parenting

Owl barf and other tasting notes

Some odds and ends, my fellow inebriates:

Vodka Gummi Bears

Look how happy the one on the right looks, and how jealous its little neighbor seems. That’s because the big one is positively swollen with vodka. Even its eyes are bulging.

Unusual wine tasting notes

It’s true, I don’t know what “chicken coop” tastes like. Do you? I know what it smells like. There are a lot of weird tasting notes out there:

    • Wet slate. I’ve encountered this several times with white wine tasting notes. Unless you’ve been bullied mercilessly, you probably don’t know what the sidewalk exactly tastes like. (Lick the pavement, punk! Lick it! Now lick my boots. You like that?) But we’ve all smelt the aroma of rain hitting the pavement in summer…ahhhh!
    • Horehound. What the hell is horehound? Apparently the name applies to two genera of flower…or…cough drops. You be the judge which is lurking in your vino.
    • Baked beans, beef broth, spearmint, Kool-Aid. If I ever detect these flavors you’ll be the first to know, peeps. Big pass! (unless we don’t have any other wine in the house).

Broker’s Gin

The Broker’s Gin gents still have not called me. No tweets, no e-mails. Was the lovely Julia Gale messing with me? OMG!

Obama Unicorn Nude Baby Jesus Manger Christmas Card Art Painting

I’m loving my Dan Lacey print. Little did I know, the two small prints he sent with it are actually fridge magnets. Yes!

Fast and loose with the wine tasting

At Christmas my Nana and Papa brought over a bottle of two red wines mixed together. I’ve been wondering how to review them, but I guess I can’t. So let’s just say the bottle was conducive to getting shitfaced.

What the hell are they doing in elementary school?

Grade One is getting more bizarre. My mum opened the kid’s backpack today to find a photocopied picture of vole bones with actual, genuine vole bones glued on. WTF is a vole? Turns out they’re really cute, but not after they’ve been consumed and barfed up by an owl, which this one was. My mum almost puked at the breakfast table. The whole thing seems a bit abnormal, but apparently all the Grade Ones are gluing regurgitated rodent bones onto things at that school. Maybe the school needs funding?

Let’s just say all of the above points to alcohol, somehow.

Why fun is better than hot

My parents have refused to purchase critical items including but not limited to Johnnie Walker Black Label and Goldschlager. They tell me groceries take priority and that’s just how it is.

I get the solid-foods thing; I understand that people and especially kids need to eat meals, and that it’s important not to squander our resources. I do actually like the kids, even though they get a little nutty sometimes when it comes to yours truly.

Can you tell which handwriting is thumbless?

So yes, we should feed them, which means allocating funds for Rice Krispies and apple sauce instead of my booze wish list.

But sometimes my parents waste money.

For instance, they paid the school $10 for something called Hot Lunch and then forgot about it.

According to the school, Hot Lunch means a pizza day for the kids, so they don’t have to bring a sandwich. The school collects the money about two weeks before the lunch, at which time parents check off their preferences as to pizza topping and milk versus juice to accompany it.

Urban slang defines Hot Lunch a little differently—something the grade one teacher may be aware of, given that she rephrased it in the classroom calendar as “Fun Lunch.”

Either way, it slipped my mum’s mind and she packed a sandwich anyway—a waste of resources and (I humbly point out) a small but direct hit on the Goldschlager fund.

I expect my parents to forget stuff. But I wondered how they could forget the school’s exuberant urging to enjoy Hot Lunch.

I asked my mum if she was concerned about the school providing Hot Lunch for minors and making parents pay for the experience.

She smacked her own forehead, realizing she’d forgotten all about it and exerted herself unnecessarily to construct a ketchup-and-cheese sub. This mattered to my mum, who tends to economize with her parenting efforts.

“Is it the Hot Lunch aspect of it?” I asked.

“Fun Lunch,” she said.

“Because I think I’d decline an offer of Hot Lunch myself.”

“Oh, would you?”

“I would.” I was being very sincere.

“Miscreant.”

So I guess it looks like another dry day here at LBHQ.