Mike D finding the markers

Hi Mommy! Can I help you?
Nope, I didn't hear any music.
Everything is fine in here, really just go clean something.

Put the cell phone down, you don't have to call Santa Claus, I was just kidding, a test, come on in. A please would have been nice, don't you say that all the time.

See, nothing to see here, just watching Nickelodeon's Music Huck-Huck Jam.

Look at that Ni Hao....I want to sit with her at snack time, teach her some A, B, C's. Oh this, just a marker, you never gave me a pacifier, what do you expect?

Why are you screaming at me!!!!

Blah, blah, blah....I don't hear anything.

Ok, so I was thinking, it may be a marker, but now with blue lips, do I look like a club kid.

Can I get a black wardrobe? Think about it...

You know I spent the day in the room trying out some moves. Are you ready?

If I look to the side, do I look like the joker?

I really did practice, don't laugh. Happy birthday, Happy Birthday, There's a party in my tummy. So yummy, so yummy. La, la, la. Listen to me. Oh, watch me dance.

Teach me how to Dougie.
Yes that is why I have CDs everywhere, One foot here, the other foot there, slide.....

And I'm up again. Follow the hands, mom, follow the hands.

So you see...we really don't have to tell daddy about this, I am just finding myself at an early age.

Can you call back Santa and tell him, you were joking. Love you mommy.

Tour De Ybor

If you know me, you know I am intrigued by murder. So when there was a tour in Ybor City about The Good, the Bad and the Ugly I was excited to attend a tour that just may quench my thirst about the mafia past and the background of how Tampa and the mob connected. Unfortunately that tour was last week, and I missed it, this tour was more about the buildings, the people who came over from Italy and maybe Cuba, with rafts I think, I don't know how they got here, I didn't pay attention, but I do remember cigars, they came over to roll cigars. There was no murder involved so during the tour I found myself bored and amused at other things.
The tour started at 5 PM, my sister Mara picked me up and we headed there an hour early so that we could catch up and catch a drink pre-tour. Knowing my financial situation, I snuck in two shots at home before leaving. (Unbeknownst to my sister.) Then we got to New World Brewery and ordered raspberry beer, very yummy. We met up with my aunt Marta at the bar where the tour began, and I had yet another drink. Five o'clock came and went, so I order one more. Then we were told the tour would start and I couldn't take my drink, so I chugged it. You can't waste alcohol, that is sac religious.
By the time the tour started the two shots kicked in. I walked and tried to listen, but just like high school and history class, I found myself playing with my phone and wondering why
I drank so much.
My head was spinning and the I felt invincible. I don't know what gave it away exactly, but my sister kept moving further and further from me. From time to time I would find her among the crowd like a leprechaun, there weren't alot of people on the tour but it was like the big groups of people you see at Disney, where they wear the same T-shirts. I now understand the flag. My sister was shorter than most of the tour audience, and I wish she would have had a big four leaf clover to hold onto so I could point her out easier. Or a big Cuban flag that would help me find her. It was like Where is Waldo in real life, without the funny hat, glasses and striped shirt, much much more difficult.
