So, that last one was a pretty popular post. How then did only the regulars comment? *shrug* People are weird.
I fear I have nothing to say. Airplanes and sickle syndrome don’t exactly mix and the last two days (including today, that is) have been popping the supplements we forgot at home and generally not being full of energy. So, I’ve had little to do for work until this coming Saturday and mostly I’ve been eavesdropping on Ezra’s not-yet-internal-monologues all day and marveling at the evolution of his accent. Also wondering whether we’re gonna have to give in to his apparent preference of repeating Chinese over French. Guess he’d have an easier time with the tones now than later, no?
Anywho: I’ve gotta get back to work. For real. Instead, I think I’ll go find my phone. Toodles!
I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don’t even know how I feel about reposting snippets from “real” blogs, but you have to read this and I couldn’t take the chance that you wouldn’t click the link: Marc Anthony came with her but was too busy pretending he was in The Matrix. He refused to stop calling J-Lo “Latin Oracle” then tried to jump in his cell phone when she swung at him. Sadly, he didn’t have enough bars. Rest in peace, Salsa Neo. WHAT??! *peeing* SALSA NEO??? *dies, still laughing*
We all have felt the necessary burden of moving, am I right? It’s not fun. Even if you’re happy to be leaving and excited for where you’re going, if anyone says they love packing up (for more than fifteen minutes at a time and with a non-negotiable three hour break in between), they’re lutefisk. What I’m saying is that, I get it. It sucks. Who wants to dedicate the three hours necessary to filling out the change of address form for the post office, right? The people who lived here before us, that’s who. The first day we moved here, the former family knocked on the door and let us know they hadn’t changed their address yet so… could we put their mail aside and they’d periodically come pick it up. I chuckled and said, “Sure, buddy. Don’t forget to tip.” Unfortunately, I was in the bedroom and it was Josh answering the door. That would be September 10th or thereabouts? Cut to March 20th. We have a kitchen drawer full of bills, family correspondence, tax documents, letters from one of their native China!, … and they’ve come by to pick it up…. never. The original excuse was, the post office takes forever to make the correction so it’s just easier to stop giving this address and pick up whatever’s left over. Right. If you’d ever done that. Or it ever stopped coming. So, the guy shows up today – without cake! – and clears out our drawer. Without tipping. Then he says he’s actually coming because he ordered something that should be arriving today.
Why…are you still giving out this address, broseph?!
“Can you take down my number and gimme a call when it gets here?”
“Hell neezy,” I answered. Unfortunately, I was on the couch upstairs and it was Josh answering the door. When he came upstairs, I told him – very seriously – that when he called the guy back to let him know we expected a pizza. He chuckled and agreed. Hmm. And yet. The package arrived. He called the dude. (Did I mention my husband’s family is from the midwest? That has to factor in to his complete acquiescing.) The guy says he’ll be back for it. Later. Later rolls around. (Read: my son’s already in bed.) Josh opens the door, present package, guy beams, “Thanks!” and heads off into the night.
Who raised you!
Little-known fact*. Children who are potty-trained everywhere but in the house – meaning he will not require a diaper bag when we leave the house and will hold it or let you know when he needs to use the fo-cilities but will immediately use the absorbant power of his pampers once we get home – are easily bested. Simply refuse to put diapers on them. But…don’t put underwear on either. Anything that makes his bottom feel comfortably guarded induces accidents. So basically, my son goes commando when we’re at home. And it hasn’t failed me yet. BAM. It’s almost as satisfying as saving lives.
*Which only means I’d never heard of this little ace-in-the-hole.
Um. I no have more to say right now. So here’s what it looks like on my couch right now:
Minus Josh’s hair; retain my shirt, switch Josh’s out for a black one; minus my sash; retain same laptops and … probably increase my degree of “bustedness”. I distinctly remember saying I wanted to leave the house today. Hm.
5. If you’re not entirely satified, just send it back! (Read: You just spent $15 in shipping costs for something we knew you weren’t gonna keep. Thanks for the scrilla, pimpin’.)
4. Side effects may include: loss of sexual desire. (Read: Pill for erectile dysfunction.)
3. … Burlington Coat Factory.
2. Within hours, they’d transferred thousands of dollars into my account. With no credit check. Just based on trusting me.
1. Because he has genital herpes. And I don’t. (Read: And I’m still having sex with him. Cause that’s love.)