Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and Zagones

So I really want to read this new book "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" because I'm a nerd for zombie media, but I DON'T want to read "Pride and Prejudice". That would just be awful. And I wouldn't want to be seen reading it either. I just want to get to the zombies. But I need a little background. So thank god for NETFLIX! I order the Keira Knightley "Pride and Prejudice" from '05. And I'm watching this heaving bosom 15-year-old chick flick and folding laundry when Ike comes down from his nap sucking his thumb. He watches me and the movie quietly for a moment; hair mussed, sleepy faced. And then he pops his thumb out of his mouth and rails at me:

"What in the heck are you watching? What's wrong with you?" 

Before I can answer, he grabs a handful of his socks and storms out.

What's wrong with me?

Indeed.

The Bad Daddy Game

So the in-laws (MiMi and Papa) are staying for a few days, and I wake up their first morning here at 7am to hear Mimi and Ike having a grand ol' time in the guest room, laughing and carrying on. "Great!" I whisper and roll over to get maybe an hour more sleep. 

Then... I start listening to their game. And it was going something like this:

Mimi: "Daddy? Can I have some cereal?"

Ike: No!

Mimi: (fake crying) Whaaaaaah!

Ike: (giggling with glee) Do it again!

Mimi: Daddy? Can I have a cookie?

Ike: No!

Mimi: Whaaaaaahhh!

Ike: Do it again Mimi!

What in the heck? I stumble into the room putting on a bathrobe. 

What are you guys doing?

Ike with a big smile on his face says, "I'm playing Bad Daddy with Mimi!"

Mimi looks a little embarrassed.

I rub my head and not knowing what to say mumble, "Well... keep it down will ya?" and exit.

As I'm walking down the hall I hear giggling and 

Daddy, can we play Bad Daddy?

No!

Whaaaaaaa!

Hahahahahhahahaha! Do it again Mimi! Do it again!

Note to Self: Don't Cut Cat's Throat

Right before we're leaving for the coast for the weekend I decide our Maine Coon Puss, Pru, needs a good brushing. It's still cold here so she's still got this huge winter coat. The cat's like a big fluffy Opossum. It's embarrassing.  She's a sweet cat so she doesn't make much of a fuss, even when she's got knots the size of avocados hanging off her pelt. These things are massive so there's no way to brush her out so I grab the scissors. Mistake. I get a little close to a knot on her neck and she does a tiny squeal. Damn. I try to take a look at her but now she wants nothing to do with me. I'm chasing her around the house now, apologizing, talking sweetly, "I was only trying to help honey, come here, let me look at it wumbums..." Total idiot. So I pin her down and she's not bleeding, she seems fine. We were going to leave her in the house all weekend anyway so, ya know I figure there's no use telling my wife and worrying her for the whole weekend, or worse, she might not want to go at all and then we won't go to the beach. So, I let it go and Ike and I pick up my wife at work and the family heads to the beach.

On the way back, as we're driving over the Freemont bridge, I let her know what happened and she's appalled. "You mean you knew about this the whole weekend and never told me?" She thinks I'm some sort of sickie 'cause I didn't tell her. And this is exactly the reason I didn't tell her because she was all worried and even more so when we got home. "Take her to the vet!" she says. "She's fine!" I say. "Look at her!" But then I look at the wound on her and it does look a little nasty. Seeing dollar signs with wings taking flight I take Pru to the vet. I tell the doctor what happened, she looks at me askew and hustles the cat into some stitches immediately.Five of 'em. $50.00 mistake. Even after I apologize up and down she still thinks I'm kitty serial killer: She says one more millimeter and you would have cut her jugular. I said "Hey, but another millimeter the other way we wouldn't be standing here huh?"

I'm an optimist when it comes to animal injury.

Pru's on my lap right now as I write this. Purring. Unconditional love.

Bad Daddy was only trying to help... right Pru? Riiiight.

Sorry Son, Daddy's Got a Court Date

So getting back from Cali (another story all together) Ike wants a little mano y mano Daddy time. Oops! Too bad. I forgot I plead not guilty to a traffic infraction three months ago and today I got a court date. "Why Daddy?" 

"Well, remember when we tried to go to court and pay the fine? When the giant police man at the door ran a wand over your entire body thinking you were a car bomb? Then they stuffed you through the conveyor belt machine all because you had a Diego Spotting Scope? And the jumpy lady with no teeth asked you for a dollar and the other nice lady with fish-netting on her legs asked you for a date?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I pleaded not guilty just to get the hell out of there. And now I got to go back and talk to a really nice man in a black bathrobe and a fat man paid to carry a gun about a camera that took a picture of me driving our car taking a right on a red light."

Pause.

"Dad. I don't want to grow up. Ever."

"Me Neither Son."

