Even their names rock.

My great-grandparent's names were Claire and Raleigh.

Well, they were sorta my step-great-grandparents. Previously. By marriage. To people who are now deceased.
Basically, they're not related to me and my great-grandparents aren't my great-grandparents at all.

My great-grandmother, who's name I don't recall, and never met, died. So my great-grandfather, who's name I don't recall and who I also never met, married Claire, and then he died. Claire married Raleigh.

So when the dust settled, Claire and Raleigh had amassed a great fortune of step-relatives. I say fortune, because they were sweet enough to see us that way. They sent me animal posters and long letters (even though Claire had arthritis in her hands and the only thing that was easy to make out in the letters was her sweet and thoughtful nature) and a Christmas card that said, "the stockings were hung by the chimney with Claire" with a drawing of an old woman hung with the stockings (by the apron strings, not by her neck, it wasn't THAT demented), and they invited us to their house in the desert once when they got a thin layer of snow, and let me muss up their whole front yard by scraping it all into one rather dirty snowman.

So all that to say that I wish they were still alive because they were my kind of people.

Luca and I learn us some culture.

Luca was fascinated by the didgeridoo, until he got too close. I think since he can hear tones we can't, that it was starting to hurt his ears. When we got too close he started to shake his head as if he was trying to shake something out.
So we moved on, walking through San-Diego-in-February's version of snow, cherry blossoms.
We sat on a bench and ate a fruit bowl. I liked the pineapple, Luca liked the honeydew melon. Then we went to look at the fish, and Luca was so excited I think he was about to jump in to play with them. I don't think he would hurt them, but I figured it would be generally frowned upon if he were to chase them. I caught him before he got more than one paw in. He's heavy.
We went over to the organ pavillion to wait for the concert to start. We split a banana and a roast beef sandwich. Luca played gargoyle.
He fell off the pedestal and I caught him. He's very heavy.

Luca loves children. And everybody loves Luca. Every book I read about Great Danes told us to expect a lot of attention when walking a Great Dane, but I had no idea how right it was. I spent most of the day explaining what breed he was, how old, what his color pattern is called, his wonderful temperament, how much he eats, a detailed history of the breed, and a quick lesson in genetics. My inner tour guide was on cloud nine.
During all that, Luca would bond with the little faces right at his level. Parents would marvel at how gentle and soft he is. No, literally soft. His ears are like velvet.
It was like walking a celebrity on a leash.
The concerts in the Balboa Park organ pavillion are one of my favorite things to do in San Diego. (You might remember this time that Nick and I went.)
Luca couldn't figure out quite where the music was coming from at first, since the pipe organ is SOOOOOO big and sounds like it's coming from everywhere at once.
He seemed to enjoy it.
But after awhile he started shaking his head again like his ears hurt, so we went to Old Town and greeted more people. And then we went home, fell on the couch and snuggled Rudolf.

More Lies I Will Tell My Children Someday.

Part One here.

I will tell them that to ask for change from a merchant is called, "laundering drug money" and send 'em into a grocery store with a twenty.

I will tell them that my wedding ring is called an STD and that Daddy gave it to me right before the wedding.

I will tell them that "to overdose" means "to nap" and that if anyone calls to let them know I'm in bed.

I will teach them that family game night is called "ritual goat sacrifice" and that they'd better not be late.

I will teach them that vitamins are called "maggots" and that not only do we take two in the morning, they're in all our food.

I will tell them that tissues are called "tampons" and that if they ever see a woman crying, to tell her they could tell she needs one.

Because Someday When I Have Children, I Will Use Them To Continue And Further My Reign Of Chaos.

And so I will teach them the wrong words for things.


I will tell them that pudding snacks are called "anthrax" and that they should ask their teacher if they can share with the class.

I will tell them that cologne is called "a condom" and tell them that if someone smells pretty, they should ask if they're wearing it.

I will tell them that my uterus is called "someone else's shopping cart" and thats where our new baby came from.

I will tell them that their father's profession is "incarcerated."

I will teach them to play chess and tell them it's called "concentration camp" and that Mommy always beats them at it.

I will tell them that Grandmother's house is called "Hell" and that they are allowed to bring one friend (besides Mommy, who will of course be going).

Ask Miss VJ

Dear Miss VJ,

What should I get the wifey for Christmas?

Signed, An Old Friend.



*looks at recent pictures of Old Friends adorable children*

*oooooooo's and ahhhhhs*


Dear Old Friend,

Pregnant.

Adorably,
Miss VJ


Next question, please.

Confession

I don't enjoy the sound of children singing. You know, like those family bands in the seventies, or Kidz Bop.

Yes, I know. I'm going to hell.

You Know Why Kids Like Me?

Kids like me because I have this obsessive compulsive NEED to buy things out of those quarter machines, and yet generally have no need for the stuff that comes out.
With the exception of watermelon gumballs (yum) and bouncy balls (Mau likes 'em).

I wonder if that counts as a gambling addiction, being addicted to the quarter machines.