I wonder what she’s going to sound like.

What do you mean?

Her voice. I wonder what kind of voice she’ll have. I hope it’s not annoying.

Oh, no. She’ll sound musical. Not all whiny and shit. God, no. Not whiny.

Hell, no! I’d have to give her a tracheotomy and a voice box buzzer thingy. I need to go to medical school!

At this point I put my hand up to my throat and robotically said, “Hello, daddy!”. Sweety spit his soda out and said that I won at being disturbing for the day.

Go, me.

As you may (or may not) know, we like to give things voices around here. The dogs all have their own voices and talk to us regularly. Even Chi Chi. Due to her freeze-dried nature, her voice is rather raspy. Like she’s been smoking for 50 years. Having a voice naturally extends to Bean. We talk for her and sometimes even wobble her bottom jaw to enhance her “speaking” abilities.

Now people, we are some sick fuckers here. Most humor is highly inappropriate and totally tasteless. This was no exception.

I swing around to see Bean sitting in the crook of Sweety’s arm and she is grasping in her right hand an untwisted coathanger.

Hey, baby! What are you doing?!

I wanted to show you this.

What is that?

When I was inside of you there was a sister with me but I evicted her with this coathanger.

At that point, all I could do was turn around and carefully inspect the sink faucet because sometimes I run out of words and this was one of those times. Sweety is cackling his ass off because if one of us can render the other speechless then something has been accomplished.

I finally found some words.

Dude. The first time I really see my baby hold something? It’s a fucking twisted coathanger and she’s making a joke about aborting her roommate? Damn. Just…damn.

And then I couldn’t help it – I laughed.

We went to a birthday party today. For a seven year old.

It morphed into the adults playing cornhole in the backyard.

When is a good time to leave the party? When you see that points in the cornhole game are being celebrated with shots of Jagermeister.

Who is conked out on the sofa right now? If you guessed Sweety – you win!

I drove home and by the time I got the car parked he was passed out in an unglorious heap asleep on the living room floor. I went to bed. I woke up awhile later to what sounded like a hippopotamus dying. It was just Sweety. Puking all over the floor. It looks like someone was murdered in the living room.

Yes. I’m looking at puke splashes as I type. All of this carpet is going to be ripped up and replaced within the next few weeks so I’m not cleaning it. I fought the dogs over it as I scraped up the chunky stuff (how weird is it that Oliver won’t taste alcohol out of a cup but he will tear up some Jagermeister and M&M infused upchuck?) and I’m just going to make Sweety cut out the soiled spots when he won’t cut off his finger because he’s drunk wakes up.

FYI – If you have an iPhone? A Ballistic case protects against submersion in puke! Sure, it was gross as hell to clean up for him (as he told me what a good woman I am. heh.) but at least the phone didn’t get fried.

I told him (during a brief conscious moment a bit ago) that he needs to get out of the house with his friends more. I think he was suffering from cabin fever and totally overdid it when he had the chance.

The best part? I get to wake him up at 3:30 a.m. to go to work. I fully expect to see a grown man cry.

I think if you’re nutty enough to freeze dry your dog that putting her on display is only natural.

I didn’t know he was a little man with a hatchet until I went birthday shopping for her. I asked her Grandma what she might like and she said that she’d love anything with “the running man logo” on it. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the girls in the store after telling them I needed something with a red man holding a lightening bolt and they didn’t know what I meant by my verbal description. They knew exactly what I was looking for when I did my best profile pose mimicking what I wanted.

I found a baseball hat for her birthday and she loved it. I was pleased. I like getting people gifts that they like.

And now, Christmas is coming up and I was trying to figure out what to get for her and her sisters. I decided that I’d take her sisters (ages 12 & 14) parkhopping at The Land Of The Mouse and I’d ask her if she’d like to go see Insane Clown Posse when they have a show a couple of hours away from here next month. She wanted to go. Part of me kind of thought that she might not want to since I’m a grown-up but she said that I was a teenager at heart when I gave her an easy out to decline the invitation.

Unfortunately, I didn’t ask her in time to buy the really good tickets that gave you a chance to meet them. (Because I was fearing rejection.) It didn’t occur to me that these tickets would fly like hotcakes and I realized I needed to hurry up and ask her before they were all gone.

I borrowed all of the ICP CDs that she has because I feel like I need to have a tiny idea of what the hell I’m going to listen to. When she brought the discs over, she asked if I’d ever listened to them before and when I told her no – she said, “Well, it’s kind of different.”

Normally, on my way to work, I spend my time listening to National Public Radio shows or an audiobook. This morning I decided to dive into her music. Sweet, tiny baby Jesus who has never had his eardrums assaulted – there was nothing soothing about it. It’s some pretty fucked up shit. I’d never listened to music before that actually nauseated me. I have to admire them for that.

We’re still going to the concert. I’ve already bought the tickets and I will not be afraid!

P.S. Her grandparents know what kind of music she listens too (and despise it) and I asked them if she could go before I mentioned it to her. She’s a really good kid who has had one hell of a life. I wish she were mine.