Les Singes: The Life of Monkey Boy

Relish the Excited Times

I've been told there are universal truths/traditions you come to accept in life. Many we learn as we go and some seem like we've known them since we could put on our own shoes.

• For starters, if you see a woman who may be pregnant and you're not sure. From what I've been told it's totally acceptable to ask her "how far along are you?" and then to rub her belly without asking. In fact, you can even ask her if she's excited to have a baby growing inside her. Go on, give it a try.
• If you smell something that doesn't seem right. It's fine to ask the nearest person to you if they farted. If they didn't fart, you'll know right away by their reaction. If it's a man, he'll most likely chuckle. If it's a woman, she may chuckle and then cock her neck wondering how anyone could notice such a thing. Fact, only dainty women who don't do kegels routintely fart.
• Being outside in the fresh air is really nice. If you're outside and a bird happens to poop on your head. Don't run to the washroom to clean it off. Leave it there for a while and let others know you're not superficial. A bird pooping on a human isn't unusual. It's about as common as an excited pregnant woman. Relish the moment, laugh at yourself, let others see you, and then wash off the poop since it's a tad unsanitary and may be frowned upon when you're buying your lottery tickets.
• Green means go. For the most part this is quite true. Did you know however, technically a green light means "proceed with caution"? This may explain why some drivers think it's wise to be on a cell phone when entering intersections. It's always good to call ahead and see if the intersection is clear. There are instances when cars don't move when a light turns green. Typically this is the result of traffic, yet it could be an uber important somebody updating a social networking website. Politely gesture to these people as they're keeping our craft alive and well.
• There's this great game called football. In America we call it football because the other football is for wimps. Our version of football attracts men to large parking lots and TVs across this fabulous nation of ours. Men gather, and gather they do like moths to the flame. You might assume they're eagerly anticipating the start of the game, however the truth of the matter is they're avoiding their familial obligations for at least 8 Sundays during late summer and fall. Not because they don't enjoy their families, but because there's a belief buff men wearing football gear chasing after an oblong ball, following rules enforced by men in black & white stripes constitutes sport.

[Blog/life camp dismissed]

FKT: Kleenex

Ho hum... Wednesday afternoon was kind of slow at work. My cubicle mate and I chatted about life and shifted topics to marriage proposals. We discussed the intimate details of how I didn't get down on bended knee to propose to my wife. Instead she received a surprise handwritten note which was secretly placed inside a plastic Easter egg.

Additionally, I revealed how my wife didn't take my last name when I placed the ring on my wife's left hand. Both of these revelations perplexed him greatly. As far as the last name goes, my wife's last name is very unique, rhymes with mazel tov. I didn't see any reason for her to relinquish a lifelong identity simply because she and I exchanged vows. Her name is such a big part of who she is. Would you read this blog if my name was Joe Smith? Maybe you would because you'd think I was some Mormon prophet and discover I just came from a large family. Who knows.

Anyways, some marriage traditions are a tad old school in my mind. I wasn't about to drop to a knee or ask her father for consent to marry his daughter. As long as I've developed a relationship with him and his daughter, there wasn't a need to ask him for his blessing. Perhaps I'm naive in the traditions of marriage because it's only happened once,... or maybe just naive in general.

My officemate chuckled at my expense when I mentioned the engagement ring snafu. There's not much to tell here other than I thought the diamond was included. I didn't know the the "diamond" in the band wasn't real. It's not like I spent my formative years hanging out in jewelry stores.
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*Dull FKT Disclaimer - Feel free to mock or copy this crap idea of mine if you want. Don't feel obligated to do this thing every Thursday and shit. Don't fret, I won't send harassing emails to you on a weekly basis demanding you post some hot picture on your blog. That's way too much work for me and besides, I find reading other blogs boring. I try and spend as little time as possible reading and/or commenting on blogs. I prefer to spread my love for random people in other ways. I don't feel like delving into those sorts of details pubicly on my blog. Gnome sane?

Crummy

I'm driving around doing some errands. I pass by this department store and decide I will run inside to check a couple things off my list. I guide the Subaru through a messy interchange with Baby Singe in the backseat. She's contently watching the world go by as I search for a parking spot. I find a space that seems close to the store and run inside. Only on the way inside, my close spot isn't so close as the walkway didn't go through. I find an alternate route and get inside. Inside the store I dart to the electronics section. There are a couple really specific items in my head which I need.

Oh no. I forgot something. Better yet, someone. Baby Singe is still in the car. I frantically leave the store in a hurry to get back to my little one who's still in the Subaru. Visions of a crying baby and police at my car rush through my head. I sprint back to the car as fast as possible, however I can't find the proper walkway to the car. It feels like hours are passing when it was probably only seconds. I wonder to myself, why do there have to be so many green Subarus in Seattle? After what seems like an eternity, I see a green Subaru with fogged up windows. I picture the worst and open the car door to a mellow toddler half smiling.

(Okay, relax folks! This was a vivid dream I had a couple days ago. It was very real feeling and was nearly impossible to shake. It wasn't reality, but it sure did jolt me out of bed. I would never in a million years leave her in the car while running into a place like Target. However...)

