check your sugarcoat at the door

Father’s Day went a little something like this:

Morning time lovins, *bow chicka*

Early morning impatience behind the Couple That Asks Questions at Knott’s Berry Farm. I sent Kiddo and her dad inside the park and waited and waited and then I sighed and waited more because all of the questions that could be formed in the English language had just been asked… and then we were on to Spanish. I just needed admission for my kid sister, but the questions did not cease. In fact, I’m posting this from my cell phone, while I wait behind the couple, 1.5 days later.

Admission granted, sister and I sought the biggest and the baddest rollercoasters we could while Kiddo and her dad took off to do smaller, less bad things. Xcelerator is my new favorite thing in the world, even though it is spelled xcelerator. Are we so fast we forgot how to spell, RIDE? HUH?

Eighty-two miles per hour in 3.2 seconds plus a ninety degree drop. In the name of awesome, amen.

The day continued in such a way, pairing off for two to enjoy the mania at a time, Kiddo begging to ride the same damn rollercoaster over and over again. At 35mph, you do not impress me, Jaguar!, even if you do come complete with an exclamation point.

By the time our feet were blistered, we’d conquered about everything except Pink’s.

I am pissed off at Pink’s. What with their incredible reputation and Hollywood Legend Since 1939-age, I wanted so, so much better. We had finally gotten around to trying the famous place for lunch that afternoon now that there is a location in Buena Park (and it is conveinently located right outside the amusement park) and it was just suck.

All suck. All of it. Don’t care if the original is better, I have lost my motivation.

We packed up and hit the movie theater up the street for some overachieving AC and amusement by way of Toy Story 3. It took over twenty-four hours to convince Kiddo that it wouldn’t be a complete waste of her time. She would have much rather seen Avatar: The Last Airbender but we’re big giant jerks and we went to the toy movie. Someone should really call protective services. It doesn’t get much meaner.

Later, we dropped my sister off at home and popped a pizza in the oven for a late night dinner with our new favorite show, To Catch a Predator. My guilty amusement and the need for such public documentation and the capitalizing on the dumb dumbs is all for another day. WE CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF THIS SHOW.

Baby daddy was the recipient of an excellent dinner at Benihana the night before and a BJ Penn action figure for his sweet dadly contributions to my precious precious’ life. He’s pretty good at what he does, I must say. Right when my patience gives, he has a way of swooping in. He catches and appreciates all of the little things I miss and no one can make our kid laugh as hard as he does.

-CJ