My Niece's Senior Prom (along with some of my own idiocy)

Kristi and her date


This weekend, instead of taking the opportunity to rest and do nothing at home, I accompanied my buddy Stew in the limo he was driving his daughter/my niece and her friends to their prom.
Kristi and her other date. He was shared with another girl in the group
Given it was a special night for my niece, Kristi, I figured I would go ahead and use this as one of the very rare occasions in life to dress up. That and I probably would have been beaten to death by a 17 year-old girl and her mother. That is if my wife had even allowed me to escape without doing so, of which there is a 0% chance of happening. My wife understands the social implications and would not allow me to embarrass her or my niece by association by showing up in scrubby jeans and a greasy hole-filled t-shirt.

So Stew was the driver and I was tasked with being the henchman to keep all the little hormone-laden adolescent boys in check, as well as being the guy who operates the door for all these high school prom goers. We arrived at my niece's house just in time to walk into the tight confines of Estrogenville where the girls were still in the process of getting ready, along with some help from Lorri, Kristi's mom. My niece had no idea I was coming, and I sat in the back of the limo until we got there, and her dad went in and got her to bring her out to show her "a surprise he brought along". She seemed relatively pleased that I showed up.
Kristi with a very proud Mom and Daddy/limo driver

Eventually the boys showed up. Out of respect for my niece I decided to be nice. But not too nice. After all, as the henchman and uncle, it was my duty to murder any of these punks for even the slightest offense. Partially out of my natural protective nature, and partially because murdering high school boys is an area my resume sorely lacks. So I was torn when the boys appeared to be well behaved gentlemen throughout my time there.
I was supposed to watch over these young people, along with 3 others who showed up later

Once everyone was ready, we proceeded outside for some photos to be taken, and then off to the high school for some grand promenade march. All the couples went across the stage one at a time, announced by the principal, with names, parents, and random tidbits of information- some of it funny, some of it serious. All the couples looked very nice, especially my beautiful niece (and her date).

Once all the couples in our group were done, we decided to get the heck out of there rather than wait on every other couple to go through. We got the important ones out of the way. And it was as we were ready to leave that one of the random moments of moronism in The Mook's life occurred:

While Stew and Lorri waited on the kids to get out into the hallway, I decided to use the restroom before taking the drive over to another town for dinner. I saw the sign indicating a bathroom off the main corridor. I went in, and as I looked up and down the long wall all I saw were stalls. No urinals, merely sit down units. Now a normal guy would think twice about this, go back outside the door and double check to make sure he had the right gender's restroom. Not THIS guy. I merely stepped into a stall, lifted the lid and proceeded to alleviate my tiny woman bladder of its contents. In the middle of the process a lady walks in. I found it funny that she had come into the restroom I was using and snickered audibly, when she gasped at the sight of me. She asked if this was the women's room, to which I firmly and assuredly told her that it was not. She exits, and about 10 seconds later leans in the door to inform me that it IS in fact the women's restroom. I uttered something to the effect of "CRAP" as the sudden realization of my stupidity set in to my dense brain matter.
See? I can dress up, even if my wife says this picture makes me look fat. Plus, it makes for a stylish exit from the lady's room
As I walked out, I looked for the expected stare down from this lady to see just who the moron guy is that went into the women's room. I spotted her immediately, took a graceful bow, and made some comment to the effect that I apparently can't even read pictures. I have determined that the heavy bladder clouded my ability to see the silhouette of a girl in a dress next to the bathroom entrance. The room wasn't marked by words, but by these shapes of people. Stew and Lorri were a bit confused when I came out and took my bow, then noticed my social faux pas. To my credit, I did put the seat back down and took the time to wash my hands before leaving the little girls' room. The lady who had interrupted me, and another adult woman were quite amused at my idiocy. So I was glad to have provided a moment of frivolity that could be shared with perfect strangers, as well as all my friends who will read this.

But then we were on our way. We packed all the kids into the limousine, and set off for the Pizza Ranch for that nights supper. Even on prom night, it is weird to see the gender separation. All the boys sat on one side of the long tables and girls on the other side. At one point during our meal, I was having a discussion with one of the adults and did some pointing across the room in order to make a point. Something along the lines of saying if some guy went and tried to look down my niece's dress I would be able to spot it and kill him before he ever saw me leave my seat. Well, my finger ended up pointing right by my niece's head. She piped up and called me by my full first name. That name is only to be uttered when I am in trouble. As far as I am concerned, I was not to be in trouble with my 17 year-old niece at this moment. So I asked her in a very loud and plain manner if she had just cussed at me. One of the boys at the table saw the opportunity to jump in and flip her crap. I snapped my head in his direction and told him in a very quick but authoritative cracking of the whip to stay the hell out of it, and that it was a inter-family dispute. Not that there was a dispute, but I got my point across and he shut up immediately. I enjoyed the moment to flex my henchman status while being impressed with his quick nod of respect to his elder. It was nice of the young man to help me out with my ego, like that. Kristi then came over to my table and made me shut up. I failed to realize that even though she's not my daughter, she has me wrapped tightly around her little finger. I'm not sure how I got owned by a 17 year-old girl.
My Niece is a Diva and knows how cool she is!

