Windsday

Simon really loves windy days. Whenever it is windy, I take him out to fly planes and occasionally sail ships. On National Windsday he helped me build a turbine. However, we couldn't get it to work. On the other hand, I am generally not a fan of wind or drafts of any kind. I believe my dislike stems from an 8 year old's bitterness.

In fourth grade, we had a teacher named Mr. Zeilant. He was the sort of teacher who would breed competitiveness in his students. For example, he ritualistically walked around the room with his stamp grading scale, giving each person the appropriate number of stamps to signify how pretty their spelling homework appeared. Everyone silently and nervously counted his hand motions as he systematically marked the marble notebooks, student by student. I loved to hate homework in Mr. Zeilant's class. One of my classmates, Jennifer, claimed indifference to the glory of stampage and said she valued her play time at home more than beautifying her pages. One day Jennifer raised her hand in class; follows is the gist of the question and response that might irritate me to this day.

"If you're standing next to a building so that you're in the shade, doesn't it mean that if the wind is blowing in the same direction as the sun, you won't feel it? So as long as you're in the shade you are protected by the wall?"

"Yes Jennifer! You are a super genius! I am so proud of you! Fifty million stamps to you!"

Now, granted, as maybe this is true, I've thought about it for decades and fail to see the brilliance of this logic. Since when do light particles and wind follow the same rules of physics? Keep in mind that I almost couldn't get into medical school due to my horrid scores on the physics section of the MCAT. In a world of magic and whimsy, I don't need physics. Perhaps this explains our turbine problems.

Dieting: Fail

How To Make Friends, Part I

Tempt your victim with carrots, oats, and/or cheese. This will bring her closer to the house and out of the bushes. You will probably have to place the temptations on a bed of lettuce, or in the front garden on top of that flower that looks like lettuce. After a few days the victim will begin to trust her surroundings. The next step involves subtly presenting yourself into the environment. I would suggest dressing up like any friendly herbivore. Do not forget the tail. In the meantime practice your sprints. If speed is a problem, build a zipline. Evidently my dad could make friends with his bare hands, but I've been using a friend-net. Simon seems to be knocking out his victims with his fists of friend-zy. I've made three friends so far and they have been quite delicious.

Flames on the sides of my face

My mom calls me a lot. I've been trying to teach her the benefits of email, but with little headway. Sometimes my mother calls on the phone wanting to spell out a website URL so I can write it down, look it up, and give her some sort of feedback. A call such as this could assault me while I'm driving, changing a diaper, or watching my stories. My mom's ineffectual internet-phone-phone-internet-phone debacle drives me batty, so much so that I decided to make a list of other such things that bother me more than they should.

10. Creationism
9. Dion's ex-girlfriends, concept of;
8. Spiders, existance of
7. That sound Steph makes when she's trying to clear out her ears
6. People who like Nickelback
5. ~can't stand when a bitch all in my side~
4. Slurping
3. Reading a your/you're or they're/their/there mistake
2. Cleaning up satyr droppings in the back yard
1. "Oversize load" signs, because I believe they need a "d" in there

Blunders Enlightening

When I left for class today I forgot to give Buddy his diazepam before the storm came. Consequently his anxiety-induced barking and howling caused Simon to scream and cry, which led to Dion's stress-induced temporary loss of brain function. I'm sure it was at this point that my husband with a spatial IQ of 164 couldn't fit all of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher before he started it.

Around 2pm I heard the alarm sound, indicating the entrance of a package delivery truck onto the premises. I order things online when I get bored or when I feel priceless; mostly the latter. I also enjoy having strange men visit my house and give me things. Today, I received my Anthony Bourdain autographed photograph and my Brazilian begonias. Evidently I order miniature versions of autographed pictures and tremendous jumbo packages of flowers, hypothesizing a correlation with the computer screen making everything look the same size. So then, during this disenchantment, Simon began nibbling on the dog food.

Still, I managed not to break my foot again on my trek down the college stairs in my platforms by only the light of the ... well, rain clouds. I realized I had tricked fate when I heard "This Love" by Maroon 5 two times on the radio via channel surfing during my 15 minute ride home. For anyone unfamiliar, it was this masterpiece that inspired the awkward gyrations leading to the original snap of my 5th right metatarsal, on the eve of my sister's dance recital.

