The Colonel meets bakery items... and likes it.

Just so that you stop with all of this "but she doesn't write so much anymore" whining nonsense (Oh, sure I know it's true, and maybe you're not the voices in my head who are telling me this, but still. You are reading this, and therefore you must take the blame.), here is a spectacular blog full of all kinds of dynamic presentations including:


Words!
Sounds!
Visuals!


Don't tell me I never gave you anything.


So, yes. Last Saturday was Amos' birthday. We decided against a party because, as Phil said, "We were the only ones there when he was born, so why not keep up the tradition?"


Do you remember what I went through to bring that little being into the world? I do. Oh, brother, do I.


We made a delicious cake. It was a yellow cake with pumpkin puree for added goo and deliciousness. The frosting was Neufchatel cheese (lower fat than regular cream cheese), lemon extract, powdered sugar, and the wings of 100 fairies. That's the latest health craze, you know. Fairy wings are so good for your heart.


I have some visuals and ear-pleasing and sometimes not so pleasing sounds for you to enjoy. Yes, I am referring to my cackling laughter in a bona fide cinematic reel. First up, the bedazzled, candled cake.


Oooh. And aaaahhh. Birthday cave baby grunt and like fire!

For your dancing and dining pleasure, I give you my first attempts to post video to the Internetz. Mind you, these videos are only 15 seconds long because they came from my cellphone. I demand that you watch them all, because again, they are only 15 seconds long each, and the story becomes funnier as it goes along.


Or so I say.


Judge for yourself:




In this cinematic presentation, we see an adorable child and hear immense parental regrets.

Take it back (aka Parental regrets on a birthday) from Sarah Porter on Vimeo.

No, I have no idea what kind of accent I was using on the word "June." This video is proof that I must embrace my roots and stop claiming that I have no accent. Is it Texan vernacular? Is it backwoods hick? Is there really a difference?

Wherein my accent becomes bizarre (aka Happy Birthday) from Sarah Porter on Vimeo.

Amos was entirely too careful throughout this event. We were actively trying to encourage his cake smashing abilities but to no avail. Eventually, he got the message.

Figurin' it out (aka Cake Cipherin') from Sarah Porter on Vimeo.

Impatience on the mother's part begins to show. I decided to help Amos along with his cake smashing. Decide for yourself whether or not this is cruelty upon a child.

Cake Monster from Sarah Porter on Vimeo.

As is my way, I had to point out who Amos resembles after being attacked by the Cake Monster.

No, I was not trying to be racist. This is a somewhat humorous and poorly-attempted impression of a Kentucky Southern gentleman who happens to enjoy and sell fried items at low prices.

Kentucky fried birthday from Sarah Porter on Vimeo.

The Colonel closes out the show with a short oratory on the values of pumpkin/fairy wing cake. Note that Phil's vocabulary has expanded to include impressive sounds.

The Colonel speaks from Sarah Porter on Vimeo.

Things that make me say, "GAH!"

I know, I know. I've been absent. I lack excuses.

Various and asunder have occurred, but I haven't told you a darn thing. Shame on me. Did you know that Saturday was Amos' birthday? One whole year, people! Phil and I are floored that this wee being we created has been out and about for a whole year. Eventually, I will share pics and perhaps a few videos of the famous cake-smashing incident that all young toddlers must endure on that special day.

In the meantime, here are some items that I've pondered lately that may or may not get my goat. Enjoy.

• I have a love/hate relationship with my nails. I'm not a girly-girl, so I don't do the salon or the tips or the Lee Press-On Nails. Nope. I just trim and file. Sometimes, they become longer than usual. These are times when I am in the throes of dilemma. Why? Because I have the freak nails. You know, the ones that get all curly and funky when they get longer. Sorta like this guy. When the nails get to the point that they begin to curl around and threaten to become claws, I am enamored and equally disgusted by them. After all, who wouldn't want to strut about town showing off their enormous talons? Instead of painting a tiny American flag or a star on each nail, they would be long enough to cover in an entire mural depicting the Civil War. My personal favorite is the pinky nail depicting the burning of Atlanta.
  
