Evil Baritone Celebrates

Today celebrates the one year blogiversary for the Evil Baritone Blog.! Let’s hear it for EB! For he’s a jolly good baritone For he’s a jolly good baritone For he’s a jolly good baritoooooooooone, And no one is evil as he …Is. Are. Am? For one year I have been polluting the blogosphere with mindless drivel and nitwitted anecdotes. As a self-indulgent sentimental event of today’s Jubilee, here’s a brief recap of some highlights the last 12 months: March – Ranted about tracking spending habits April – My favorite radio station divorced me May – Found out what I already know…I AM MIGHTY! June – Had to change my password July – Licked my popcorn and wore women’s clothes August – Discovered my toddler is a Klingon September – Admitted my Addition, and broke Safety Violations October – Practiced Klingon wrestlin’ and got caught in my underwear November – Changed body odor protection December – Put a contract out on Santa Baby January – Overdressed for KFC February – Discovered Evil Mezzo has a Woody What a year! Everyone raise your champagne flutes to another year of evilness!!!

Mamma's Got A Woody

I sit before the computer contemplating some clever topic for a blog. Evil Baritones can't be creative all the time. We're very busy planning to take over the world. Goonie bursts into the room. Goonie: Daddy, did you know Mamma’s got a Woody? Me: I... I beg your pardon? Goonie: Have you seen Mamma’s Woody? Me: Uh, no. No I didn’t. Tell me about Mamma’s woody. Goonie: I gave her a Woody. C’mon! Let’s go see it! Goonie drags me into the living room where Evil Mezzo is performing yoga along with a DVD. She is in the Down Dog position along with a beautiful blonde who is issuing calming instructions from the TV. Not the best time to be talking about Woody in front of daddy. Goonie: Mamma, show Daddy your Woody! Evil Mezzo: Oh, yeah. I meant to show you my Woody two days ago and I forgot. Me: You’ve had a woody for two days and you didn’t tell me? Evil Mezzo: Yeah, Goonie gave me a Woody a few days ago. Here, look. With that, Evil Mezzo stand erect and lifts the lower left leg of her sweats. There, a temporary tattoo of Sheriff Woody from Pixar’s “Toy Story” smiles back at me. I release a big sigh of relief. Me: Oh……! Whattya know! It’s Sheriff Woody! Goonie: Yeah, Daddy. I told you. Do you want me to give you a Woody, too? Me: NO! I mean, no, Sweetheart, but thanks. Evil Mezzo: You’re gonna blog about this, aren’t you. Me: (Smirking) You bet your Woody.

A Diva is Born

EvilBaritone and Goonie are on their way to Babies R' Us to purchase some items to Bobo-proof the house. (Baby Klingons have a propensity for climbing and getting into every cabinet, drawer, and light socket available.) On the way they pass a bar with the following on their marquee: "$1,000 KARAOKE CONTEST THIS THURSDAY" EB: Hey, Goonie, you think Daddy should enter the karaoke contest to win a thousand bucks? Goonie: No, 'cause I would win. A diva is born. American Idol contestants watch out!

Wait for it...wait for it...

It was time for Bobo’s 2 yr immunization shots. Bobo squirmed on the patient bed, curious about all the knick knacks in the little patient room, completely unaware of what was about to occur. The nurse assigned to do the dirty deed finally arrived and approached my little Klingon with a needle jutting in the air, a friendly smile on her face, all the while saying, “this won’t hurt. It’s okay. Juuuuuust relax…” Yeah. Asking Bobo to relax gets you about the same results if you were to squeeze a bull’s balls and ask him not to gore you. But Bobo raised her eyebrow at the nurse holding a pointy object as if to say, “you’re not gonna do what I think you’re gonna do…are you? You poke that thing in me and I’ll take you down to Chinatown, girl!” Bobo must have sensed that she was outnumbered with two parents holding her down and a big sister ready to catch her if she escaped so she struggled not. She sat right there and watched as the nurse pricked her upper arm. She didn’t even wince. The nurse expelled the fluid slowly into Bobo’s arm. We knew the wail would come. Wait for it…wait for it… Nothing. No wailing. No gnashing of teeth. She took it like a true Klingon warrior. The nurse removed the needle and Bobo looked right at her with those vengeful eyes letting her know in Klingon speak, “you thought you could torture me. You loose. I shall not forget this day. Oh yes, I will have my vengence!” But to us it sounded like, “babble wabble goony goo goo.” Sure is nice to be threatened in such a sweet baby-like way.

Shyaddup and Eat Your Poop

Photo by Jocelyn McCuley First, I can’t wait to find out what Google searches end up on this entry. (You sickos!) Little Goonie is 5 (“and a half”) and has reached the stage where all things Poop releated are the funniest jokes on the planet. Simply mentioning the word ‘Poop’ gets her rolling hysterically on the floor. Bobo the Klingon had her #2 birthday this week. She adores her big sister and anything funny to Goonie is worthy of being funny for her. Goonie has lured Bobo into the fold of “poop is funny”. When she has soiled her diaper she makes no hesitation to run up to a parental unit and shout “POOP!” ‘Course, in her little Klingon accent it comes out more like ‘pyooooop’ making her embarrassing moments in public a little more cute and endurable. But Bobo only knows the shape, color texture of her own poop and the little tiny poop droppings from the Chihuahua. Stay with me… On Bobo’s birthday we went with my in-laws to dine at Sweet Tomatoes. If you’re not familiar with Sweet Tomatoes, it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet style restaurant except the buffet line is about a quarter mile long stocked with all varieties of salads, noodle salads, toppings & dressings, creating a sweet sensation of ‘I’m gorging on healthy food so it’s ok to overeat’. After devouring two mountainous plates of salad there was still room for desert. So I headed for the desert bar and found a delicious variety of chocolate pudding and chocolate mousse. (Review my addiction here) I piled about three servings full onto a plate and sat back down. Bobo sat across from me and when she saw the giant glop of brown gelatinous pudding she all but screamed, “POOOP!! Poop, Dada!” All eyes in the crowded restaurant flashed our direction to see what the poop commotion was about. I’m sure they didn’t want to step in anything as they left in disgust. I grabbed a spoon, hunched over my plate of ‘poop’, looked at Bobo and said, “shyaddup, kid. Here, eat some poop.” Goonie witnessed the entire ordeal and could not contain herself after I offered poop to her younger sister. “Poop! You’re eating poop! Ha ha!” For the rest of the meal and the entire ride home it was a “POOP!”-fest for the girls. Songs about poop. Farting noises. Uncontainable laughter. Then when the laughter subsided a little, Bobo would say, “pyoooop” and hysterics started again. I guess Bobo’s subconscious worked overtime with the topic of the day, ‘cause when we got home…you guessed it! A very large token of appreciation awaited us in her diaper. Whew! I’m pooped.