Space Invader

Thank you, Samu for waking me up at 5:12 am to climb into my bed. By that time, I was sound asleep after dealing with daddy stealing all the covers at 4:07 am. Luckily, the little throw blanket at the foot of the bed was cozy and warm. Naturally, you stole it for the remainder of my slumber.

That's okay because I never quite fell back to sleep. It's kind of hard when I'm squished between your splayed out limbs and daddy's farting ass.

And that's why I was in such a fantastic mood this morning. Fantastic. I only had to yell at you boys, what, ten times maybe?

All the parenting advice columns say I should walk you back to your bed. But obviously, they're insane. Or they don't have actual children. When a person isn't sleep deprived, they say the darnedest things. Plus, they don't get to wake up to this:

The Space Invader

Two Little Ducks

As part of my quest to find the perfect "duck over rice" dish, I dragged my husband to Sri Pra Phai Thai restaurant in Woodside. Okay, he wasn't dragged literally, I just dangled a Guinness in front of him and lead him there, like the carrot before the mule.

Perfect set - wish they were my hooters

These lovely pints of perfectly poured Guinness were enjoyed at The Cuckoo's Nest pub, also in Woodside.

After warming up with liquid black bread and Irish music, we were ready for some serious bird. Without further ado, my order of duck over rice.

Please don't drool on your keyboard

The duck was fabulously ducky tasting, steeped in its own juices with cilantro and other ingredients that compliment an ice cold glass of Singha beer. That would be the deciding factor on whose "duck over rice" is better - Sri Pra Phai or Kar Won. Kar Won's duck is super greasy - I love grease. But I love beer more and Kar Won doesn't serve anything but Snapple and Oolong tea.

My husband got his favorite Thai dish: green curry. Only this time, he got it with duck meat (he got Daffy, I got Donald).

Bribe me with this

For the record, Mike (that's my husband) gives any restaurant a bad review when he asks for something spicy and the heat factor is "lame." When he says, "Kill me," he means it. So how spicy was the curry? Enough to shut him up for thirty-minutes. That's kick ass.

Whether you're a San Fransisco Giants fan visiting Shea, I mean, Citi Field or a New Yorker looking for a local favorite, go eat at Sri Pra Phai and forget the rest. I'm not being compensated for this in any way, this review is my honest opinion. Besides, you'll know when I'm hustling you, because I go by the name Bambi.

Hang Him!

So, I have a job lined up in May.

It's temporary, but I plan to milk it for what it's worth. Some people think it's a shit position and do anything they can to avoid it - but not me. Even when I was working, I didn't mind serving. I'm talking about jury duty.

It's a writers mecca if you think about it. All the losers in the world under one roof. Heartless lawyers, jaded plaintiffs and the assholes that they're suing. And if that's not bad enough, they gather all of us clueless citizens to judge the case.

As you can tell from my blog - I don't judge. Stop snickering.

Hey, if the court wants my worthless opinion, I'll spit into my palms, rub them together and say, "Bring on the circus!"

The last time I was in the court house, my husband was summoned to court to pay a credit card bill, which was a result of "Identity Theft." I went with him for moral support (and to carry the crackers and crayons to keep him busy) and I enjoyed the show.

The day we were assigned the court date, there was a guy pacing up and down with some plastic bags. He went up to the window and said, "I ain't got no money - what do I do?"

"Are you a victim of Identity Theft?" The clerk asked.

"Oh no! I owe that money."

"Well, you can speak to a lawyer about claiming bankruptcy but you have to show up to court on this date."

"Okay. But I ain't got no money."

Dumb ass. See, I don't judge.

Do you think we could get away with saying that to China?

If I keep up this attitude, they'll never pick me to sit on a jury. And I kind of want to. But I know the George Carlin in me is going to spew something opinionated.

"I'd make a terrific juror because I can spot guilty people."

Yeah - no. Next!

For the record, I'm not sarcastic or opinionated or tainted or biased. I'm a New Yorker. If you go to one of the three public phones we have in the city, this is what you'll see.

The smiley face just makes it friendly

And if you go to the ladies room at Dinosaur Barbecue, you'll be greeted with this:

So, yes. I think I can be impartial in comparison.

Mental Diarrhea

No person in their right mind puts the word "diarrhea" in a blog title. But it has occurred to me that the words "right" and "mind" are an oxymoron when describing my thought process. According to my husband, Zuki and my mother, I am never right anyway.

Never.

Samu, remains loyal to mommy no matter what. But he may be a Leprechaun, so I'm not sure if having him on my team is a good thing.

Getting back to "Mental Diarrhea," I took an extra long hiatus from blogging and now my complaints are backed up.

For starters, mice. They have invaded my kitchen. Up until recently, I had the perfect pest control - stray cats. I swear we must've had at least twenty feral felines patrolling the backyard. Sure, the cats were a little annoying with their middle-of-the-night fornication, but I don't mind waking up to howls of kitty orgasms half as much as finding mice turd behind the microwave.

Samu wants to catch the mice so he can keep them as pets. Like I said, he's not sane enough to have on my team.

Next, on my list - teeth. Samu had his extra tooth extracted during Spring break. This is what it looks like:

Sperm Tooth

It sort of confirms my notion that he's actually a Leprechaun. Despite its deformity, and the fact that it was extracted by a dentist, he only received the standard dollar for it. I told him he should keep it and charge a quarter to view it - he would've made a killing. He opted for payment upfront. Leprechauns these days...I tell ya.

