Sunday I was carded for buying beer, which means at least one person on this earth thought (or pretended to think) that I might be a teenager. And today I have a daughter who is a teenager. That's just weird.
Happy birthday, little baby girl! Your hair is still blonde and your eyes are still blue, but your nose has a handful of freckles that weren't there a few years ago. Your eyes are the same eyes, but now they sparkle with wit and personality.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Maybe I love the weird, but still.
The following are musical elements I always feel unnaturally attracted to:
1. Electric cellos
2. Disco percussion
3. Two-part harmony in a minor key
I’m just saying. It could be a recipe for genius.
1. Electric cellos
2. Disco percussion
3. Two-part harmony in a minor key
I’m just saying. It could be a recipe for genius.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
TMI
Did you want to know something I bet you didn't want to know? Come on, I know that's why you're here.
For the last 3 or 4 weeks, things haven't been quite right in my intestular region. Let's just say that whatever I eat doesn't stick around for long. In fact, meals have been riding the express bus to Toiletville more often than not.
I know. But I warned you.
So I went to the doctor where they leeched some blood to confirm I wasn't dying, because that's what it starts to feel like after a while. I think my exact words on the phone with the nurse were, "I'm pretty sure I'm dying."
Then the nurse came in with a few vials of various shapes and sizes. "We're going to need you to bring Hank in to get checked out."
"Are you sure that's necessary?" I said. "Because Hank isn't one to make a lot of public appearances."
She assured me that it was necessary, and I left with my assortment of vials.
The next day, with Gert in tow because we were on our way to try on leotards for her new gymnastics class, I swung by the doctor's office to drop Hank off at the front desk.
(And yes, I brought Gert along because I thought maybe I could pretend the whole time that Hank belonged to her. We all know parents are far less shy around Hank when their children are involved.)
I approached the girl at the front desk holding my paper bag, and leaned in to inform her that Hank was here for his check-up.
Gert sort of overheard. "Mom!" she said, in a loud, outraged voice. "You stole a sample?"
"We'll talk about it later!" I hissed at her.
The girl at the front desk looked sort of alarmed, which sort of alarmed me. She said, "Oh, there's no one here to take that!"
"What do you mean?" I said.
"All the people from the lab are gone for the day. I'm sorry!"
I said, "No. Please. Can I pay someone to take this bag? I have $20 in cash..."
Gert said, "Is that the sample you stole?"
Lots of people were looking at us. I exhaled and collected what was left of my dignity, clutching Hank's bag and taking Gert by the hand.
And then we went to try on pink leotards with Hank stuffed in my purse.
For the last 3 or 4 weeks, things haven't been quite right in my intestular region. Let's just say that whatever I eat doesn't stick around for long. In fact, meals have been riding the express bus to Toiletville more often than not.
I know. But I warned you.
So I went to the doctor where they leeched some blood to confirm I wasn't dying, because that's what it starts to feel like after a while. I think my exact words on the phone with the nurse were, "I'm pretty sure I'm dying."
Then the nurse came in with a few vials of various shapes and sizes. "We're going to need you to bring Hank in to get checked out."
"Are you sure that's necessary?" I said. "Because Hank isn't one to make a lot of public appearances."
She assured me that it was necessary, and I left with my assortment of vials.
The next day, with Gert in tow because we were on our way to try on leotards for her new gymnastics class, I swung by the doctor's office to drop Hank off at the front desk.
(And yes, I brought Gert along because I thought maybe I could pretend the whole time that Hank belonged to her. We all know parents are far less shy around Hank when their children are involved.)
I approached the girl at the front desk holding my paper bag, and leaned in to inform her that Hank was here for his check-up.
Gert sort of overheard. "Mom!" she said, in a loud, outraged voice. "You stole a sample?"
"We'll talk about it later!" I hissed at her.
The girl at the front desk looked sort of alarmed, which sort of alarmed me. She said, "Oh, there's no one here to take that!"
"What do you mean?" I said.
"All the people from the lab are gone for the day. I'm sorry!"
I said, "No. Please. Can I pay someone to take this bag? I have $20 in cash..."
Gert said, "Is that the sample you stole?"
Lots of people were looking at us. I exhaled and collected what was left of my dignity, clutching Hank's bag and taking Gert by the hand.
And then we went to try on pink leotards with Hank stuffed in my purse.
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