  

• I'm concerned with Bigfoot. I want to know where this smelly skunk ape is hiding. Also, it is very satisfying to call someone a smelly skunk ape. Additionally, I get a kick out of the Bigfoot organization's acronym: BFRO.
  
  

• When cooking something with garlic, it is better to add it to chipotle noodles for extra kick or to the garlic penne for extra garlic pungency and power?
  
  

• If Bigfoot and a rhinoceros were to cross paths, who would win? What if the rhinoceros wore its bfro in a hightop fade?
  
  

Jam on it

Nerds unite!

That is just fun to say.

Last night, we had quizzardry and random knowledge mayhem. Phil's brother and sis-in-law are in town causing a ruckus, so we took them to The Whiskey Bar to tickle their brains.

Despite the quiz lady's overuse of cursing (don't pander to the crowd), we had a ball o' fun. Here is the write up about it at the Geeks Who Drink website.

Yes, that is Amos.

No, he was not drunk.

My boy doesn't drink, so I guess we should stop posing him with bottles of beer. Back off, Child Protective Services!

Yes, that is my new hair. It is medium golden brown. Apparently, that is my natural color. We matched the box to my overgrown roots, and voila!:

I am Foxy Brown.

Or not.

Why were we Skullz N' Monkeyz? Because Amos was wearing his monkey Robeez shoes and a fancy skull hat. Behold his cuteness.

Yes, we did put the answer "cock ring" to the question of "What new accessory did the Ken doll receive in 1993?" Why? Because Phil and I attended a party full of lovely gay men around that year, and we both swear that we saw a Ken doll with a cock ring at that house.

I pinky swear.

Without a certain someone who is neither Phil nor myself, we never would have made it to 3rd place without her awesome knowledge of odd 80s music and rap. We won not one, but TWO passes (for two people each) to a special screening of Get Smart, that new Steve Carrell cinematic presentation. Seeing as Phil, Amos, and my person will be the only ones who can take part in this event on Tuesday out of the four and 1/2 people to attend our quiz...

Any locals want the other pass? Tuesday at 7pm. Lemme know, all y'all yunz.


If you ever find yourself in need of quizzin', Phil hosts a Geeks Who Drink quiz on Monday nights at The Irish Hound in north Cherry Creek (get your snooty on, y'all). Here are his clever blogs about the many past weeks of rowdy quizzin' action.



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Happy Father's Day to the baby daddies in the crowd. I think we are going to nosh on sushi and a wee dram of wine at the City Park Jazz, just like I promised we would do every Sunday. DJ Jazzy Phil and The Fresh Amos need some grooves.

Clean = party

Relatives are in town. Do you know what that means?


Our house is clean.


Yes! I said, "Clean!"

Every time we clean for visitors, I think we should have a party. Maybe I'll invite people over on Saturday, just to show them, "Hey, we are not the dirty hermits you think we are."

Out-of-towners also means:

Zoo fun. Yay! Tours. Yay! Walks in the 'hood. Yay! Mountain excursions. Yay!

So, why haven't you visited us yet?

Did I mention that our house is clean?

Mandingo eats pineapple and lives to tell the tale

Now THAT title should earn me some interesting Google search hits. **

Home again after a fantastic night of pineapple ingestion (and digestion), merriment and such at the Greeblemonkey home. Much delight was had with Inherent Passion, Shoes and Pie, and other ladies whose blogs I can't find at this late hour (boo!).

Bloggers know how to party. Secret: bring a pineapple corer/slicer and a pineapple to each and every party you are invited to. Shoes and Pie is the smartest party attendee ever.

I hope I was more sparkly and lively than I felt. I was feeling down and out, but the party lifted me up. Yay for that.

In addition to tonight's extravaganza, we had a great weekend. Yesterday, we traveled to the zoo and signed up for a year's worth of membership. I think I'll take Amos to the zoo during the weekdays so that he can ogle the monkeys. That boy likes him some monkey, let me tell you what.



Primates and higher primate. Just before this pic, one of the monkeys chattered at Amos then slapped the glass at him.

Learning that Mother Nature has a cruel sense of humor. All around us were older kids saying, "Look at their BUTTS!!"