Sweating in Small Animal Shapes

It was too hot to go to the zoo today. When I walked outside to get the mail I inadvertently began the breast stroke to the mailbox and remembered what a good idea it is to teach Simon to swim as soon as possible. When we visited the zoo last time with Monica and Maya, Simon leisurely strolled the path conversing intelligently with the furry critters. One of the zebras told him that his smile was worth a million dollars. I'm not sure I trust a zebra to know the value of American currency. How long does a zebra have to live in the country to become a citizen? Can a zebra marry a horse? I know some horses up the street and I bet I could be like the millionaire matchmaker of the equids. Simon also discussed the pros and cons of bubble blowing with the leopard. I could only understand a few words here and there, including "bububa" and "elmo".

I hope it gets cooler outside tomorrow. My garden in desperate need of weeding and I can't afford to lose any more sweat. Plus I'm sure we are due for another zoo visit.

Thoughts on Feeding Time

I set my alarm every morning to go off at 5:15am. The reason I do this is because every night, I go to bed thinking that at 5:15am, I will wake up and go to the gym before Simon gets up and before Dion goes to work. Its the perfect time to go to the gym. And every morning, I turn my alarm off, because the thought of running at that time becomes utterly absurd.

The only way I would ever get out of bed this early was if I saw a donut dangling over my head, and this donut moved slowly away from me, forcing me to follow it out of bed and into my workout clothes. Does a donut dangler count as a personal trainer? I could really use a personal trainer. He shouldn't let me eat the donut though. This defeats the purpose of the gym.

The term "feeding time" was coined by my good friend Kara, who struggles along with me, and probably the rest of the female population, with the whole diet and exercise hoopla. Whenever someone tells her that she looks thinner she replies with "Thanks. I'm really hungry". I'm really hungry, too. It makes sense then, that my only motivation to exercise is a donut.

I also believe the plants are hungry. Can I feed my house plants leftover baby formula? They seem to be dying. And I'm always dumping formula down the sink.

One Way Ticket to Daylight Saving's Time

Last week Dion and I voyaged down and across part of the Atlantic to Puerto Rico, where Chris Columbus arrived in the spring of 1493. In the fall he decided to make the Coqui frog it's unofficial symbol, because one jumped into his soup and made him giggle. That's how I see it happening in my head. I didn't find any frogs and I didn't find any Columbi's, either. Now I will tell you all of the things that Puerto Rico has and all of that that it is lacking.

Things that Puerto Rico Has:

Average temperature in the 80's
cologne for babies
George Bush
Rainforestry
The El Baconator at Wendy's
a Rush concert and a Billy Joel concert in what I translated to be sometime in April
compact cars
infants and pregnant women roaming the streets. and chickens
Chinese restaurants
Condom stores
plaintains on stuff, in stuff, alone, etc

Things that Puerto Rico doesn't Have:

anger
Chipotle
Radio stations distinguishing between different types of American rock music
zebras
Brick houses
12 ounce cans of soda
cancer
Hips that lie

I found myself to favor this commonwealth. The beach delighted me. The island reminded me of a little bitty baby with a high surface area to volume ratio, which explains why God bundles it up so warmly all year round. I left my actual baby at home with my mother, so this ruined the metaphor for me. I could never leave Simon for an island baby, no matter how nice the sunsets. It was cold in Baltimore when we returned, and the hour that we lost somehow never re-appeared despite the time zone difference. It must have gone wherever the frogs are.

The Perils of a Post-Partum Princess

My dad wants to burn his house down, my sister drove into a pole, but all I can worry about is my belly fat. They have those commercials on tv where the belly fat gets targeted by a charlitan pill whereby the virtual human shrinks. Should I partake in this madness? What's so mad about it anyhow? At least I'm not trying to destroy a house or a car. Just a belly that doesn't need to be big anymore. I use that cocoa butter shit. Butter buns? Maybe they should change the name to cocoa six packs. Then it might actually work.

My belly pouch peril tortures me day in and day out. I do sit ups, crazy ab twists, pilates, the grab-a-handful-of-belly-and-imagine-it-gone, and various other techniques to try to rid myself of this unneeded flesh and fat. I've even tried the stick-it-out-and-memorize-it-so-when-you-see-it-normally-it-looks-ok. Should I just stop eating? I wonder what that technique/mental illness is called... Should I fake a hernia and try to get a doctor to open me up and suck it out? Dion would never agree to real cosmetic surgery, but I probably do have insurance to cover a fake exploratory hernia operation. While Dion works very hard to bulk up, I am trying to bulk down. What would Jesus do? (if he was husky)...

In the meantime I will help my sister get her car fixed and help my dad to not burn things. Funny enough, the company my dad works for is trimming the fat. If only he knew how lucky he is.

do you know the chub muffin? (me)

mega tear down wha?

Dion linked me to a blog with pictures of computer chips in it. It was so beautiful and incomprehensible that I was inspired to try take over the world with blow up dolls. That is, dolls that blow up in the explosion sense. I will put faces of my ex-boyfriends on them (I'm sure somebody somewhere appreciates this joke).