I would spot her and in what I thought was a whisper would do the "Pssstttttt!" and motion my hand, waving it towards me so that she could sit next to me. At this point, in my drunken stupor I couldn't figure out why she would look at me like she did, with her lip gloss shining in the sunlight and her eyebrows would become one. Like a uni brow, our true facial origin. We must be related to Freda. The chick with the red dress, and one brow, possibly a mole, but we didn't have that, thank God. My sister Nina has a mole, and so does Tito, in the same spot with a hair in the middle, they call it the "genius mole" and the legend is if you remove the hair, their geniusness disappears, (the fact that they made up that word should be a hint in itself) so they both have the mole with a hair, although I don't know what the difference would be if I plucked it or not. They aren't the brightest crayons in the crayola box.
The tour went on and we walked around like tourists, even though this is my backyard. We stopped at a building and I had to pee, but so did other people. (Not just me Mara!) So I stood there doing the familiar pee-pee dance we all know. I wasn't sure about the men's bathroom being occupied, so I opened it slightly and saw a man in a striped shirt, who didn't notice I opened the door, he was facing the wall relieving himself. I slowly closed it. Went to the woman's stall and waited, and waited, I opened the door, and whichever skank was in it before me left the light on so it looked occupied. I walked in only to find out the door didn't lock. I waited until another person came up and told her the door didn't lock to please make sure no one came in to interrupt my peeing, when I am drunk it's not like I can open and close the faucet, if I get interrupted I may stand up and just pee everywhere, then what do I do? Have Mara take me home and have to do the walk of shame in front of the tour people, it may be the highlight of the tour and make it a most memorable tour but I didn't want to be known as the girl who peed herself on the Ybor tour, that would be the ugly part, and then I would be part of the tour and then...well I would have to do it each time and I don't know that peeing on myself once a month is going to be good for my skin...(not sure how I got this far from the subject...moving on). Well no one walked in, and I peed like a camel after a five mile trek through the desert.
We kept walking, I am sure I dozed off here and there, my sister watched from afar, surely putting curses on me like a witch in Salem. (you do know they burned people for that stuff back in the old days Mara! burned at the stake and thrown into a river!!!) I can tell by the dirty looks, she probably didn't pay attention either, had they handed out a booklet and a test, I probably would have done better by sheer smartness.
By the end of the tour, I lost my aunt couldn't find her, she probably had to explain to her friends that I am a hermit and was drinking like a college student because I never get out of the house and was taking in all I could like cramming for an exam. I failed the exam, but whatever.
My sister was babysitting just fine. I didn't get hit by a car crossing the street, or arrested. I made it home in one peace and sober. My drunkness time span spent with her. I will be looking for more tours to have her take me too. Like Driving Miss Daisy, but more like the designated driver for Miss Drunky Mc Drunk Drunk. And to think I almost had a shot of tequila, that would have been just dandy. Then there would be another murder in Ybor to include on the tour.

