Make A Wish

Today is Francois Philippe's 13th birthday.  He's soooo old, but I wish he was older so I could have gotten him his first joint.  (My mom's going to freak when she reads that, by the way. Oh, how I suffer for my art.)  But I'm sure by the time he's 16, that drunkard Bobby Habibi will have already bought him his first pint.  

While writing that last sentence, I ran upstairs to ask Coco and Bobby if "sod" was an endearing term for a drunkard.  "Um ... no."  

Wino? "I mean, yeah, that's affectionate ... if the drunkard in question is homeless."  

Pisshead? "Uh, that's like the opposite of affectionate."  

Alcoholic "Nah ... that's like when you get beat-your-kid drunk."   

We couldn't come up with anything that affectionately refers to someone who drinks a lot.  Then Coco offers, "Well, when I was growing up, I only knew one drunkard and I called her Mom." 

So there's that.  

My oldest chirren is now a teenage boy ... and smells like fucking curry.  I'm serious.  He reeks.  Coco kept telling people to buy him deodorant for his birthday.  Besides the smell, the faux-party with the fam was fun.  Except Francois Philippe totally thought my presents were lame.  I got him The Audacity of Hope and Flowers for Algernon.  And, of course, I wrote a sappy inscription on the title page (Francois Philippe, the times they truly are a-changing and it's an exceptional time to be young and hopeful).  Which he read out loud.  Which was awkward.  And then Coco took a picture of us and I'm all MAGGIE GARCIA'S TRADEMARK HEADTILT + TOOTHY SUPAHMODEL SMILE and Francois Philippe is all YOU FAILED ME, NANNYGARCIA. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE WHO GOT ME A REALLY COOL PRESENT, LIKE A BONG, AND THEN YOU HAND ME THIS BAG FROM BORDERS?  WHAT.THE.FUCK??

God, I feel old.