Man, oh man it’s been too long since I sat here on Daddy’s laptop and typed out one of these posts. So long it’s a different laptop since my last post. The last time I did one of these, I was an almost-three-year-old. Now I’m five years old. And guess what! I survived my first …

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From the Desk of Shaun Damien

April 9, 2014

It’s finally happened. I’m not longer an almost-two-year-old bad ass. Nope. I’m a nearly-three-year-old extraordinaire. For those of you who are out of the loop, I celebrated my nearly-three-year-old birthday Saturday. It was an ordeal, let me tell you that.

Birthday CakeDad’s been busy doing dad things. He’s suffering what he calls book ennui. Nothing is interesting him and he’s writing habits have reduced. I don’t know, but I worry about him sometimes. He’s given up sodas, I hear. Which worries me more. He’s trying to eat less yummy food, which has me downright frightened.

I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I suspect it’s those plant people he talks about sometimes. He tried to show me the movie, but I was like, “Dad, it’s boring. Plants aren’t people. Now lemme play with Talking Tom.”

Things My Dad Doesn’t Want You to Know, But I’m Going to Tell You Anyhow: A Memoir by Shaun Damien

January 29, 2014

Pickin' Mah Nose. Wut?

Gold is worth money, I’m told. I’m told there is such a thing as nose gold. Therefore, my nose is worth millions!

So you pretty much know a lot about Dad already, but there are some things you don’t know about him. Not yet, anyway. See, as an almost-two-year-old, I’ve seen a lot of things that he hides from the public eye. For instance, do you know he wrote that entire last post while listening to a Taylor Swift song? He wouldn’t want you to know that, but he did. Kept it on a continuous loop, cursing because he couldn’t find the version he liked on Google Play All Access.

He also has a couple of questionable books on his shelf. For instance, there’s this author named Nicholas Sparks. He has a bah-jillion different books by him. He told me he used to read them when he was younger because he wanted to write novels that people would cry to, and he told me that Nicholas Sparks always makes people cry. Which, I guess, means that Nicholas Sparks is a meanie who makes fun of his reader by insulting their intelligence or something. Why Dad would want to be mean to his readers is something I don’t understand. He’s a nice guy. Except when he doesn’t let me play with things I’m not allowed to play with. Like his laptop…which I’m using. Hehe. Don’t tell him because I’m not.

He’s also becoming self-conscious about his weight. I don’t see anything wrong with him because he’s so warm and squish and I can fall asleep on top him and it’s like sleeping on a pillow. He always tells me that there’s nothing wrong with the way people live their lives unless it makes them unhappy. And if something makes us unhappy, then we should do our best to change it until we’re satisfied. The other day, he went to the DMV (he didn’t pick me up for this historical ride, which put me in a mood, but whatever. I forgive him) to renew his ID and when the picture was taken and printed, he said he could feel his stomach drop (he apparently picked it up because it’s still on him). “I’m rockin’ the double chin, Shaun,” he told me and I thought that rockin’ meant something good so I started dancing and he started dancing, too, but got tired very quickly.

“When the warmer weather sticks,” he said, “we’re going to the park more often. I’ll even get you a jogging stroller and we can talk long walks and you don’t have to do a thing. Just keep me company while I do my damnest to lose some weight.”

“We’re also changing what we eat,” he said. “We’re gonna eat healthier and drop drinking so many sugar drinks.”

I couldn’t get behind him on this one, but he’s my dad and I have to listen to him.

But I’ve been thinking about it a lot and if Dad says that if we’re unhappy with ourselves, we should change ourselves. Well, I’m unhappy that I can only have my candy once a week. I want it once a day. I’m gonna have to get a step-ladder to change this. Oh well. I gotta go because I hear Dad waking up from his nap and if I’m not next to him in the bed, things may get a little suspicious. Toodles.

Love,
Shaun Damien C.

