An Explanation

You may be wondering where the title of this blog comes from. Big A, the Weirdo, and the Monkey. Well, it's kind of a funny story.

My name is Anthony, so Big A would imply that I'm a big guy. Eh. A guy that I work with is a big guy. 6'06, 350 pounds-ish. THAT'S a big guy. This monster can lift a refrigerator without any help. And no, I'm not grossly overweight to the point that it would earn me the Big A nickname in a friendly, loving, ooh-my-God-he'll-be-dead-from-heart-failure-by-35 kinda way either. In truth, Big A is not my nickname. It never has been. And yet, there is a story there.

As with all great stories, this one starts with meeting a girl on the internet. Gulp. When I was younger I firmly believed that there was a decent chance that the girl of my dreams was waiting for me in a chatroom somewhere. I'd keep my eyes peeled for a profile that read

"Nerdy, beautiful girl, loves Star Wars, beer, and discussions about time travel. Lives around the corner from you, Anthony."

I never actually saw a profile like that, but I kept my hopes high. One of the girls I met actually decided to meet up with me in the real world. She had some friends with her and we met in a public place, just in case one or the other turned out to be the weird, heavy breathing, wear your skin for a bathrobe kind of person. After we hung out that night I went home just beyond pleased with myself that a strange girl had voluntarily chosen to spend several hours with me. The next day in her AIM status box she mentioned something about having fun with some friends and "Big A". Sweet! She gave me a nickname! She must like me! The next time I talked to her I mentioned the new nickname she had given me. Slightly confused, she explained that "Big A" was her friend named Andrew. Permanent memory of horrifying embarassment, check.

Thankfully, I stopped trying to meet girls on the internet and instead talked to them face to face. This proved to be a much better idea, as I am now happily married to the Weirdo for almost five years.

So how did the Weirdo get her nickname?

Early on in our relationship the Weirdo and I learned that we were both goofy as hell. One day during a car ride we were joking about what our lives would be like after we were married. The Weirdo said I would have to be in charge of the money, because she would draw doodles and smiley faces on checks sent it for bills. She said whoever we sent the checks to would send us a letter that read, and I quote "Dear Weirdo, stop sending us weird checks." My wife, the Weirdo.

The irony is, five years later, the Weirdo is in charge of the family finances.

That brings us to the Monkey. Not a complex explanation here. The Monkey, our almost-two year old, is like a little monkey. He climbs furniture and hurls food and screams with delight when he sees a choo choo train or a fire truck. I love him more than words can describe. He is my pride and joy, and the Weirdo and I call him our little Monkey.

Big A, the Weirdo, and the Monkey.