So I went to a tour in Ybor and all I got was a picture of Jose Marti's ass.

Another dark cloud day

My husband called very early, right as I got into work. He gave me the Power Ball numbers, then the numbers that we played. I didn't see a connection. "They don't match, I can't quit, what's your point?"
He read them back, we missed each Power Ball number, 96 million dollars, by one digit. What in the name of all that is holy possessed him to call me with this news. He laughs, I hang up, this is not the call of the day for me...
Midday, after my husband has gone to work I get another call.
Every time that phone rings and Diego's school is on the line my hair stands up on the back of my neck, we have a dark history.
"It's half day and your son hasn't been picked up."
SHIT, I offer my apologies, call my dad, "Daddy please pick Diego up, it was half day and I forgot him, and before he guilts me...he is probably crying, pick him up two Krispy Kreme donuts on the way home." I hear a huff but he obliges.
I call my husband because inquiring minds want to know how the fuck this happened, dammit!
"What do you mean half day, it wasn't posted, they were advertising for the walk-a-thon. They always remind me of half day when I drop him off, I didn't see anything."
Of course they advertise the walk-a-thon, they need more money, they always want money, yes it's a ritzy South Tampa school, but even Bill Gates wants money, even if he gives it back to the kids Sally Sutherland promotes with flies and swollen bellies, they take your money, then do something to make themselves look good, it's still not their money.
My mom calls me at work, another call, important stuff..."I had Blockbuster hold Pan's Labyrinth and when I went to pick it up I went to the wrong Blockbuster, it's too far, isn't it on your way home, it's on Fletcher." No mom, it's a 15 minute detour, but to keep you happy and quiet sure.
"No problem, I pass by it everyday, have them hold it."
I go to Blockbuster, they give me the movie and swipe my debit, DECLINED! I pull out another credit card DECLINED! I don't even want to call for the balance, it may cause me to detour to the Skyway Bridge and make a hard right at the top.
I promise to pick it up Friday on payday and the nice man agrees, I think the anxiety, shaking and swelled up eyes ready to bawl helped.
"Mom, they are holding the movie until Friday, they had credit card problems and they couldn't put the card through, but you will have your movie I promise." If she knew I was broke, she would begin donating food to me, not the brand I like or the food, basically her expired stuff.
(I don't know exactly how to win the lotto, but I am getting really close.)
I pick up the kids and go home, Diego questions me about his flute skills, he plays Hot Cross Buns, all the way home. He plays in the living room, the kitchen, every area of the house that I am in. I realize my child is tone deaf. I let him play, every once in a while I shout a praise and smile, he lets me clean. Maybe he will leave it laying out and Juno will eat it.
Juno scratches the door to come in. "Diego get me the dog bowl!"
"Uh, mommy. Juno has no food."
"What do you mean he has no food."
He pulls out an empty container and smiles.
"Does your father know about this?"
"Uh yeah, I told him."
We go through the kitchen in a frenzy because there must be some dog food somewhere. Nothing. I run to the computer and google "scrambled eggs for dogs" we have an abundance of eggs (since my mother in law is out of town and eats them everyday) apparently it won't kill him, and I am well on the road to sending him off to the Pet Cemetery.
"Diego, we need to feed your dog. Grab eggs, what else will he eat?"
Poor Juno is eating out of the garbage, napkins and Styrofoam containers with remnants of food, he is licking and chewing and surely will be self medicating himself with outside grass for stomach issues that this will cause. Diego is looking for chicken, none is found, he pulls out macaroni and cheese, I shake my head. Ravioli, no. Ramen soup, no. I open the fridge and find hot dogs.
They were buy one-get one a week ago, there is one lonely hot dog in a yellow jello like mold. I didn't buy it this way and this is just what happens when they don't zip the plastic right. I consider the thought of washing it and chopping it up, then remember out last visit to the doggie ER.
I decide to open the new container, the poor dog is licking the empty dog bowl, my heart drops.
"OK Diego, how many hot dogs, I say two, how many eggs?"
"I say two, it's only fair for the hot dogs." I dwell on his answer, making sense only to him.
I pull out two hot dogs, chop them up and scramble three eggs. The laptop in front of me, I continue to look up ways to feed dogs during times of poverty.
Feeling guilty, I add Adobo, the poor dog needs at least flavor right?
I may not have won the Power Ball, but I managed to get Diego picked up minus the guilt, listened to a concert by my 9 yr old starving artist of a child, fed the dog, and now he will have brilliantly shiny coat according to Google. With as many eggs as he will be eating, you will need sunglasses to check him out, and since he sheds it will make it easier to find dog hair on the couch and furniture.
I begin to clean and make the bed, Mike D has scribbled in magenta and purple all over my side of the bed, of course. I couldn't leave him out of this day. I won't strangle him because I know one day he will be a famous artist and pay for my plastic surgery, unfortunately for me, my house is his canvas, and he signs every piece of artwork he creates. I just haven't figured out which is art and which is the signature.
And so the dark cloud has found me once again.

