Happy Easter!

Since I'm probably rushing around trying to find my shoes to get to church and figuring out how to cook ham without giving people trichonosis, I'm re-printing an older Easter post from what I can now refer to as "The Early Days" of the blog.  Happy Easter, and I dearly hope you have eaten fewer Reese's peanut butter cups than I on this blessed day.

The Son has started baseball, which means we spent an inordinate amount of time in large, grassy areas.  As we are pulling out of the ballpark, we see a costumed Easter Bunny standing in the middle of a huge field where presumable volunteers were throwing a gazillion eggs and candy all over the place.  I shudder.

ME:  "Did you know I was the Easter Bunny once?"
HIM:  "Really?  Like in a costume and everything?"
ME:  "Yes.  When I was Marketing Director at the mall, we had an Easter Egg Hunt, and my bunny bailed at the last minute, so I had to suit up."
HIM:  "Whoa, cool.  What was that like?"
ME:  "Extremely hot and sweaty and painful.  The kids beat me up.  I've tried to block it."
HIM:  "Did you make them mad?"
ME:  "No.  They were non-believers intent on disproving the whole Easter Bunny thing."

It's true.  I was the Crayola Easter Bunny at the Pentacrest in downtown Iowa City in 1995.  Freshly engaged, I thought perhaps with marriage and potential children in my future I should try to soften up toward kids, since they had always sort of annoyed me.  I donned the fur suit, which was hotter than the pits of Hades, and started sweating it out.  Let me just reassure you now that while some of the minor details may have faded, this is a Hand-To-God true story.


I walked over to the field with the assistance of one of the mall cops, because you can't see a damn thing out of those bunny heads.  You can't hear in the bunny head.  You can't walk in the bunny feet.  The Crayola outfit comes complete with pastel-hued overalls with a huge pocket on the front, and white furry feet that are about two feet long.  It's just a train wreck waiting to happen.

 Photo of actual costume.  But my feet were bigger.  

Now you can feel my pain.

When the kids saw me, they went apeshit crazy.  I was like the Beatles after Ed Sullivan, but with candy instead of sex appeal.  I stumbled over the field, little arms from invisible children hugging my legs and tripping over my enormous feet.  I tried to pat them on the head, but managed to poke more than one kid in the eye or punch them in the face.  I couldn't tell if they were screaming in joy or pain, I just knew I Must.  Keep.  Moving.  

 But at least I wasn't THIS guy, because that looks hot.  

And someone might accidentally shoot you.

After a while, the toddlers made way for the fourth graders, who ganged up on me and kept saying, "I know you're not real".  Since my Crayola Easter Bunny costume didn't have a moving jaw, I opted for Mute bunny so as to not ruin it for the believers, and I was more like Helen Keller in this costume than I thought possible, so I just waved and patted at the hecklers while the mall cop tried to shoo them away.  And kids listen so well to mall cops.

 Now picture every one of these kids 

with a club and a taser gun.  Scary, no?

"You're NOT REAL!  I Don't BELIEVE YOU!"  Then the poking and shoving started (the kids, not me).  Sweat was pouring down my back, and I could swear my overalls were sagging.  I started to hyperventilate.  Is this how I was to die?  By asphyxiation in a full fur body suit with long floppy ears and a cute cotton ball tail with a pack of fourth graders kicking the crap out of me like a bunch of skinheads?


Then, it happened.  A kid actually stuck his hand down my overall pocket and started groping around, saying, "You got any candy in there, bunny?"  

That.  Just.  Did it.

"ENOUGH!"  I growled through my enormously disproportionate head.  "You kids need to move away from the Easter Bunny RIGHT! NOW!"  

 Don't.  F*ck.  With.  My.  Pocket.

I stood in my most threatening costumed fantasy creature pose, pastel overalls trembling, sweat pooling in my pants.  I now looked like the rabid Tourettes bunny who had just wet himself.  "You kids had better move along," the mall security guard said quietly and slowly.  The kids went eerily silent, and walked away.  "Um, are you okay in there Julie?"  

"Just get me back to the mall, Bob.  I need to get back to the mall."


The Easter Bunny left a little early, soaked in her own sweat and feeling violated.  She can't remember much from the rest of the day, except that it involved tequila to dull the burning rage she had toward grade schoolers.  I'm not going to say that's the last time I got into a costume, but I will tell you it's the last time I got in one without a sidearm.

As for those kids who touched me?  Let's just say I still have the costume, and the Easter Bunny makes a visit to their houses every damn year.  Bock bock, Easter Bunny.  Bock, bock.

George the Superpet can be The Pet of the Week!

George the Superpet doesn't get many accolades.  

