by Chexy on August 22, 2011
My imaginary daughter Amy, 6, was taken to the Long Beach Flea Market this weekend by her mother, Carolyn, who allowed Amy to ride in her girlfriend Yalda’s grandaughter Valakha’s stroller. It seems that Amy tired of walking just after they got past the ticket booth. Amy is seen here while texting me about her “exercise at the flea market.” Yes, I know she’s big for six.
Carolyn, in her stunning new beaded braids, carried Valakha.
I later received a text request for $40 to purchase a Miss Piggy doll, which Amy insisted she “could not live without,” a phrase she picked up from her mother, who is unable to live without alimony, Doritos and Bailey’s Irish Cream, among other things.
After the flea market, Carolyn took Amy for a Hello Kitty pedicure.
Carolyn and Yalda texted me later, revealing their Hello Kitty find in Long Beach.
And it’s back to court we go.
in
hello kitty, my imaginary daughter amy
by Chexy on August 4, 2011
This was the scene at Camp Calorie after my imaginary daughter Amy, 6, and her new friend Vicky had a little mishap with a bottle rocket Amy found in Carolyn’s boyfriend Fahd’s garage in Gardena.
“Vicky tried to fire it out of the tent, but it got on the roof,” explained my wayward angel at the Lancaster Police Station, where I picked her up on Monday. Carolyn was in Laughlin with Fahd at the Pioneer Hotel and Casino. I interrupted her “All You Can Eat Baby Back Ribs” dinner ($10.95) with the bad news. Now there will be another visit from CFS to Carolyn’s.
Amy wasn’t altogether unhappy with the event — she was kicked out of camp. “At least I lost four pounds, Ricky,” she reasoned, which, after reimbursements to the camp, and fines, comes to about $225 a pound. I told Amy the cost and she asked, “Is that more or less than Jenny Craig?”
Carolyn picked up Amy from my place early this morning.
Yes, I know she’s big for six.
in
my imaginary daughter amy
by Chexy on June 24, 2011
by Chexy on June 23, 2011
Everyone knows the importance of a good chair. It’s important that it be good-looking, too. That’s the word from my imaginary daughter Amy, 6, who gave me this chair for Father’s Day.
“I put it on your American Express,” she said, having learned the phrase from her mother, Carolyn, whose use of my credit was not limited to occasional furniture; she preferred sofas, cell phone bills and Jenny Craig. But that’s another story for another Father’s Day.
Here’s the pic Carolyn posted on her Match.com profile… which was also billed to my American Express.
Amy’s grandmother, Big Carolyn, gave Amy this unfortunate swimsuit to take to camp, vehemently insisting that horizontal stripes are fine.
“I know it’s fat camp, why don’t you call it ‘fat camp’?” asked my precious and protuberant angel. “You’re not fat, dear,” I lied. “You just need to learn how to eat better.”
“Carolyn says I’m fat,” she insisted, while refilling her Hello Kitty Pez dispenser.
She left for camp on Monday.
Amy called me from Camp Calorie and said, “Do you know what they gave me for breakfast? A rice cake, some almond butter and a slice of kiwi! What do they think I am, a kangaroo?” I told her it was fine, and she told me of her progress. “I lost a pound and a half since the first weigh-in. You won’t even recognize me.”
She texted this photo to prove the point.
The message said, “You’re right, Ricky, vertical stripes are better. ILY!”
Yes, I know, she’s big for six.
in
girls will be girls, hello kitty, my imaginary daughter amy
by Chexy on April 27, 2011
by Chexy on April 5, 2011
by Chexy on March 16, 2011
My imaginary daughter Amy, 6, has followed the coverage of the earthquake and tsunami with the unbridled curiosity of a gossip looking for a friendly yenta, only she’s a tad more worrisome.
“I don’t get it,” she blurted in the same Eeyore Goes to Massachusetts tone of her mother, Carolyn, “Why did they build those nuclear power plants if they knew they were so dangerous?”
This was a question I had asked in college protests and rallies, which I told her.
“Aren’t grown-ups supposed to know better?” she trumped with the pointed sabre of unfailing juvenile logic. She’s mature for six.
“Yes,” I told her, “we know a lot of things are dangerous, but people decide they must be done, so they’re willing to take the risk. It’s like driving.” She asked, “Is that why mom says ‘fucker’ all the time while she’s driving?”