Smelly Feet

There are certain smells that are bearable because they are yours and only yours. You can get near a person and smell their scent and "eh" it's ok, this is their unique smell, then another person comes and you smell moth balls, their signature scent, like a mall perfume, after that each time you smell moth balls you remember that person. You have an opinion, it is your right. Keep that in mind for a second.
On the way to pick up Mike D, I called my hubby, his cell phone is dying, mine is too. So we race to my mother's house. I pull up and he is there, I walk in and Mike D is asleep. My mom tells us we can go to dinner, as long as it's not her favorite restaurant Miguel's, my husband says "Miguel's it is!", she threatens to throw a shoe at him. We leave and eat.
I rush home, I have time to spare to go out and buy a book, an erotica I have been dying to get my hands on. I kick off the heels, yes like men do, and they fly away, where they land I don't know. I sit with my husband and force him to print my coupon for the bookstore. Grab it and run, we are talking erotica people.
Well, I didn't really run, I lost a heel, so I slipped on some ballerina slipper flats, not real ballerina, this body doesn't Pilate's, it pivots from side to side. The flats were stuck in the corner of the closet, and they were there for a reason, but time was limited, so the shoes went on.
I get my book, go to my mom's to get the baby, have my sister tell me how lucky I am because my mother was ready to kill my child. Out of nowhere my mom appears, "Oh you're here." She looks are Mike D with a broom in hand, "Bye Michael." She waves and looks at me, "He was ready to walk out to the back yard with two glasses, I stopped him, then came the attack." I looked at Mike D, dried snot all over his face, his wife beater was off a shoulder, he looked like Cheetah, with the Tarzan dress thingy, like the cave men, with one shoulder on, the other off. Very wild looking, he looked at me looking at him and showed me all his teeth.
I get home to a hubby watching the game, the laptop nowhere near him. I gesture for the laptop and he pulls it to his lap and opens it up, automatically going to the news page. I sit and wait.
Think me think, then get up for a moment, take off my magical slippers and sit right back down next to him. After 45 seconds, he starts to look around, not quite a convulsion but definitely a reaction due to a change in the air. He looks at Juno, I look at him waiting for him to turn over the laptop.
"Oh my god, do you smell that?" He continues to look at the dog, then he notices that I am grinning from ear to ear. He sniffs in little motions, as to not inhale too much, like it's lethal or something.
"Oh my god, it's your feet. Oh my god!"
"Oh please, just sit still for five minutes and you will be immune to the smell." I retort and giggle uncontrollably.
"Woman, it's been ten years and I still can't get used to it."
I lean over and grab ahold of my snuggie, and wrap my feet around it. "There, better?"
"No, not better, I use that as my covers when I watch TV, now I have to burn it."
Finally, he hands me the laptop and I log onto Facebook, ready to blog, but nothing to blog about, or so I thought. I fiddle with the laptop and he stomps away, huffing and puffing, probably not inhaling.
"Jersey Shore is on tonight." He says as he walks away, knowing I am excited for the next episode.
"Oh man, I gotta run and get ready to watch it in peace."
"Yeah, it's on Wednesdays right?" He looks at me and sticks his tongue out.
Dumb ass, it's tomorrow.
"You moron, you knew..." I shut up, pick up my slippers, hoping that they begin to grow mold and ferment in the closet, waiting for me to pull them out next time he pulls his shit.
For now I just sit and wait for the ammo to prepare itself.
Just like those idiots on Call of Duty, he is gonna be looking around doing something stupid and then outta nowhere BAM stinky feet.

Beware of Gator (no more)