He is the Travis Barker in our neighborhood, he looks longingly at squirrels running in our yard while they flip him off and yell obscenities at him, and his superpower is hearing the sound of a peanut butter jar opening from up to five miles away.

But now, George has a chance.  He can BE somebody.  He can be a contender.

He's been nominated for Pet of the Week on author W. Bruce Cameron's website, A Dog's Purpose, aptly named for the book coming out by the same title.  George was nominated by Tim Gunn for his style and his cool demeanor under pressure.  (Okay, okay, I did it!)

Here is George's link - click on it and vote for George, because really, what other dog on that site can read?  NONE.  

This is George's picture.  It's a good thing the site doesn't have Smell-O-Vision, because I am telling you this dog has gas right now to clear a room.  But don't let that affect your vote.  The legacy of George must live on in Pet of the Week.  Think George Carlin.  Think George Harrison.  Think GEORGE WASHINGTON. The future of Democracy depends upon you.  If you don't vote for George, the terrorists win.  Do you want that on your conscience?  Do you?

Spring Break Day 3: Fear of Abduction

A popular topic in any form of current media is fear:

• Fear of another terrorist attack
• Fear of H1N1
• Fear of earthquakes
• Fear of Janet Jackson's exposed nipple
• Fear of Mexican drug cartels
• Fear of universal health care
• Fear of the absence of universal health care
• Fear of Heidi Montag (the one thing on this list of which I am truly afraid)

A big one that is very prevalent in our area is the fear of obesity.  The Iowa State Legislature passed the Healthy Kids Initiative, which now ensures that my children have to do Physical Education homework.  I love big government - "Let's tell the parents they have to do a bunch of stuff we mandate at home, but serve the children fried cheese sticks and Ball Park hotdogs for hot school lunch!  That will combat obesity!  Fatness SOLVED!" 

Oldest Daughter brings home a slip from Middle School we sign that says we forced her to exercise for 15 minutes every day of the month, and the younger kids bring home monthly PE homework sheets that say we made them do some form of a suggested list of activities, such as "hugging a senior citizen" and "bowling".  When I drove the kids to the local bowling alley to throw a few balls and hug all of the old people, we got kicked out.  You just can't win.

So it's Spring Break in the Heartland.  I've been sending the kids outside to play because it is finally above 30 degrees for long stretches of time.  However, I find myself standing at or near the large window to the back yard most of the time because we live on a corner, which is next to an alley and has city streets on two sides of the lot.  Our yard is not fenced in, so I cannot send George the Superpet out to eat abductors, and we live five miles from the headquarters of a Police Gang Unit and a major interstate, and a half mile from the state line.  If someone in an unmarked pedophile mobile unit pulled up and threw in one of my delicious kids, the clock would start ticking as to how long until they would be out of the state and gone forever.  So I'm a freak about them playing outside, which pundits everywhere tell me is the real cause of childhood obesity.

Which do I fear more?  Fat kids or dead kids?  Hmmmmm....I think I'll take Fear of Abduction for $500, Alex.

Fear of abduction is not limited to the kids.  I'm no spring chicken, but rapists are not known to be terribly picky.  A friend is selling her house, and is out of town, so she asked if I could show it to people while they are away.  No problem!  I get to play realtor!  She called last night and said a guy wanted to see the house.  She gave me his name and cell phone number.  We agreed to meet at the house at 7:30 p.m.  On the way over, it suddenly occurred to me that I could be killed and no one would know about it for a while.  I've watched Forensic Files on A&E, I know how these things go down.

I got to the house and turned on all of the lights.  I put my cell phone in my back pocket so I could call someone from his trunk, or at least I would have a tracking device on my body.  I started thinking about how to reason with him - "everyone has your cell phone number and name...it's only a matter of time before they find you...I have a raging case of syphilis...I just completed gender reassignment surgery..."

Then I thought about how they tend to like it when people fight.  Maybe I should act MORE enthusiastic than him, and that would freak him out so much that he would run from the house.  The doorbell rang, and I jumped about a foot in the air, and turned to meet my potential killer.  You don't fool me with your grandpa charm and your John Deere hat, Mister.  Oh yeah, you're interested in arched doorways and original wood trim.  Whatever.  I'm onto your game.  Yes, the washer and dryer are "negotiable", whatever THAT means.  Are the sellers "eager"?!  "I HAVE SYPHILIS!  IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME UNTIL THEY FIND YOU!  I'M REALLY A MAN AND A NINJA!!  CHUCK NORRIS IS MY GODFATHER!"

There will be other prospects on this house, I'm sure it will sell.  But if I hadn't yelled at that man, the terrorists would win, and I can't have that on my conscience.