A Few Things

December 30, 2013


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Hello. This is Shaun speaking. Typing? Whatever. That’s me up there in the slideshow with my reporter face on. It’s cute, isn’t it? What can I say? I take my good looks from the good parts of my daddy and mommy and I have to say that I’m one awesomely, über-cute baby toddler big boy bad ass. I’ve taken over Dad’s computer because I can and he’s not around because he’s sitting in the corner, his legs up with a book lying his lap reading some book about a little person—someone who’s a little bigger than me, I’m told—with hairy feet and who wears a ring and fights a dragon. He tells me that he’ll read it to me when I’m older and can sit still longer than for a few minutes, but I’m all like, “Dad, I can type seventy-two words per minute. I’ll read books when I learn to read. Until then, lemme just get on the computer and blog my thoughts.”

And what thoughts does an almost-two-year-old me have? Well, first of all, I noticed that my feet are funny and cute and—supposedly, according to my father who gives them a sniff whenever he’s in the process of changing my diaper (I think because it makes him laugh that I laugh, but I only give him those chuckles because I know it means so much to him to hear me laugh)—stink.

Secondly, I’ve noticed that my dad has a lot of books. And I mean A LOT of books. Now most people think they have a lot of books when they fill up one shelf space. And that it’s over doing it when you fill up an entire shelf. Dad has more than that. More than three.

Your average almost-two-year-old might say a gazillion (actually, your average almost-two-year-old would just babble some nonsense, but whatever, but I give all my peers the benefit of the doubt) shelves, but it’s less than that. Way less than that. But, to be honest, I think my dad wants to hit that some day. He just might.

Now the word hoarder gets thrown around a lot these days, but that’s not too far from the truth with Dad. He  likes to call himself a book hunter—which is like a treasure hunter, but one who buys his booty rather than stealing it from other people. For instance, he heard that Barnes & Noble was having their red-dot sale where everything with a red dot is half price. He also knows that since it’s the end of the year, the calendars are also on sale.

He made off with three books from the red-dot sale—Blonde Bombshell by Tom Holt, whoever that is; Martin Sloane by some guy named Michael Redhill; and Along the Watchtower by Constance Squires—for only $1.79 each. Not a single one of them is about a fox or a monkey that makes friends with a walrus named Tiny Tamoo. At least none of them have tiny people with hairy feet in them, which is an upgrade for my dad.

Along with these books, he walked away with copies of Your True Home by some guy with a funny name (Dad says to be respectable of others, but the guy’s name is Thich Nhat Hanh; it reads like something I say when I’m just making noises with my mouth to entertain my parents) and a copy of The Upanishads, which he tells me is a holy book from some ancient religion, translated by another guy with a weird sounding name—Eknath Easwaran. I asked Dad about his non-religion and the fact that he has a lot of books from various religions, but he just rubbed my head, picked me up, and blew on my tummy so it sounds like my butt, which always makes me laugh.

He bought himself a Zombie wall calendar filled with a lot of awesome zombie drawings, which would scare most almost-two-year-olds, but not me because I’m a zombie slayer at heart and I laugh in the rotting faces of the undead. He bought a One Direction calendar for my cousin, Jaylene—sure she gets eye-candy as a calendar, but you ask for a calendar of 1950s pin-ups and  you’re told you’re too young (pfft! double standards)—as well as, a Smurfalicious bookmark. Nothing for me? Gee, thanks Dad.

Oh well, I think that’s about all I have to say tonight. Maybe, if I’m good enough (or if Dad’s reading that other book about more little people with hairy feet and rings), I’ll get to post soon enough.

For Chapin City Blues, this is Shaun Damien Corona signing off. And Happy New Year!!!

P.S. I should probably note (Dad told me to) that the sale price is in store only, as it seems. If you want to pay $1.79 for the red-dot books you’ll need to have a membership and actually visit the store. It seems the website is marked at a regular (and semi-discounted) price. However, as any good book hunter in training knows, Amazon has them for a fairly reasonable price, which is why I linked to those pages in most cases. Sorry. Continue on to my dad’s rather boring posts about being a boring adult.