Notes from the Attic...warts an all.
All right, a week of vacation starts tonight and it was kicked
off with almost getting knocked down the basement stairs again by Jackson and
Brady’s usual “hello Steve…hello…lick, lick…hello…hello Steve…” jump to the
crotch greeting and my eventually calling one “knuckle” and the other “head”
for eating my dinner (it was in a bag I left on the counter, my mistake). I
mean I probably would have forgotten I brought it home in the first place so at
least someone or somefur ate it, but damn, that was my dinner.
So anyway, a week of vacation starts tonight and it looks
like a stay at home, project kind of week. One of the intended projects is to finish
painting the outside of the house as long as that lady that controls the
weather allows. I’m sure the first question is “have you done this before? You
sound almost confident in a definitive statement kind of way?” The answer to that statement is. No. But in my first foray into house painting,
round one a month ago, I successfully got about two thirds of it done without
it looking like it was done by a six year old in need of their first trip to
Sterling Optical so I’m hoping to continue the work. Brushes crossed.
Now since it’s been so long since I’ve taken time in this Frankenberry’s
Attic for some key scribbling I figured I’d catch you up on how things have
been going in Frankenland with some new Notes from Attic part whatever…haven’t
a clue.
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My Buccos
have been making me an extremely happy fella these days what with them making
the MLB.com Power Rankings top 10 consistently an all for the first time since
there wasn’t an MLB.com and pulling into August with the best record in
Baseball. Do I take such an occurrence
with a Gibraltar sized grain? Well, of course. I’m an elephant on the last two
seasons. But that salt rock is starting to grow perceptively smaller with each
passing day and win and, dare I say that I’m confident they can be playing ball
in October? Yes. Not quite sure what to do with myself actually but hell, I’ll
continue to wear my Pirates boxers, don whatever Bucco hat that I have that
hasn’t been eaten by Jackson, call it lucky because and pull the same socks out
of the hamper that I wore last night while watching them win on the PC here.
Yes they smell, but they won while I wore them, so there! As to the above
mentioned October baseball in
Pittsburgh? I didn’t say it out loud, so keep it to yourself.
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Riddle me
this? How many knives does it take at the FrankenGreco Ranch for the JG to make
a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Now, how many knives should it take to make
a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the real world? Answer? 3 and 1. Yes here
at the stead we are not in the real world as it apparently takes JG 3 knives to
make such a sandwich. One for the peanut butter, one for the jelly and then
another to actually cut the damn sandwich. Sometimes it even requires 2 plates!
This is all in an effort to make sure the peanut butter does not taint the
jelly nor that the jelly taints the peanut butter and that the cut of the
sandwich be clean of either. I, by the way, am considered to be some sort of
ignorant peasant for even considering making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
any other way. And my Maria is where
Jagger learned of this architecture of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I live with crazy people. Crazy people who
also don’t, in the planning stages of peanut butter and jelly sandwich constructing,
have a post construction plan. They don’t do the dishes.
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Turned to Sports
Center the other night for some ballgame highlights but instead they led with
golf and a parade of the gallery, the envy of a Monty Python Ministry of Silly
Walks skit never done, breaking away almost, but not quite, yet quickly enough to
the second most boringly exciting moment in all of sports. The next hole. Like
making the highlights when you catch a foul ball do you think the lead gallery
guy walks slowly/quickly to his car to drive slowly/quickly home to check the
match replays to see if he made tonight’s sports?
…“Yes
dear (sigh) I can see. You looked silly. Chicken or frozen pizza tonight? Oh,
did you pick up wine? Please tell me you picked up wine and please say frozen
pizza.”
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The first
most boringly exciting moment in all of sports by the way? The slam dunk. You’re tall. Got it.
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On a
bathroom break a couple of days ago at the station I looked in the mirror and noted
that my left eyebrow had a mind of its own. Apparently it wants to point northeast…at
all times. Is this a concern? A friend noted, after I posed this question on
Facebook, that it was OK as long as the eyebrow didn’t fight with my ear hair.
I responded with a “never fear” as the arms of my glasses serve as a sort of face
grocery divider. Just gotta watch that the nose hairs don’t get rebellious.
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Still
waiting to see how Kanye saying, a while ago, that he doesn’t want the baby to be
on reality TV works out. At the time Kim agreed, saying she would be Ok with just
“sharing her experience as a mother-to-be vicariously with television
viewers.” Is there a definition I’m missing? This was before she popped out
“North” West. Now I realize it’s incredibly important in the otherworld of
entertainment land to give your child some sort of singular, boutiquely unique
name. It is what it is, right Blue Ivy, Pilot Inspektor and Bronx Mowgli? But I
think Kanye and Kim both missed the boat with the cute play on words of naming
the poor child “North”. I think they should have gone with something more uniquely
original to them bothand Kim’s family. “Talent.”
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This from a recent National Weather
Service recent report: Lightning is a
danger to outdoor enthusiasts. Just a heads up.
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Maria puts the toilet paper on the toilet paper thingy in the bathroom roll
sheet down. I put it roll sheet up. Should I be worried about us? You know as a
couple?
As to the FrankenGreco Ranch it is business as usual.
Controlled chaos.
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Jackson
snuck upstairs to the Attic and ate all the cat food while my Maria was up
there with her mother! (Shoes was even
licking the inside of the bowl like some sort of homeless scavenger when I got
home). Thankfully Jackson didn’t discover the tasty, granola covered treats in
the cat box.
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Brady
again hid some bits of things he shouldn’t have eaten in the first place for
later. (none of us knows how he does that).
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Shoes sat
in the mud room meowing at the basement door waiting for me, not realizing I
was already upstairs.
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My little
Bella tried to kill me again with her under footness when she got stuck in my
sock at the top of the stairs. Then she tried to play cute with a belly rub
roll. Devious.
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The JG
cannibalized the remote for the upstairs TV and lost the back of it (I
discovered this when the TV didn’t react to my remoting).
“JG?
Where the hell are the batteries?”
“I
used them for my own TV”.
“(sigh)
Where is the back of the remote?”
“I left it here on the futon, right next to
it”
”So
where is it?”
”it’s…wait…Bella!” (future reference: never leave anything out
in the open that can be hockey pucked on a hard wood floor).
But hey, it’s all good. I’ll take being able to sleep in for
a couple of more weeks before school starts again. The sleeping in is courtesy
of Jagger actually offering to get the boys in the morning for their eat, pee,
poop for the rest of the summer. Now, for poor Jackson and Brady, this “first up” has come a couple of times in the early afternoon when
his highness has decided to drag his up
all night it’s summer ass out of bed. Sorry boys. And he considers this one of
his chores. I’m ok with it for the moment. Jackson and Brady can hang, crossed
legged, for those occasional sleep ins that I’m envious of but I do have to
convince him that walking to the mailbox to grab the mail isn’t also a chore. He’s
doing well though, and I do so like living with JG. He is a wonder of energy, curiosity
and a reminder of us when. Thanks kid.
You keep me young (and often old).
Well, gotta get to the drama that is Bella is playing with a
bug that, for some reason, is Japanese 50’s horror size to JG and Maria. I know
Shoes. It’s a bug. What am I gonna do? Gotta go…
“yes babe I got it…you’re pretty by the way…ok, bug first….”
And so it goes………………………..
There were other notes here but they were joyously lost
somewhere between Shoes fat orange ass now laying on my keyboard, those Jackson
/ Brady hello’s to the balls, JG’s youth, Bella belly rubs and my Maria being
pretty. Life at the FrankenGreco Ranch. I’m good. Life...
