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the latest
waddle: good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03 elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01 building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19 ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09 my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
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Severed-head stories make me HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY. I should start a separate severed-head weblog. Warning: Choking Hazard. Um. Okay. (It is so hard to restrain myself, but I must.) HOW MUCH DO I ROCK? (a) Not so much. (b) Two-fifths. (c) A bushel and a not-quite-full peck (d) You rock so much that God himself could not hold all your rock-ness in His gigantic palm! (e) More than Hall and Oates, less than AC/DC. (f) You rock, okay? Please take the binder clips off my nipples. Please. Okay, that amused only me. The fake quiz grew out of a conversation I was having last night at Delilah's---is "rocking" binary? Does something either rock or not-rock? Or can there be degrees of rock, like "the fact that your mom got wasted on Rumpleminze shots and jumped into the koi pond rocks, the fact that she did it at your wedding does not rock, so overall the entire incident rocks moderately hard and will probably rock harder with time and with multiple re-tellings of the story"? There are some songs that start out kind of not-rocking but there is a part in the middle that rocks. Like that Boston song, the one where the guy sings about there being more than a feeling. First he wakes up in the morning and the sun is gone. This is terrible! This spells the end of the Earth, literally! But no, dude just turns on some music, starts his day, and reminisces about some girl named Maryanne. So far, zero rock, complete absence of rock. But the middle part, with the weedly-wee guitar solo, rocks. It sucks, but it rocks. Am I losing you? Maybe I should work this up into a Powerpoint presentation. YET ANOTHER ADDITION TO MY FAMILY I am slightly hungover today, because last night there was wine-and-pasta at the lovely Rose Angelis. Their main fault is that they drown everything in sauce, but the sauces are so freaking delicious and wonderful that you do not care. Yeah, I am really complaining that I have too much gorgonzola-walnut-pesto or red wine beurre rouge. The restaurant is very close to Delilah's, so we had to go, and although I was sad that my favorite bartender was not working I soon perked up with the help of some beer. And then some more beer. Hence, this morning was kind of difficult but I washed and dressed and made it to work and did just fine, until the 11 am NEED FOR GUACAMOLE washed over me, and when that guacamole wave breaks who am I to not grab my surfboard and hang ten? So I had an early lunch at a local burrito place. On the way back to the office a guy selling Streetwise accosted me by saying, "Hey there sister! It's me, your black-Irish-Italian brother! One-quarter each!" I refrained from pointing out that he was only 75% human, if that was the case, and since my Panhandler Dollar was already in my pocket ready to go I gave it to him. "All right!" he said. "Now we are really brother and sister!" Better tell mom to set an extra plate, and I think this means I have to get him a Christmas present now. I COULD PUT A DEFENSIVE THING HERE ABOUT HOW IT'S MY WEB PAGE AND I WILL TYPE UP ADOPTION ANECDOTES IF I FEEL LIKE IT Nora's room is painted, a moderate amount of baby equipment is in place (more on this later), and her crib has been assembled (which was, as LT put it, a "three-beer job." This is his method of gauging the complexity of home improvement projects.) We went to the Big Scary Baby Equipment store last week, and it was a very tiring experience. For one thing, the store is probably the largest concentration of pregnant women you are going to see outside of a doctor's office. All those pregnant women together give off a kind of nervous, keyed-up combination of anxiety and fatigue, so that the baby equipment store is a seething nexus of OH MY GOD IF I DON'T BUY EXACTLY THE RIGHT HIGH CHAIR MY KID WILL END UP A SERIAL KILLER OR A TRUCKSTOP WHORE vibes. Total strangers feel justified in speaking to you at the baby store. Sometimes this is okay, if a little small-town-folksy for my taste, such as the woman who gushed, "Oh, I have that stroller and I love it" to LT, who was taking several different ones for a spin (and automatically eliminating any that did not have parental cupholders, because otherwise where will Daddy's beer go?) Sometimes this is totally irritating, such as the woman who snapped, "The American Academy of Pediatrics does not recommend those for newborns," referring to our idle examination of an ear thermometer. First of all, lady, you don't know anything about my circumstances or why I might be considering the purchase of an ear thermometer. Second, even if I did have a newborn at home, who made you the Baby Ear Police? Sheesh. Also at the Scary Baby Superstore, you get to overhear people gushing about nursery "themes." Like the baby cares. Like the baby is going to come home from the hospital and wave its limp baby wrists around and say, "Oh good LORD what a dump" like a baby version of Carson Kressley. LT and I got kind of sick of all the cuteness, so we did some fantasizing about alternative nursery "themes." 1. How about "Meats of the World"? Paint the bars of the crib to look like strips of bacon. Paint a photorealistic mural of hanging sides of beef on the nursery wall. And the mobile! Little dangling lamb chops and breakfast links! 2. My other idea for a nursery theme was "Communism." This would be especially appropriate for the China adoption thing. Lots of red, lots of baby Mao suits. It is never too early to give a kid some background on the class struggle. To go completely in the other direction, and make certain that we would have failed the "cultural sensitivity"* part of the adoption homestudy, we could have just done up her room in over-the-top Chinese restaurant kitsch, with big gold lion statues and black lacquer furniture. And fashion the crib to look like a giant takeout container. (*Speaking of, you know how people give a cute name to their fetus before the baby is born? We kind of did that too, and referred to the then-hypothetical baby-from-China as "the Eggroll" for many months. Oh. We are terrible.) 3. The absolute BEST idea for a nursery theme, though, and one which I seriously think we could make money on, has got to be "Baby Bling." Receiving blankets patterned with pot leaves. A dollar-sign mobile. Pimps up hoes down, babies represent. Put a big sign in the room that says CHILLIN' IN MAH CRIB. Nothing too good for our shortie, word. ---mimi smartypants full fathom five. back/forward |
