If you have followed this blog for any length of time, you know about Monkey Boy. He is my stinky but lovable stepson. He lives with Boog’s practice wife, Shoeless Sue, in Colorado. He is hopelessly devoted to his mother and his younger brother from another father. He is usually with us by now for the summer, yet he has yet to arrive. I know you anxiously await my Monkey Boy tales. This may be the only one you get this summer, for he has earned my disdain.
In brief (because I could definitely be verbose with this post), he failed Algebra II this school year and is in summer school to retrieve the missed credits. His mother told us. She claims that she did not know he was failing. (Insert my rolling eyes and cough BULLSHIT cough.) She told Boog via phone at the end of May because she knew we would be purchasing his ticket soon. She stated that she asked Monkey Boy to call Boog himself and tell him. Well, guess what? Today is June 30th, and Monkey Boy has not manned up yet. Oh, but wait, there’s more …
Boog has talked to him a few times since via phone; Monkey Boy did not grow any balls. Boog assumed Monkey Boy would call him on Father’s Day and would be forced to tell him. No Nuts called the house while we were out and left a fucking Happy Father’s Day message on the home phone. (At least, it was not a text message the day after like I got for Mother’s Day, but that is a whole other post that I am not getting into today.) For what it is worth, Monkey Boy has both of our cell numbers and has no problem calling or texting us when he needs or wants something. Boog did not return the phone call and has not talked to him since. He is hurt. When he is down, I am down. When I suggested to Boog that he should call Monkey Boy on his cowardice and failure to properly wish him a Happy Father’s Day, Boog stated he was not going to talk to Monkey Boy about it lay guilt trips on him like Shoeless Sue does. However, he did not tell me to stay out of it, so I took matters into my own hands.
Last night I texted Monkey Boy under the pretense that I had lost his email address (which I did not). Of course, he did not respond until today as follows:
MB: It’s still istankandspankmymonkey@gmail.com. Did u guys get the message I left on Father’s Day?
CV: It was not appropriate for you to leave your dad a MSG for Father’s Day. You have both of our cell #s. He was hurt, and I am disappointed.
He has yet to reply. I think I am going to let his little brain marinate for a day or two and then I am going wicked stepmonster on his ass.
By now I am sure anyone who does not live in a bubble knows about the deaths of Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. What a sad day it is. Interestingly enough, these two iconic figures were connected in an eerily strange way in the 80′s in my closet.
Shut it. I am not making any references to MJ’s orientation. He really was in my closet. As a girl raised in the South and Sanford’s daughter, there were to be no posters of any “nuggets” on my walls. I adored MJ enough to secretly listen to my Off the Wall and Thriller albums and hang the yellow sweater vest poster in my closet. Yes, Sybil bought it for me, but I had to hang it in my closet because “your dad will not understand.” Sybil did though, for she also adored the likes of Motown legends thoughout the 50′s and 60′s.
No matter what you think about MJ you have to admit that the man was a musical genius and his spirit will live on through his songs. He will forever be the King of Pop. Rest in Peace.
Farrah Fawcett lived in my closet as well during the 80′s. She had an up close and personal view of MJ from the back of my closet where I was forced to hide her. Like any girl of the late 70′s, I wanted her hair. Not only did I have a Farrah feathered hairdo, but I also practiced the look on my Farrah Fawcett Glamour Center head over and over again until an unfortunate incident where her hair caught on fire much like MJ’s did during the shooting of that Pepsi commercial years later. Who knew that their paths would cross again on June 25, 2009 when she succumbed to cancer after the fight of her life?
Throughout the evening one MJ song in particular has been running through my mind over and over again. In a strange way, I think both Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett will be remembered for making their own changes through their celebrity. I think it is fitting that I post the video and lyrics here to conclude this post and challenge you to make that change.
