I watch a lot of HBO, my favorite just happens to be Entourage. It really gets me to thinking. Really the people we surround ourselves with help define us. Albeit Vince is the hottest one… the rest of the guys have a little something that makes them loveable, likeable… good TV.
The entourage I roll with is not anywhere as cool as HBO’s. We don’t go to fancy parties or shopping in extravagant places like the guys on the show… usually it’s a trip to the grocery store or Wal-Mart…. that’s about the most excitement we get in “White Trash America”. Just me, the eight year old hyperactive “sugar-rock” addict, and the wailing 14 month old. I’m like the coolest of the bunch, but I don’t get laid almost every episode by some tight-ass hotTEE that I meet out and about. OK… Vince doesn’t get laid in almost every episode, but I had to throw that in.. cause it cracked me up… sorry.
It is definitely more fun if I try to relate my pathetic life to something of some significance when I am on my lameASS routine. I seriously hate taking kids to the store. One wants everything he sees, and the other is just PISSED off.
I think Gabe will touch everything because he knows it drives me crazy… the whole time I am threatening him. “If you don’t stop touching stuff, you can forget me getting those ______________” fill in the blank. It’s something every time we go. He gets quiet for a minute and then he’s back at it. He can’t seem to walk next to me either.. he’s always way out in the middle of the isle… trying to stand on the side of the basket.. he bumps into everyone. It really stresses me out.
Our Wal-mart isn’t a super Wal-mart, but it is open 24 hours and it has some extra stuff like milk and frozen pizzas. I get some of these things here so I don’t have to make a trip to the grocery store too… because the heat and kids wear me out quick.
SO… I go to the store; I try to have a list so I can get in and out as fast as I can. The last isle I go down is the one that has milk, bread, and cereal. I grab milk and tell Gabe he can pick out ONE kind of cereal.
OH GEEZ… that is a mistake in itself. He takes 20 minutes looking at what the box of cereal has to offer him. He doesn’t care what it tastes like… it’s all about the “surprise inside”
I shouldn’t complain too much, because I remember doing the same thing. My mom would take us to the store… bless her heart (and I think MY kids are a handful). My sister and I were like some bizarre sugar fiends ricocheting off the walls and ceiling… we did whatever we could to embarrass my mother in public, yet she seemed to keep her cool…. maybe I will get some “cool” in the next few years, or I’ll reach my limit and explode.
ANYway, we had two step-brothers, and could go through some cereal. One of the step brothers is the same age as me… so we were at each other constantly. Cereal was sacred. The first person to open the box and get the prize was like the master. We couldn’t open them when we got home… we would have to wait until the morning to stake our claim. We would even go as far as to write our name on the top of the box to call “dibs”.
I was vengeful… watch out for me. If my step-brother called “dibs” on something I wanted… I would unleash my wrath. I remember once opening a box of lucky charms in the middle of the night and leaving the prize, because it was claimed, but I ate every single marshmallow in the box. I distinctly remember being ill for a couple of days after that… but it was well worth it… just seeing his face as he poured himself a bowl of marshmallow less goodness… aahhhhhhh.
I guess I shouldn’t be so tough on him and his breakfast of choice… as long as he eats it, I really shouldn’t care. I like surprises, and I guess if I can only get them in cereal I would be pretty damn particular too, but those surprises don’t do much for me anymore. I guess I have moved on to wanting bigger, better surprises. I would like to be content with a box of cereal, but I have gone past that…. kinda sad really, and I as much as I envy Vince and his Entourage; I better stick with what I know and roll with my own.