Madonna. Prince. Lady Gaga. Alejandro (recall that Spike has requested a name change for 2010). All four are brief, yet unique names. Each is distinctly semi-delicious in its own way. And each makes a statement and causes the mind to create a certain mental picture–which is why none of them need a last name. So, what image does the name Alejandro conjure up for you? Exactly. And when Spike says the name Alejandro he stays with the middle ‘hhhhan’ sound for a long time. Ale–jaaannnnn–dro. Dreamer. Silly, little dreamer.
Alejandro worked on our laptop all day to get it ready for Joyceland. What a guy. We wouldn’t know the first thing about all that hooking up and linking and networking. But that Alejandro, he knows. Sort of. If he really knew, it would have only taken him one hour. But it took him seven hours with lots of cursing. And he owes Bulldog a quarter for every swear. But all the hard work paid off because now we can type from our bed. This is the best news we’ve had all year!
Speaking of beds, Margit pulled a fast Joyce on her guy, the Stanimal, and it was music to our ears. Seems their family was heading off for a Griswold type Christmas vacation of the skiing variety. The Stanimal was outside working like a dog to get the car ready for vacation by loading the suitcases, snacks, and boots. He’d told Margit that he wanted some help and a reasonably early departure. But he even ended up putting on the car top carrier on all by himself in sub-zero temperatures. The Stanimal. Picture Fabio, but way better. And what was Margit doing while the Stanimal was literally working his ass off gathering frost on his nice little tush? She was relaxing comfortably IN BED watching her DVR’d episode of Days of Our Lives. Lucky thing the stairs are creaky. Creaky stairs are a blessing from Joyce. When the Stanimal headed back upstairs with icicles hanging from his nose to see what was taking Margit so long—she heard the creak of the stairs. OFF went the telly and out went Margit like a light–pretending to sleeping . . .
It’s all just beautiful and too Joyce for words. Margit, you’ve inspired us with ideas on how to stay out of the cold and avoid pushing ourselves too hard.
But back to Spike, ah-hem, Alejandro and the fact that things aren’t always as they appear. One day when Bulldog was four we stood in front of the pre-school chatting with another mom while waiting to pick up our little naughties. For story telling purposes, please recall that Bulldog was adopted from Guatemala. As Mrs. McFad was chitter-chattering about this and that, she said in her husky voice, “I can’t wait to meet your husband.” We replied innocently, “Really.” She continued, “Oh yeah, I want to see your husband. Your son is so good-looking with that dreamy skin.” This got us thinking and so we asked, “You know Antonio Banderas?” She started hyperventilating and nodded excitedly. “Well, the hubby looks a lot like Antonio Banderas,” we deadpanned . . . .
Oh, Mrs. McFad liked that answer A LOT. “Well, I kinda figured that from the looks of your son,” she purred . . . while dreaming of Antonio Banderas and hoping for a playdate where the dad picks up the kid. Now, truth be told, hubby Alejandro is a pasty white caucasian, but when your kid is Latino and you and the hubby are plain vanilla, it’s pure Joyce to make some fun shit up about it all now and then.
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