Saturday morning started 90 minutes earlier than I had hoped. Baby Singe woke up at 5:30am. Not so great since I burned the midnight oil Friday. We ate some bananas, read some books, and I got her back down for another two hours, waking up around 8:30. After she woke up, we got our groove (literally dancing) on for the day. I booked a doctor's visit since I suspected she might have an ear infection. Thankfully that was a negative, just a lingering cold.

Her meals weren't synching so we ate on the go, following her doctor visit. We split a tasty bagel while driving the old hybrid. Many of the muffin crumbs somehow manage to make their way down her clothes. When we get home, I change her diaper and give her a chance to practice on her potty seat. The urge wasn't there. I strip her naked for an air drying and decrumbing. She loves this exercise as it induces many giggles and short sprints in the house. After a few naked minutes, I think to myself "I should at least put a diaper on her just in case".

Wah, wah, wah

Her eyes water as she's freaked out. While I was running something to the kitchen, she squatted behind our living room ottoman and pooped on the rug. I was reminded why we don't have pets. I comfort her in a calm manner, swiping the tears from her watery eyes. Before I pick her up to embrace her, I spy some poop stuck to her left heel. Oops, she stepped in her own poop. Poor girl. Next time she gets naked, she's staying in the bathtub.

So That's What Foundation is For

It is good to meet people. It is good to dance. It's good to dance and meet people you might find attractive. See, this is type of thought process which got me in trouble during college. When you're underage, your nightlife options are stunted.

a) You get a fake ID
b) You go to Canada where the drinking age is 19
c) You go to cheesy underage dance clubs
d) You stay home and study on Friday and Saturday nights

I choose option C often even though I'm terrified of dancing. Well I'm much less terrified now thanks to my appearances on the dance floor during the college years. I used to be so scared of dancing I would hang out on the sides and wish I had the balls to bust a move. With some time I grew a pair and danced and met some fun people. Some I dated, some I was too embarrassed to ask on a date, and some weren't there for romantic encounters.

One eventful evening, my friend Scott directs me to a table located away from (fake) smoky dance floor. I felt confident that night. There was a guy manning some small card table and he was repping a talent agency. He said all the right things to woo me. Dammit, I went to the club to meet girls and this guy flattered me enough where I attended an informational meeting a few days later. I was swept off my feet by the kind words this guy said about my appearance.

Before I knew it, I decided to enroll in a John Casablancas modeling class which I couldn't really afford. In fact, it may be the first official item I financed come to think of it... other than college. Not the $500 futon, it was this crazy modeling class. I commuted on the bus to the class weekly where I learned various skills such as: glamorous head shots, walking the catwalk, how to nail a "go see", dressing with glitz, applying makeup, and how to stop chewing my nails.

Okay, it all seems a bit silly as I describe it here. The ten week program was grueling (a lie), yet it did give me an ego boost. It was a much needed confidence booster considering I was in a bit of a dark place personally. As many of you know, these classes happened shortly after one of my siblings passed away in 1991. These classes got me out of my shell and thinking about the future.

I finished the modeling class and worked on building a portfolio. I paid a sketchy photographer for some head and body shots then attempted to market myself. Nothing really amounted out of this though as I lost interest over the years. However, I must say my knowledge gained allows me to show off Dior turns and makes watching America's Next Top Model (ANTM for those in the know) much more compelling.

*NOTE: a head shot will be added to this post at a later date

The Shrooms are Loose

What is the opposite of chocolate? I'm convinced it's brussel sprouts. Damn, it could be coleslaw too. Who eats coleslaw and why? That is vile food and it has the tendency to do wicked things to the body. Whenever a restaurant gives me a side of coleslaw, I wonder why. Is anyone eating coleslaw? If you're one of the few who enjoys coleslaw or brussel sprouts tell me why. I know it can't be related to the smell before it goes in your body or when it comes out.... oops.
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Bring it! I'm in the middle of a Twitter vs. Facebook war. It isn't pretty, but I thought I could share some of the highlights.

Before Facebook: I searched for people's photos using approved search engines. I avoided snowball and food fights in person. I disliked getting Poked. I wrote, read, and commented on blogs. I didn't have to fight for the computer. I didn't have to explain my stubborn emoticon rules. I didn't obsess about Status Updates. I thought I was a good Scrabble player. I thought I had a lot of Friends. I thought I was loved (see evidence below)

Hey,

I'm so perplexed by the things you post. Does your wife think you are cute/funny when you write about your bodily functions? I'm really grossed out when I read about you needing to poop, having a boner, etc. I just wouldn't expect it from a 35yo married father! Call me a prude, goodie-goodie or whatever you want. I just felt compelled to let you know I'm going to remove you so I don't have your posts popping up. Feel free to email me anytime, I just don't want to read that stuff. Sorry Egan! Please don't be mad. I do hope you'll stay in touch...