Hope your weekend was fantastical.



___________________

** The title of this post refers to a moment when I mentioned to Shoes and Pie that one of the many Google searches that leads to my blog is for Frederick Lamont, the well-endowed man who played Mandingo in the porn of the same name. I swell with pride over that little gem. Pun intended. Thankyouverymuch. Here is the offending post (see the comments especially). In a weird switch-'em-up, before the Frederick Lamont searches, people were searching for "mandingo" and hitting my blog because of this post. It's a never-ending revolving door looking into another door kind of kooky world, this Google searching! Wacky!

And yes, if you attend a party where my body is resting, this is exactly the kind of bleeding-of-the-mouth conversation you will hear from me. You've been warned.

Something to smile about

I've been asked for updates on my mom, so here goes:

She is doing great!

YAY!

I just talked to her for a new assessment on how she's doing after being seen by a home health nurse. She was in the hospital for almost three full days. Her sodium levels were brought back up, and she began eating again. It seems that they now think that one of her medications (for seizures) was sapping her sodium. She is now on a different kind of medication.

A month ago, my mom sounded weak, tired, groggy and sad on the phone. I tried to chalk it up to grieving. That was also around the time her meds were increased. So, I think I concur with the diagnosis.

Although she is still very sad and grieving, and admits that she blames herself in many ways for my father's death (although I definitely DO NOT), she sounds so much like her old self. I can't tell you how happy I am to hear my mom's normal voice again.

So, thank you for your thoughts/prayers/good vibes. I guess we caught a lucky break here.

Jazz hands

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or maybe I have other things going on.

Since my posts seem to have years between them and I stink (literally, I need a shower), here is a short but picturesque update from the life of Amos.

Sunday kicked off the inaugural Jazz in the Park, a free concert in City Park every Sunday evening. It is lovely and wonderful and full of rainbows and kittens. Aside from the awkwardness at the end of the concert when I realized that one of the musicians is my neighbor (the one I curse because he likes to smoke and stare into my windows and because his car alarm would go off at the slightest breeze), it was a swell evening enjoyed by every Porter, big and small.



Amos knows how to start a jazz picnic out right: with a nice, cold Fat Tire.

Every few minutes, Amos would boogie and exhibit this crazy-happy expression, which I call Jazz Face. Although I'm sure my son will burn in the fiery pits of hell for dancing and holding a beer (at least, according to my Southern Baptist upbringing), I'm willing to take that chance just to see this gorgeous, goofy smile over and over. I am guessing that the fiery pits of hell have advanced upon Phil's stomach at this point in the picnic. It might have something to do with the alien on his chest (or is the alien IN his chest?!)

(No, I don't know why a grown woman brought a giant Teddy Bear to the picnic. *cue the "Teddy Bear's Picnic" song*)

To further solidify his place in hell, Amos continued to dance and give Jazz Face. He tapped and thumped his cheese stick to the rhythm of the heathen music.

Jazz Face, Jazz Cheese, and Jazzy Phil (not to mention Jazz Alien and Jazz Hat).

Amos puked on his outfit (what's a picnic without a little puke, I ask you?), but that didn't stop him from struttin' and boppin'.

Amos struts over to the pavilion to give Jazz Face to the neighbor whose car wakes him up at night.

Here is photographic evidence that shows that Amos has possibly inherited my curls! YAY!

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The End. I hope you enjoyed our excursion. We'll be there every Sunday. I cannot deny the Face.

The tide is high

Sorry for the absence lately. Things are afoot. Lots of busy things to attend to.

Also, my mother was admitted to the hospital today. She thought she had the flu. Instead, she had dangerously low sodium levels in her blood. She admitted that she has been on a low-salt diet (which might mean "no salt" to her) because of her high blood pressure. I think it has a lot to do with all of the hoopla surrounding the doctors insisting that my dad go on a low-salt diet before he died.

I also think she is severely depressed and blames herself for my father's demise.

Thanks, Dad. You left one hell of a mess.

Did I mention that I've been having a hard time with my own feelings of anger and disappointment?

Yeah.

Say a prayer/send your thoughts for my mom, friends.