Hello little blog.
Where the hell have you been?
I know, I know, it’s been a while. I’m so sorry.
(sneers) No, you’re not.
Will you ever forgive me?
Smell my feet and maybe I will.
Well, at least that’s over. Making up is hard to do.
It’s been a busy month. Yesterday was my niece’s baptism. Here’s a little picture of the little angel, Ashlyn.
|I know, right?|
She slept on my brother’s chest right up until the time the pastor poured a little holy water over her tiny little sinless head. Doesn’t seem fair, does it, that in some faiths you’re actually born with original sin. Kind of like you have one strike already against you the second you pop out.
During the ceremony, my nephew Cole was able to dip his fingers in the baptismal font fast-as-that and stick them in his mouth before his horrified mother was able to stop him. Later, Cole and I discussed this incident and I asked him what that water tasted like, and he told me, “fish.”
The church service was lovely; the pastor performed a wonderful sermon. The only hysterical fly in the Lutheran ointment was that the pastor performing the service sounded exactly like Jerry Seinfeld. I thought it was just me but my sister later confided she thought so too. I smothered giggles from time to time during the service, but then remembered that was exactly why I used to get smacked in the back of the head during church at St Mary’s in
when I was young. Good news, I wasn't sitting next to Dad this time, though. Advantage: Poopwa. Plainfield
On the way to the baptism, we saw a sign out front of a business on Route 30 that said,
Family Owned Business
"No, you shut up.”
Seriously, I can’t make that shit up.
Saturday was my niece’s graduation party (note to Delaney: you're going to be a freshman???) where I was able to visit a lovely long time with my family and friends. Lots of ping pong was played, little boys pretended to be pirates, babies were held and passed around, and we all caught up on the most recent gossip.
Case in point: my sister said that she was in Target the other day and overheard the Target cashier giving the third degree to a customer buying the book "50 Shades of Gray". The cashier was telling her in a stage whisper, "it’s a very erotic book, practically porn!" My sister said the poor customer buying the book turned 50 Shades of Red.
Two Jennys, an Amanda and a Chris giggled over that a good long while and stood in the kitchen outdoing ourselves on what would be the most embarrassing thing to set on the conveyer belt to be checked out with that book. Like baby oil. Or clothesline. Or a “personal massager”. (Or all three.)
This is what happens when I get around my family. You can see where I get my sense of humor.
Ah, good times.