After dinner we took the kids around to waste time until the dance started and we were able to drop them off and conclude our night. I have been told they had a god time, for which I am glad. It was nice to be there for one of those special events in Kristi's life, before she gets all grown up and lights out on her own entirely. And for her, I was even able to bear the wind and rain soaking me as I stood outside to make sure they all were able to get in and out of the limo as quickly as possible without any undue hassle. Diva or not, I still love her!


Clearly the girl knows how to have fun and enjoy herself!

And I sure hope she knows, as of this moment, she is the only girl (save my wife) that I would take the time and trouble to not only dress up for, but put up with a bunch of teenagers, and stand in the rain on demand, and anything else that might have been required to make sure her day and night went as perfectly as possible. She is after all the most favored of all my 17 year-old nieces, and can give me that special little look of hers that she knows full well can keep herself in only the best of my graces.

Christmas...12 Feet Under The Snow!

So, I was itching to get back to write about all the new stuff that has happened this Christmas holiday. Now that I'm here and in front of the computer, I'm a lot more overwhelmed than thrilled about documenting s short snippet into the life that lends itself to the Mind of Mookie.

But first off, a little housekeeping is in order. To all you idealist people who kept wishing and praying for a white Christmas....let me be the first to say thank you very much. In two weeks, I've seen around 30 or so inches of snow. In two weeks, we have met our yearly snowfall average. Winter technically started a week ago. As a man who is NOT a fan of precipitation in any form, you can take your wishes of a snow filled christmas and stick it in some places best not actually said in this public forum. Christmas morning found my car lost...and only by the graciousness of my dad to plow the snow out of the driveway was my car even visible to be dug out. So thank you.



So anyways... On Christmas Eve I get off work at 8am, and we travel the two and a hlaf hours to my parents for Christmas and the ensuing weekend, which lasted longer than anticipated, but we'll get back to that later. Roads weren't too bad, mostly wet, but got a bit icy as we got closer to our destination. Had we left much later, our trip may have been more aptly described by the hit song "An Icey Dicey Christmas" as sung by Burl Ives.

As some of you have already read, I recently acquired a niece after a kindly stork dropped by my sister and her husband's place in Florida. So this was going to be our first time seeing her in person. About 35 minutes into the trip my wife realizes she left the camera at home. Well, given the storm predictions, we'll just have to hope my sister remembered hers and can send us photos. My sister came through not only with a camera, but a laptop to upload the photos to an online storage site, Snapfish (Let me be clear...this is not a paid endorsement. None of these damn companies I ever mention think to offer me money to brag about them on this most popular of blog pages), so they would be ready to be organized once we made it home, and for me to be able to post them here today for you to enjoy.

Well, anyways, we got to see our niece, Sophia. I made her smile, mostly because I'm on the same level as new babies when it comes to maturity. Also, I like to burp and poop alot, so we have lifestyles in common.


So here are a few pictures of my new niece. With her mother in her new Christmas dress. Then again with my wife.
And here is Sophie, slightly intrigued, but still not sure about this Christmas present business.
And of course, helping Daddy play some cards. And trust me when I tell you, he needed all the help he could get. He may be part Rocket Scientist, but when it comes to games of chance, the playing field is leveled out a bit for the reast of us lowly peasants. And there she is laying on a blanket with me looking down on her. Don't mistake my smile for pure joy. I'm still curious about this little one. Hard to tell if I really like her or not. She cries a lot, which disinterests me. Now, I know what you're thinking: Shame on you Mike, she's just a baby. and then there will be my wife telling me to drop the macho uncaring act, and that she'll have me wrapped around her little finger. Whatever, I say. We were busy amusing each other with making raspberry noises at each other. What can I say? I'm easily entertained. We'll see how she is when she gets older. If she ends up anything like her mother was, it wont be good. Any car rides while visiting will be accompanied by a lot fo bickering in the backseat and my brother-in-law incredulous at having to chastise both a child and an adult with the idea of turning the car right back around and going home. And of course, the jeers of "she touched me first!!!" whining out of my mouth. Should be interesting to say the least.