So at Circuit Court a cop shows me the picture of me and my wife taking a right at a red light. I said I stopped. But the cop said the camera clocks me at 32 miles and hour. And I can't go from zero to 32 in two seconds in a VW.

I told him I was a Nascar Driver... but he didn't crack.

"Any more questions?"

"Yeah. Where can I get some boobs so you're as nice to me as you are to all the ladies."

He just repeated himself again. "Any MORE questions?"

So I wait until final short matters are done and the judge asks if any more citizens want to be pussies and change their plea to No Contest.

I wait a second and then raise my hand. The judge calls me forth to Big Brother's table.

He asks me if there's anything I want to say.

I said, " Your Honor, I believe your camera is wrong and I have proof. If you take a look at the picture of me in the intersection there's a woman sitting next to me. That's my wife. 

The judge and the cop nod and vocalize interest.

"And if you notice, as I'm going through the red light she's not SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER at the top of her lungs and HITTING ME UPSIDE THE HEAD."

The court reporter lets out a loud "HA!" and then goes back to her computer.

"My wife never misses a chance to yell at me about my driving your honor so your camera must be wrong."

We all had a good laugh. The whole court. For a minute maybe...

Then the gavel came down.

"One Hundred Eighty One Dollars. Thank you Mr. Zagone."

"I'm here all week Judge! Try the Halibut! It's Fresh! Tip your waitress!"

Test Your Judicial System! You're Paying For It!

They Trashed My B-ROY Cup!

At the Blazer Game with Ike (4 years old mind you) I brought my Brandon Roy REFILL cup for the first time this season (because I keep freakin' forgettin' the motha). And as the Rose Garden battle-ax is scannin' our tickets she tells me I can't come in with the CUP! What's up with this?! It's a refill cup that I practically had to sell my car for it was so damned expensive! (But I thought hell man if I can get refills, fine.) So I said "I have to throw it away?" She didn't say nothin' but the line's backin' up so in front of my son I had to throw away the Brandon Roy cup! And Ike starts CRYIN'. He loves Brandon Roy man, loves the guy. I do too. Don't get me started. Total man crush.

So I go to season ticket services and I lay it on these people. "You made my son throw away his Brandon Roy cup! You liars told me I could do refills, what's up wit' dis!?" The suit says they changed the policy because it was unsanitary. "Well your rule change made this sweet little boy cry man, come on, who can I talk to here?" (Ike's layin' it on too, green snot runnin' out of his nose, eyes all red.) They hurriedly got the kid another cup, quick man let me tell ya. They don't want to be hearin' in the paper they made no kids cry. Their tryin' like hell to shed the ol' "jail blazer" crap ya know. 

So games over and we're leavin' and Ike starts cryin' again, and I say "What's up man?" He says "I'm scared that lady's gonna take my cup again."

Scarred, man. Scarred for life! You hear that Paul Allen?! B-Roy, you better put a fricken' splint on Oden's leg and win a championship or I'm gonna have a Laker fan for a son. 

Ew. Good God! Nails on a chalk board brother. Don't even want to think about it.

So okay, the Spokane Story

1/25/09. So before we leave for Spokane to go see my in-laws I check my tires. I know my tires are bad. But they still got tread. And we're broke. Tax Return's in the mail. Let's just do it. 

We get there fine. Comin' back though past Tri-Cities my wife's drivin' and she's swervin' like crazy. Uh-oh. But maybe she's just a bad driver. (Which she is.) But goddamnit I can't keep the car on the road either! And I hear on the radio it's 18 degrees. 18! So I'm drivin' about 35 miles per hour just to keep from sliding into the Columbia. Finally, thank god there's an accident ahead. I pull over and put on the chains. I get out and fall on my ass. The freeway is an inch thick of ice. 

As I'm puttin' on the chains though, my hands start bleeding. They're getting cut by something. Oh yeah. The steel belts are coming through the tires. Wow. So I guess they were balder than I thought. Whatever you do Claus, that's right, do not tell the wife: First thing through my head.

So I figure we'll get to The Dallas, stay the night, in the morning it's Les Schwab on the VISA and some free beef. Right? Well, son of bitch, it clears up and it's dry right at the exit. My wife's already pissed at me now, she knows the tires are bad (not how bad), Ike's watchin' a DVD, screw it Forge ON! Going 30 miles per hour it takes us 11 hours total to get home from Spokane, my wife didn't speak to me the whole way. But I saved us money! We just got our tax return and I didn't have to pay interest on no stoopid tires. Huh? I wish I could tell my penny pinchin' Irish mom about this one. But she'd kill me.

"Getouttahea"

Last night I had gas. Bad gas.Kat made Boston baked beans. Mmm. So as I'm singing Ike some bedtime songs he begins whining quietly under the covers. I say "What's wrong bud, are you sad about something?" He says, "No. You smell bad, and I just want you to get out of here." Insult to injury as I'm leaving he commands "And tell mom to bring up a candle."