Then Zuki lost another baby tooth last Friday. Between the Russo brothers, that makes two teeth in less than two weeks. There should be a maximum for Tooth Fairy payouts - or an unlimited plan. Who came up with this shit anyway?

Lastly, I fell deathly ill from sun stroke. That's what happens when you break your vow to never, ever, ever go to the zoo on a field trip again - but that's a whole other story. Zuki switched classes in March and I wanted to meet his new classmates. So far, I met the boy who devoured the contents of a quart sized Tupperware filled with flank steak, rice and beans, half a ham & cheese hero, an orange and a plum for lunch. Can you imagine what he eats for dinner? I have a feeling he's going to inhale a cow by the time he's 15.

Then there was a girl classmate who sat next to me on the bus ride back. Apparently, she talks to angels. She says, God is like a doctor in the sky. If you're well, you get to go upstairs. If you're not - you have to follow somebody on earth and most probably, that person lives in a small apartment. Her words - honestly. But the clincher was when she asked me why all toys come from China.

"Why can't they make toys in America?" She asked in all earnest.


I always suspected that Santa ran a sweat shop.

Child Birth Hop

Prompted by Tricia at Critters and Crayons and Bridget at Twinisms, this is my first ever blog hop and the subject is giving birth. Unfortunately, I didn't give birth - at least not naturally. So there's no tale of woe and pain to tell. Even if I did, it would probably sound wimpy in comparison to Ava's of Grapes and Oranges. How I wish I could say I was in labor for fifteen hours until finally the doctors cracked me open like an egg. But that would be my mother's tale. Of when she had me.

No, I went planned C section - both times. Like Britney Spears. Of course, I didn't get the deluxe package with a tummy tuck afterwards but here's a gratuitous pregnancy shot:

If you're wondering why the photo is headless, it's because it's a shot of Britney. I honestly don't have a single picture of when I was pregnant. Do you feel the love?

So, when you go C-section, there's nothing to talk about except blood and guts - literally. All I remember was freezing my ass off in the operating room and the staff telling my husband not to look behind the curtain that separates us and the action.

Do you see the potential in that? It's like trusting an alcoholic to hold your beer for you.

They proceeded to cut me open. Doctors and nurses with masked faces surround me and they're joking around, as if I'm the water cooler at the office. Their eyes are merry as each go about their duty, looking busy - holding my bladder, scooping up my intestines, yanking a friggin' baby out of my uterus.

The whole time, my husband is stealing glances.

"Wow," he says, "you're really brave."

What the heck does that mean?

Not to make a mountain out of a molehill, but I did feel them yanking Kazuki out of me. As I stared into the face of wonder and fell in love with my baby boy, from the corner of my eye, I could see the doctors and nurses piling my shit back in. It would be cute to compare me to Humpty Dumpty - this is about babies after all - but no, it was more like the haphazard way you stuff strings of Christmas lights back into the storage box.

Actually, I loved my obstetrician. He looked like a benevolent baker rather than the reputable "high-risk" specialist that he was. Dr. Z delivered Isamu as well. I was forty then, and his response was, "What do you say, Ms. Russo - let's have another one!"

 Yeah - no. And thanks for holding my beer.

Zuki hours old

With Samu acting all professional

Four Days of April

Happy April. Sheesh - four days in and I'm already a wreck. Instead of harping on one fine subject, I'll give you three because they really deserve a mention.

First off, congratulations to my mother-in-law (a.k.a. Grammy) for winning the "Citizen of the Year" award at the Elks in Southington. It's really something to have the power and the ability to help others and she does that almost effortlessly. I'm not talking about writing a check or wearing a flimsy yellow wrist band - I'm talking about helping hundreds of families that rely on Bread For Life, the organization she volunteers at, for food, clothing and support.

Not everyone can touch people in the mass quantities that she does. It's because she has the knack. No, not the band who sang My Sharona, I mean that special timing of running into a sale of flip flops at Old Navy for fifty cents a piece. Whereas most people would buy twenty pairs, she'll buy them ALL. And then she'll send it to some country that hasn't discovered children's shoes yet.

All joking aside, hearing about her work makes us appreciate how fortunate we are. Times are tough for many families across the country, but at least the folks in Southington have our Grammy.

Grammy with her newest grandson, Cousin Adam

"Dainty eaters have pepperoni slices and Doritos"

"I'm spell checking the plaque"

You may find the following news depressing so be warned: we had to dump the home brew we bottled last weekend. It was looking really good, smelling deee-licious, but being the amateurs that we are, we filled the bottles too high and they exploded.

At 10:03 pm on Monday night, we heard a pop and glass shatter.

"WHAT was that?" My husband said.

My first thought was, "It's a zombie." But then I realized, to my extreme dismay, that it was the beer.

I know, you're weeping. It was going to be a fantastic blog post, with free samples. And chicken wings! But not to worry. I don't give up that easily (I've stayed married to my husband for ten years, c'mon!).

Beer? Or Molotov Cocktails...

Finally, my little Charlie-Sheen-Wall-Street-Money-Maker brought home his resume (he really did make one in After-School!). I am eating my words because his Objective is right to the point. In fact, I may steal it for my own.

"To obtain a position" - that kind of says it all, right? Since I'm a little crude, mine might say, "Just gimme a job!"

Isamu for hire

Objective: To obtain a postion
Education: kindergarten
Sports: Baseball
TV Show: Tom and Jerry
Skills: Reading Writing

Shouldn't all resumes be this professional? And if you're wondering, the cartoon of the guy fishing is because he wants to be a fisherman. Not to catch fish - to "play with them."

Yeah, I'm gonna load up on my IRA just in case...