Anyways, it was the 24th of December, which of course means it is Buggy's 6th birthday. Another first and only milestone in his life. He'll never turn 6 again. His "Uncle Jim" usually puts himself in charge of making birthday cakes for the boys. He definitely outdid himself this year with a multi-layered cake, plus a couple cookies, a lot of icing, and a motion sensor dinosaur built into the birthday cake.

So we had a birthday celebration, prior to a bunch of people coming over for the traditional Christmas Eve get together my parents have. Weather, being all snowy and blowy, kept a few people away this evening, but still a good sized crowd for such a small little house.

The next morning, after we all finally woke up. Becky and Vic, obviously awoken by their baby, and quite possibly by my two boys who shared the bedroom with them. I, on the otherhand, not being the center of attention at the ripe old age of 30, no longer get up 3 hours before dawn to raid the stocking and start figuring out which presents are mine. I'll get up when either my bladder or everyone else decides I need to get up. But I have to admit, the tree looked pretty good and sparkly. It was a shorter tree than usual, but rather full and balanced, which always makes for a prettier Christmas tree. Add the presents and the shiny bows that add to the glow off the light-adorned tree, and there is still that little flicker of magic that Christmas always holds over the imagination.

Everybody scored some pretty good loot, but the best present I got was actually the present I gave to my sister. You see, in all my years, I have been able to pretty much pick up a package and guess the contents underneath the wrapper, with almost 100% accuracy. It's a gift that can't be taught. Well, two years my sister has managed to mess up my formula and my guesses were wrong. That was years ago. But this year, after all had been forgotten by most, it was my turn to get her.
I enlisted my mom's help in wrapping up multiple boxes inside each other...add some tissue paper here, packing peanuts there...it was quite the job. In one of the random boxes, I had taped her gift card to the inside front, in a position where she wouldn't notice it. She went on to the next box, pulled another out of the bag, opened it up and found a smaller box. And neatly folded inside this little Jewelry box, underneath the protective batting layers was a note telling her that she had still had some looking to do, and that somewhere in the mess she had made was her actual gift. It took awhile, adn I finally had to point out the box to her. The look on her face (my mom prophecied the night before while we worked on this project that Becky would cuss me out for this, which she did) was more than satisfying. Her frustration and the "I'm gonna kill you!" look made my Christmas.

Well, it turns out I was misinformed...(SLIGHT UPDATE)

MY sister is not giving birth to a baby girl after all. She is in fact slowly processing a salad of fruits and nuts, and going to spit that out at the doctor. He should appreciate that, beings its all part of a healthy diet and all.

My sister made mention yesterday that she has a mini-watermelon inside her uterus. Now despite being disgusted at the mention of her uterus, much less any uterus (Hey, I may be a guy who plays doctor on the internet, but I specialize in using non-specific technical jargon to convey vagueries about human biology thank you very much!), I was still intrigued by this comment. Then she sent me this link, which describes the size of the baby as it grows inside her. You can read and view it right HERE

It turns out that Sophia will not be human, but actually be comprised of a series of fruits, nuts and other food-like items. First you add in the poppy seed, about four weeks into the whole baking a baby in the oven process. Wait one week, then add in sesame seed, another week until you sprinkle in the lentil. 7 Weeks in we start getting some fruit action going on with the blueberries,a nd then a week later a kidney bean. A KIDNEY BEAN?? REALLY???? Are we making salad or chili here?? Who eats kidney beans in their fruit and nut salad?

This whole making babies stuff is getting really wierd with all this new scientific comparison studies evidence. I mean really, Just send in the friggin proof of purchase from your Vlassic Pickle Jar, and wait for the stork to come by and drop off your baby*.

Anyways, after that you throw in some grapes, a few kumquats, some fig,a squeeze of lime, some shrimp (Okay, now something is really really odd. You're not supposed to be drinking while awaiting this delivery. I'm beginning to suspect someone is mixing drinks at the minibar. I'm not saying my sister and her husband are a couple of lushes, but they do live down in Florida, retirees live down in Florida, and all good old fashioned retired people enjoy a nice toddy in the afternoon before dinner. Ergo, by my calculations, they should be in the middle of a game of bridge here at the senior center in a few hours, toddy in hand, and wearing their pants up to the chest. All this, just to make a fruit salad baby.


Weeks 14-16 bring us a mixture of lemons, apples and avocados. This is one really messed up fruit salad now. Maybe their toddy's are being alternated with tequila shooters, and they got some kind of weird guacamole stuff going on with a nice big bowl of chips...compliments of the house staff, of course. Senor Juan will be back to take your order shortly.

