I'm "so cute" and whatever. I've been hitting the sauce a lot lately. Applesauce. Anyhoo.

So I've been a bit cranked lately. Some have referred to it as " crankerpants ". Don't ask me, I'm not a doctor so i can't say for sure, but let me give you my side of things. See the thing is - GIVE ME WHAT I WANT. Its really fairly simple.Anyway on to current events: Did you know there are balls outside? And cars and the mail and trees and the sun? Its all there AND its occasionally above freezing so I get to go see them. The other day it was dark and kinda wet and there were these cold little balls falling from the sky making an awful racket in the house but The Folks wouldn't let me go see. Anyhoo , I'm gonna go google ' crankerpants ' and find out what The Father was talking about. I get all freaked out about diagnoses until I see whats really true out there on the internet , mostly chat rooms and forums moderated by users like " fibromyalgiachick 324" and " narcseeker 03." These people are out there for us,

I have my people looking into this - we're pursuing possible legal action.

I've been working on increasing my cardio routine and I just don't have the time in the day, after I get home, and nap, and snack, and nap again, to get back to the gym. And its way to cold to run outside. So i've been using this pedometer - pretty cheap, only tracks walking, no crawling - to try to increase my daily workout. Its harder than I thought. I mean when you pretty much spend your day running from one room to the other, following whatever random thought comes into your head or whatever sound might have been made anywhere in the house, or a flushing toilet or a car going by or the dishwasher opening or a door opening, anyway, its hard to get more steps in than I already do. Maybe I'll look into wearing weights on my ankles. Anyhoo.

Here's the thing. I want what you have. If you're eating, I want it. And don't try to fool me with this jar food crap, because I'm not buying it anymore. Yea, it was ok, but there must be some reason why you're not eating it. So from now on, I want that. More specifically, dat. Dat being whatever you have in front of you. UPDATE: This now applies to things other than food.

As I look back over the past 12 months, I've come to realize that life outside the belly, once you subtract out all the inconsistencies and duplicities of ordinary existence, once you realize the full potential of everything that flies in the face of your own personal Magna Carta, after teasing apart the fine teeth that separate the hardships of life and the things that make life somewhat unattainable, that after all this, when you take it all with a great big spoon and put it back in the cereal box because you took too much and theres not enough milk to cover it all, or well, you do have milk, but its kinda old or looks/smells old and you're not sure what the date is anyway but you put it back in the fridge because you can't get to the store until later this week. Look, I still can't pick up a spoon, I poop and pee my pants, The Folks won't let me drive, and I lost my fake ID at the track last weekend. Life's ok, its just such a pain. Or, well, not a pain.

Its hard enough trying to convince the folks that I'm "learning" how to walk (when I want to take off and head over to Buffalo Wild Wings like I did last night after "bed time") but this whole blogging thing is just a pain in the butt. Everytime I get near the computer the Folks are on me. They haven't figured out that I leave the house most nights, but they have a 6th sense to know that I'm 5 feet from the keyboard. And from what I hear they're going to move it into their bedroom, to make room for who knows what. Probably to do another crappy home improvement job.

I know it seems like "that" or "cat" but its alot more than that. Seriously - do you think I really find pleasure in going from room to room just pointing at things and saying "that?" Or pointing out seemingly mundane household objects to anyone who comes in the room. Oh hey you, look at Dat, yeah, the chair thats been there for the past 10 years, now Dat the piano, now Dat the light. I mean c'mon. When I say "Dat" I'm pointing out the difference between you and me. That I take the time to appreciate the little things in life, the chairs, the lights, the piano, and I understand my place in the greater scheme of "Dat." Or "Daaaaat" as I sometimes call it.

You know, the face that makes The Folks think I'm pooping. I just make it so they'll pick me up and sniff my butt. Then when they pick me up, turn me around, and put their noses up to my diaper, I just look out at those around and smile. I may be forced to take naps when they say, eat what they say, do what they want, go where they want, but hey. I can make them smell my butt. Heh.