A year ago, I began my gator hunt, no cages or knives, just me in heels walking around on my fifteen minute break looking for gators. I heard they were around, here and there I found a few, not very big, but where I work the building is surrounded by a big forest, a lake, and where I now have to smoke, down the street, is a parking lot next to a swamp, really I swear.
There is a small drainage pond in the back of the building, this is where I found a 3 footer, no big deal, I was not impressed, so I moved to the lake across the street. For all I know, that 3 foot gator that I saw was just a processed salad that floated around the pond in just the right light, I mean gators are brown, green, and yellow, coulda been a turd.
So I crossed the street... in heels.
My next hunt was just me watching the edge of the lake, on the other side, way across the lake a gator would come out and sun every once in a while, so I was just happy seeing him lounging out, scared to get too close but stupid enough to try.
Everyday I would get closer and closer, one day I just stood there, staring in a trance at the lake's reflection, wiping away the blades of grass that brushed against my ankle. For whatever reason I just didn't look down, why it took me so long? I was hell bent on seeing the gator. A sharp sting distracted my eyes and after a double take, I noticed the ants were half way up to my knee, my right foot was embedded in an ant pile. I cursed, I hopped, I jumped, I took off my shoes, and I was in pain, walked back to work in one heel, doing the walk of shame without the one-night-stand, not that I am allergic or was too worried, but it really itched. After all was said and done, I was at my desk with 27 ant bites, and a zip-lock bag of ice. A hell of a story. But I didn't tell the story, Rosa did. She is my smoke buddy, she made sure that the story would be told, and she didn't pee in her pants because I would blog about it. But she laughed her ass off. The lake was now off limits.
Off to the swamp, I love the swamp, I am a Forensic Files fan, Dexter, and any murder mystery, so I go out there and look into the swamp, thinking one day they will interview me because I found a dead body, an arm, a foot, or a person hanging out in the distance, I don't typically speak much, because I look long and hard for something, and one day I will find it. I have my goals in life and priorities.
Sometimes Renee goes with us, she doesn't smoke, she is our tobacco free advertisement, our nicotine patch, bitching and moaning about the smoke, but she is still there, she just moves away from the smoke trail and we look for ways to blow the deadly fumes to her direction, all in fun of course. She has to move often, my inner bitch laughs at this game. It's like playing Frogger with a cigarette and a friend, making her move forward and backwards, side to side until she gets to a safe spot.
This particular day, I was again looking for a crime scene. I got out, went up to the swamp and as I was getting close, a loud splash was just feet away. Oh my god, was it Nessy or the Lake Placid monster. I went to run and find the beast, but was rudely distracted by the two chickens that accompanied me on my quest for being The Crocodile Hunter replacement.
The passenger door to the car was open facing the swamp, Renee forbids us to smoke in the car. Both Renee and Rosa dove in, I am not sure which got in first but Renee's torso was horizontal into the steering wheel area and Rosa was on top with part of her foot out. Somehow they tried to close the door and couldn't because Renee's foot was in the way. From what I saw, it looked like an orgy gone bad. For a moment they reminded me of dogs when they get stuck together, you know the humping thing, then they get stuck and can't seperate, that is what I thought. They tried to budge, but the car only had so much space. They screamed, in fear and in desperation to get into the car. We aren't talking about children, two grown ass woman trying to get into the same seat, they dove in at the same time and were practically stuck in the door way, my poor Yaris was now a low rider, and it had hydraulics, because they bounced and shoved to both get in. I turned and looked and watched the fiasco take place. My face was scrunched into the Rock eyebrow stare, as I tried to figure out exactly what they were running from. They pointed and could barely speak, mostly because they were laughing, I am sure someone peed their pants but neither would fess up.
I went to the area they point and lifted the branch, they screamed some more. I walked into the swamp as much as I could and found nothing. Pacing and staring into the ghetto like Everglades I tried to get one of them to hold up the big branches so I could go in and investigate. They screamed obscene things to me, and asked if I was insured, who would take care of my kids, and assured me that they would not try to save me, some assistants they are.
"It was big, a monster, didn't you hear that thing." They asked.
"Yes, I heard something, but for all you know, squirrels were humping and tree branch fell into the water." They were not cooperating with my investigation. As far as I was concerned, they would not be interviewed when I found a body, they were fired from my taskforce.
The more I got closer, the more they screamed and eventually my time was up, and I was empty handed, completely devestated at not being able to discover exactly what made that sound. I jumped into the car and went back to work with the siamese twins.
Today they found the gator, or a gator, less than a mile away, the police brilliantly handcuffed the damn thing and it made headlines. It looked like it was caught in the middle of an S and M session. But that should not be the only one, so the hunt will continue tomorrow, I will let you know when I find something. Or when I am able to get Renee or Rosa in just the right spot to push them into the swamp and run like hell, there's something to blog about. Watch your backs and don't get too close ladies.

Educate a Cuban Today

Oh Yili...how I love thee.