After your preliminary chips and dip during Happy Hour, We hit weeks 17-19, where we throw turnips, bell peppers, and large heirloom tomatoes into the mix. I'm suspecting someone is spiking the bloody mary's a bit differently down there in Florida. But then again, My brotehr-in-law, Vic, is Cuban, so hey, maybe its a heritage thing, I dunno. Maybe Cubano babies take longer because the stork prefers to do the 90 mile cruise in a raft thing over flying. Meh...

Then you throw in bananas, carrots and Spaghetti Squash. Maybe someone overdid it on the afternoon drinking. Sounds like some V8 is coming to fruition, straighten these old codgers out some. They seem to be leaning over to their left a bit. Add in some Mango for zest, an ear of corn, and a rutabaga, followed by a dash of cauliflower and a whole cucumber. Yep, its some V8 coming their way for sure. Vic and Becky really need to lay off the sauce before this unGodly (but very healthy**) concoction is necessary to keep them stable enough to receive the baby when it comes.

At this point, I'm really hoping that they chose a surrogate baby preparer. At the rate they are going, I'm afraid they might lose a digit, or shave off part of their face while stumbling into the automatic food processor here.

For the next stage of baby development, you need to add in a chinese cabbage, a butternut squash,a dn then a regular cabbage. Talk about regular, you take just these three in any copious amount, you'll be more regular than you care to be on an average day. That's some serious fiber. I'd recommend just doubling up on the Ensure. Much more hassle-free, and it has to be easier on your system, really.

Starting at week 31, you throw in 4 navel oranges, a jicama, and a whole pineapple. You know, all this fruit is gonna make you regular for sure. You may want to try cutting back a bit, eat some red meat for crying out loud. I can already see that by the time the baby comes, this kitchen is going to be one big mess. Why? you ask. Well, I'll tell you why. Vic works hard all day long, making sure that Becky and baby Fruit Salad have a nice place to stay and food to put on the table (you know, to soak up all that drinking we got going on in here). Becky on the otherhand, is an admitted lazy slob sometimes. Yeah, big surprise, right? Yeah, I've come to realize that this pregnancy thing isn't about a baby, its about having a valid "medical" excuse not to do any housework. And when Baby Fruit Salad grows up, Becky will have her own little housework slave, so she can avoid further housework responsibilities while perusing the internet for useless drivel to read and look at....you know, like my blog here.

By now you're going to start seeing the growing baby fruit salad as something recognizeable. Starting with week 34 and going to week 36, you're going to dice up and throow in some cantaloupe, honeydew melon, and a crenshaw melon. Seeing this might take you back down memory lane to when your parents dragged you to family reunions to see a bunch of really old people that claim to be related to you, pinch your cheek and tell you how they remember you when you were just "thiiis" tall, and how big and tall you are now! And somehow, after having been dragged away from perfectly good toys and cartoons at home, this is supposed to cause you to feel attachment to them and reciprocate the love. And how do you do this? You ask old Aunt Beulah where the cookies are! And then KAZAM! you have effectively disappeared to your secret hiding place under the table eating someone's well prepared chocolate chip brownies. But I digress...

As you near completion, you add just a last few finishing touches. It's already coming into picture, unlike that concoction you saw Martha Stewart make on TV that you tried to imitate but failed miserably at, and to comfort yourself, ordered the Snuggie and some "indestructible" flimsy steak knives from an infomercial. Now all we need to do to complete this thing is first, some Swiss Chard stalks, to help with the wrinkly aspect, just in case those grapes didn't turn into raisins in the hot sun. And finally add in some Leeks. Gives it that precious one of a kind, nasty new baby appeal. Kind of sourpusses their faces a bit, since you went and took them out of a nice warm climate controlled oven, and made them come out into your cold cruel world. And while you enjoy your frut salad and eat snacky stuff, they get to look forward to natural or artificial formula for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. Yeah, that's real nice. Inconvenience Baby Fruit Salad, and then rub it in her face. Fine parents you'll make. Now, go grab another toddy, and Senor Juan will have your order up in about a week, Becky! Ask your doctor to serve up the dish with the "salad spoons". If Fruit Salad gets half of the combined brain power of you two, the salad spoons will be required to get that brain out!

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*Please wait 8-9 months for delivery. Void in Rhode Island---RI voids everything. I think most of their people are born in Connecticut or somewhere else nearby. You want to win the lottery or contests of ANY kind, don't get caught dead living in RI, they'll disqualify you automatically.

**So say these supposed REAL doctors, but what do they know? They're just part of an evil system of greed looking to capitalize on every dime they can squeeze out of you. I say abuse the hell out of yourself and your body, it only makes you stronger. And you can trust me, I'm a fake doctor for chrissakes!