Rather than say anything that would subject her mother to fully warranted criticism, I said, simply, “It’s a form of stress release,” adding with precaution, “Don’t try it in school.”
And with that, she was off to watch “The Simpsons.”
I joined her.
in
disasters, my imaginary daughter amy
by Chexy on February 6, 2011
There’s a day that every father dreads, when his child asks that impossible question, “Dad, what’s the deal with football?”
And so it was for me and my imaginary daughter Amy, 6, who spent Super Bowl Sunday with her mother, Carolyn, and Carolyn’s boyfriend Fahd, at a party at the Torrance townhome of Fahd’s friend, Gawahj. At least I think that’s his name. Amy texted me the above photo with the accompanying message: “Can you get me out of here?”
“I don’t get it,” said Amy, reclining on the couch Sunday night, where my budding little cobbler was working on the latest item in her footwear collection: Justin Bieber slippers.
“It’s so dumb!” she exclaimed, adding, “All they do is run, pile up, run, pile up, and everybody yells at the TV. Why?” I thought that I should explain this game and ritual very carefully and from an analytical and sociological perspective, and in my best professorial tone said, “Because people are freakin’ idiots.”
Amy rolled her eyes and added, pithily, “It’s so straight.” I reminded her that denigrating activities with sexually-oriented labels was not acceptable, when she countered with, “Straight’s not necessarily a bad thing, Ricky.” She’s mature for 6.
It wasn’t a good week for Carolyn. Amy tells me that Carolyn lost her job at the Chili’s in Pico Rivera when she accidentally started a fire in a storage room by kicking her cigarette butt under a carton of dehydrated onions. Now she’s back to doing her Avon thing full-time. Fahd was also laid off from his job as a heavy equipment operator at a KMart in Sunland, after he dropped a 24-bottle carton of Pantene Pro-V on his supervisor’s foot.
“I never want to watch football again,” declared Amy, then asked, “Do you have any rhinestones leftover from Halloween?” I suppose this is as close as I’ll get to having a gay son. “Yes, they’re upstairs in my dresser, bottom drawer, in a small Tiffany box with a label that says ‘Rhinestones’,” I said, quite proud of showing her the convenience of being organized.
“That’s so gay,” said Amy, as she thundered up the steps to get them.
And I couldn’t disagree.
in
my imaginary daughter amy
by Chexy on January 4, 2011
My imaginary daughter Amy, 6, spent the holidays with me, as her alleged mother, Carolyn, was visiting her family in Boston… where a number of them are under house arrest.
Some little girls like Justin Bieber, but not my Amy. She has a crush on… wait for it… Shelley Duvall. I should never have Netflixed “Popeye.”
She’s been walking around wearing hideous UGGs (there are no other kind) that Carolyn’s mother, Big Carolyn, bought for her, and an enormous black skirt she found in Carolyn’s closet (there are no other kind), with a red waffle weave shirt she found in mine. I snapped the below photo while we were on our way to buy a Popeye poster near Hollywood and Cahuenga.
Amy has also taken an interest in my iPhone, and wants to “work in an Apple store someday. I could totally wear this.”
“Don’t say ‘totally,’ dear,” I reminded her with a tone usually reserved for Carolyn.
Then there was her Christmas gift to me.
Amy beamed as I unwrapped them. “I found these cool sticker pad thingies in mom’s bathroom, so I made you slippers! The decoration is from that doll stuff Aunt Crystal sent me from prison.”
Crystal is serving time for theft from the Dunkin’ Donuts where she used to work in Northampton — not cash, donuts. And yes, I wore the slippers on Christmas morning.
The only doll Amy wants to play with now is this Sue Sylvester paper doll. She just loves Jane Lynch, and reciting her dialog from “Glee.”
During the last week of the year while Amy was off from school, my kitchen faucet developed a drip. “I think I can fix it, Rick. Can we go to Home Depot?” she pleaded. “Do you have an Allen wrench?”
Amy (left) attended a Home Depot Kids Workshop in Pacoima when she was 5, as seen above with her friend Lynn (right), who gave up home repair for rock collecting.
It seems like just yesterday when I used to bathe Amy in the same kitchen sink. Yes, I know, she was big for one. And yes, she fixed it. Her fee? Indoor s’mores.
It’s so nice to have a handy girl around the house.
in
my imaginary daughter amy