I am a parrot head, you know those crazy people who get together for the Jimmy Buffet concerts, they get drunk, they smoke what ever you hand them, and they enjoy the same old songs that Jimmy sang back in the 70's. How do you not love Jimmy?
The last Jimmy Buffet concert I went to I was pregnant, still not a chance in hell I would miss this offer, 2 free tickets from a friend. We went, I had fun, I enjoyed the 2nd hand smoke, all of it. And longed to join in the festivities. But being pregnant I could only enjoy the music sober. And like a bloodhound rubbernecking to the smell of party favors, just sniffing up and inhaling bits and pieces, I may have inhaled but never got to smoke.
I told my co-workers, so excited I could pee, most were clueless. My Yili asked if he was a country singer. I sang a piece of Margaritaville, nothing. Cheeseburger in Paradise, strike two. Come Monday, strike three, you're out. I work in the Little Havana side of the building, no one really knows much about music that has English lyrics, and well I can't comment on their music or telenovelas because I am too enthralled in pop culture here and now, not back in Hialeah, not in the 80s. I love Hialeah and Miami but you just don't get that rich Latin culture in Tampa (at least not the quality) except for 2 stations that are not worthy of my time, or unless you are buying spanish CDs and I just am not into that. But really how do you not know Jimmy, I bow to the man, drink to his name, he is a legend and an amazing entertainer. I have him on DVD and CD, and play him out like my Beatles CD, lets not go there, although they know of the Beatles, they only know "She loves you, yeah yeah yeah." No way I can bring up Yellow Submarine or Sargent Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. I love you John, Ringo, Paul and the other one, Billy or Michael or whatever (is it another John).
Just the other day, I got a message from Yili it read- "Do you know who Bob Marlin is?"
I had to hold myself back from climbing over the cublicle like Spiderman, and putting her ass back on a boat to Jamaica this time to show her who he was. I know my Yili and usually these messages have to do with...well you know who the hell she was talking about. How did these people come to work with me, had fate found a list of conversations that would torture me and just sporadically send them my way. I must be on God's sitcom list up there, I know it.
I responded "Bob Marley".
"Who is that?"
How the fuck do you respond to that. Sure it was like me asking her "Do you know of Julio Iglesi?"
She would just laugh and laugh and laugh, everyone knows Julio Iglesias, and just to be a bitch I could say do you know John Church, or Julio Church, because that she may take a while to get, but eventually it would click, and then smoke may come out of her eyes and ears from the cranks going into overdrive. Church is Iglesia in english. Just to have fun with her and time her delayed reaction.
Bob Marley is the stuff legends are made of, he is amazing in all he did, and he was all about peace, like my John Lennon. Drugs had a big part, but usually it does, you need it to deal with the hell of a world we live in now. Marley is big in the islands, all of them, I guess but Cuba, most at work knew him, but she didn't. I sang alot of songs and she was clueless, I showed her pics, famous pics, with the red, green and yellow rasta colors, nothing. It was like a light bulb with no flicker. There was no chance I would ever get through to this one.
I reluctantly gave up, I still plan on handing her a CD, not that she will listen to it much, she will give it back in a day and continue her Wisin and Yandel. And I will feel defeated, this kind of stuff is what I like to share, some people like to send out emails on how Jesus loves you, I don't know that Jesus ever used the internet, but I guess he is channeling himself through these people, they spread the word, or they send chain letters about how if you don't forward you will die and be chased by a demon, raped and gutted while your family never finds your body, crap like that. It's fear and religion, well this is my religion, I believe in happiness and paying it forward, in music being a big part of life and smiling and singing along, and in the fact that no one is better than me and I am better than no one. But for the love of all that is holy, please how do you go on living and breathing without knowing Jimmy and Bob, and Bon Jovi and Blink 182, the list goes on and on, I will never attempt to bring these people up, it would leave me as a college professor at a lecture and they would get it all wrong in the end just pissing me off by swiching songs and bands. But the top of the list, the Beatles, the Beastie Boys, the Bobs and Jimmys, and Billy Joel, she doesn't know his ass either. I just don't know how she was shackled and kept in a cave about them. Maybe she knows were Bin Ladin is, maybe they shared caves and we are just looking in the wrong place, I will ask her tommorrow if she was hanging with Fidel wearing a towel on his head, speaking tounges, to this I would respond, No Fidel wasn't practicing Santeria and getting possessed, you have been bunking with someone who we have been looking for, tell me where you were, I will follow. (back on track)
Please spread the word and pass the pipe, let's make the world a better place with music sharing, hand a CD to a Cuban, they are missing out on a lot, they ration things in Cuba, so they are probably scared to take the CD, but assure them that Fidel isn't watching.
Your life is a movie, totally unreahearsed, totally unexpected, the only thing you have control of is the soundtrack. Love you guys...Bita