Egan's First

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One and a third --> believe it or not folks. My daughter is one and a third years old today. I know it's not really a birthday most tend to celebrate. However most people don't tend to get hooked on Facebook and chat about their life Before Facebook as if it was a huge milestone. I, however, am not your typical cat. If I keep saying this, there's no way it can't be true. Rumor has it 40% of the US population between the ages of 19-39 have a tattoo. Guess what, I don't have one. I'm so cool.

Crikey, back to my daughter. She's 16 months old today and is learning to play pretend. She removes her bottle bag from the kitchen door knob and leaves the kitchen saying "bye" many times. [exit stage left] She reappears ten seconds later with a huge grin on her face saying "hi" as we welcome her back to the kitchen. It's damn adorable. Just like all of you bloggers! You're adorable. Have a fantasically super cool weekend!

Don't Be Fooled by the Locks that I Got

A picture is worth a thousand words. Or so it has been said. Sometimes you might wish a certain picture didn't exist since it represented a brief moment in time. Maybe the moment in time wasn't your favorite. It's possible the picture might be published and distributed in a hardcover bound book. Perhaps you were in such a place you didn't buy said book.

Maybe you worked a part-time job catering and weren't as well rested as you hoped. It's entirely possible you didn't spend any money on a professional photo because it wasn't really an option.

So you wake up late on "picture day" and stumble out of bed. You skip the shower, figuring primping isn't worth the time, and you quickly piece together some clothes. You find a well worn baseball hat, stick it on your head, and tuck all the curls under the brim. You arrive to school a bit late, but no worse for the wear. Crap, it's picture day!

Oops! The hair was messy and the t-shirt was a freebie. Off goes the baseball hat to reveal the messy curly locks... as if it really made a difference. The Members Only coat is removed as it's time for a brief photo session in a Seattle Aquarium t-shirt. Here you have students spending decent money on studio photos for the annual. Then there's me. Free t-shirt and unruly hair say it all. The expression on my face completes the look. Unfortunately this is how people will remember me for years and years. Now it's time I share the joy. View at your own risk!

1991's Stud of the Year!

*thanks to Facebook, a fellow classmate shot this with her mobile phone. Please excuse the quality, but don't dismiss the hotness. Meow!

Canadians are a Rare Breed

Melliferous Pants, you owe us! Pants got me hooked on this Canadian dude last night. I must warn you the links and songs may not be appropriate for the average weak mind. Consider this your parental advisory!

Warning, Jon's videos may not be suitable for all types of bloggers!!

Jon Lajoie!

... I will be back in a bit. Merci!

FKT: Onesie

Enter your own caption.

Onesies are abundant in our home so I snatched one and placed it atop my head. Creative? Not so much. This post proves no political affiliation whatsover and hasn't been endorsed by any candidate, including Ralph Nader. Perhaps politics will never be in the cards if I parade around the internet like this. Good thing my daughter finds some humor in my antics, for now.

Replacement Blogger

Hi, my name is Melvin.  I will be blogging when Egan isn't available.  Mr. Singe was running late this morning because he didn't sleep so well last night. 

He says his late soccer game is to blame and why he didn't attempt to sleep until 1:30 or so.  That's late if you ask me.  I caught him napping on the basement sofa until he heard a faint alarm over the baby monitor.  For the second night in a row the alarm clock in Anna's room went off in the middle of the night.  I advised him against buying a cheap Ikea clock for this very reason.  He didn't listen did he?

I get the feeling Mr. Singe will be back before too long.   Until then, my name is Melvin.  I was born on December 25th, 2006.  I'm not a huge fan of long walks on the beach.  I don't have a Facebook profile, but I do enjoy a good online chat.  My favorite food is Froot Loops and my favorite musician is Scarlett Johansson.  I've been known to speak French from time to time, but I don't have anything on Mr. Singe.  Heck, I'm the real singe.  Nice to meet you all.

-Melvin

Every Step I Take

... they'll be watching me... every move I make, every vow I break, they'll be watching me.

Okay seriously, the last place you'd expect to see quoted Police lyrics is on my blog.  I mean, come on, the guy is very overrated, but let's table that discussion for another day.  

Friday morning when I get up I will strap on [don't go there] a GPS unit and motion sensor to my body.  I will wear both devices for seven full days as part of a voluntary research project for our local Children's Hospital.  This should be really fascinating to see how active I am over the course of the next week.  It's kind of weird to think about the places you frequent during your daily routine.  Now I'm a guinea pig in the research.

As a child I always thought it would be super cool if there was a way to see on a map all the places I've been.  I wanted so bad to see a detailed diagram of all my footprints.  Being part of a large family, my youthful wanderings weren't well documented thus I wanted validation of the places my parents claimed.  

"see right here Egan, you were in Mexico for three days in 1975.  Check the map"

While that sort of technology didn't exist back then, it does now.  So for the next seven days I will have a chance to run around town and skew the results of this project.  Honestly my goal isn't to skew the results in the least bit, but it will be very good motivation to be active.  Plus there's a triathlon to do in nine days.  

I've been instructed not to wear the devices while swimming.  Sorry readers, this means no pictures of me in a Speedo with my GPS and motion sensor on my right hip.  However, I can send autographed photos if that's more to your liking.  Thank you for your continued support.  You belong to me...