It started with a tan...

Mike D and Diego are outside playing with the silly hose, on sale at the Wally World for $7 what a bargain!

Diego is the adjuster of the water pressure, from the kitchen window I see him take off the water, Mike D looks into the hose, Diego blasts it full force, instant screaming with a tantrum to boot, Diego is laughing his buttocks off. I knock on the window and scream obscenities, he can't hear me, but he can see the rage, he smiles and steps away from the faucet.

The sun is suddenly out and I know I can get in 10 minutes of sunbathing. I go to the bathroom and look for suntan oil. Needing help, "Tito what can I use to burn fast?"

"Baby Oil!" He screams out.

A bottle is right in front of me, in my bikini top and too short shorts that I only use to clean because I barely fit in them and now they are like bikini bottoms, I begin to slather on baby oil, then he chimes in. "Don't use baby oil, it will give you skin cancer!"

I continue to rub it in like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to go into broil. He sees the baby oil. "You better take that off, if skin cancer doesn't kill you I will, take it off."

I found some suntan oil with a koala on it, seems safe. I spritz a little on, I am already slick in oil like a porn star, but not really. I show him the bottle and prance out.

I stay far from the boys, over by the area where my mother in law gardens, mounds of dirt and garden tools are all over the place, I adjust the Disney towel and lay down, praying for the sun to stay with me and not hide behind the clouds.

After 3 minutes (I know this because only half of the cigarette was smoked) I am ambushed by what felt like a dump truck. I open my eyes and wipe out the dirt. Standing there babbling about God knows what is Mike D, shovel in hand going back to the dirt. I get up and stumble, trying to walk backwards, the sun has me disoriented, almost like a brief dementia moment.

I see him smiling at me and point and babble some more. I have dirt on my face, chest, neck, stomach, an entire shovel full must have flown onto my body, now I felt more like chicken Parmesan. The baby oil only made it impossible to come off. I run and just want to scream, Mike D is now back to the silly water hose.

I wipe as much as I can off and knock on the door like the police. Tito just smiles, I simply say "Mike D, shovel, dirt!" His smirk is only wider.

Before going in I do what I consider jumping jacks to get off the excess dirt, Mike D walks in behind me, Diego runs to the bathroom, he is freezing from the air conditioning. I get Mike D naked and put on a diaper, his bath will wait, and he couldn't care less.

Me and Diego fight in the shower, both of us wanting to get out quickly, and suddenly there is a slamming on the bathtub, Mike D has the remote control in hand and just says "Baba Baba" He wants Yo Gabba Gabba, and I know I will slip and fall in the living room since I am slicked in oil and soaped up. I push a button and pretend to change the channel trying to trick him, he goes to the tv and comes back screaming, he has been fooled and this is the game we play until I can get out and give him DJ Lance Rock and the sex toys.

And let's not forget the Fruity Pebbles, yes! poured it all over the place, my house is his play ground, all over the table, chair and floor, another cereal sandbox. In the end I am still fluorescent white and just spent the day picking up after Mike D and his shenanigans. And how was your day?