I found myself in need of some extra petty cash to carry out my Take-Over-World scheme, as I had not budgeted for it this week. So, I had to go to work today. I didn't much enjoy leaving Simon to play in the Baby Safety Hut with the Banana Friends, but I suspect he had a jolly good and safe time (lots of colorful soft blunt surfaces, mushed bananas, and music). He was asleep when I picked him up so I haven't had a chance to ask him how much fun he had on a scale of 1 to 10 (he holds up his fingers until he can figure out how to speak more clearly).

I am upheld as one of the premier brain scan readers in the area and thus whenever I am in need of work, I can put in some much-needed hours. Today I read about twenty brain scans, and most of them were relatively normal. I find the male brains easier to interpret because there aren't as many parts to it, and many less shades of gray to decipher. The female brains are slightly more difficult, as there are hidden departments and lots of interesting synapses in the temporal lobe and the limbic system. I cannot speak specifically about the readings on specific brains (HIPAA and all of that), but one anonymous brain befuddled me when I couldn't find any of the ganglions capable of thinking. It's possible I was reading a scan on a very dull muppet.

I hope you will wish me luck with the blowing up of the dolls. Most likely, Dion will help me when he gets home-- we have between now and the Soup in Bowl Games of Deliciousness to figure out world domination.

Socialite in Space

I blame the water supply for this one.

When I speak of the Cardassians, "a race of reptilian like humanoids from the planet Cardassia Prime located in the Alpha Quadrant" (http://www.fedtrek.com/wiki/Cardassians), I am often misinterpreted as alluding to the Kardashians, the group of famous television personalities and wealthy socialites. Unfortunately, I had no idea that this inversion was taking place, and now many of my aquaintances think that I am an admirer of these women when really I just like Star Trek. I can understand their miscontrual as I, too, am a wealthy socialite with a large family. Also, both species enjoy warm, dark, places.

For the record-
Cardassian:

Kardashians:

Cardassian home:

Kardashian home:

I don't like accepting. It gets in the way of my intolerance

At the gym today I watched some sort of ice skating capades where the little girls skate around in their costumes and the douchebags with their giant microphones talk over their performances and then proceed to review their triple luxes on slow-mo and macro-zoom. Leave those little girls alone, dammit. I feel this somehow relates to my dream about Survivorman, in which he decided that for his challenge he would swim out into the middle of the ocean. "I've never been much of a good swimmer, but I've read books." That was the extent of it, because he swam away from the camera.

Bootsy is still working on installation of the new dishwasher. He says there's "more to it than meets the eye"; something about wires and pipes and drywall and hot water. I don't believe those things even exist anymore, what with this wireless and digital world in which we now live. I don't know why I even care since I personally don't wash the dishes anyway. My hands get too dry.

My goal to replace the church organist still needs much developing. My original plan involved replacing her with any other person as long as the replacement had minimal organing talent. Further thought revealed that perhaps I could replace her myself, with myself. In this way I could physically remove her from her podium using some of my learned judo skills and then sit down and execute the most brilliant organ performance ever rendered. I have to first learn how to play. As we suffer through her raggidy playing tomorrow morning I will brainstorm with Dion for reasonable steps towards attaining my goal. This is a passion which stems from a pococurantism unparalleled in any artist I have ever met, much less hired to play (and ruin) my wedding. She must be defeated!

Road to Snowwhere

Simon turned half today.

In honor of this significance, Somebody made it snow. This snow, unlike other snows of winters past, was quite lovely and built upon on the tree branches and mailboxes and telephone poles. Simon's warmest snow suit naturally had ears perched atop it, turning him into a most adorable cuddle animal. I decided that he would make a perfect commercial baby, so we set off for the television station.

When we arrived, to our dismay, we found many other animal babies auditioning for commercials! Unfortunately the pressure was too much for Simon so we moved into the soap opera line, where we could audition jointly as a mother-son act. Simon's lines consisted of tiny beast sounds and calls as well as a few medium sized beast yelps. I was so impressed with his performance that I kept forgetting to read my prompts! I apologized to Simon for ruining our audition, as we were not selected for the part. I've got my lines down now, though: "Absolutely not, Peter! Stay away from my family and our prized orchid farm!" And then, "How dare you suggest that I had amnesia from May 2005 to January 2006!" And lastly, "If its the last thing I do, I'll get to the bottom of your heinous lies regarding five legged worms!"

Next time I won't let Simon down.

the nonsequitur

I once knew a boy who used that as his alias. I take it back-- I didn't really know him at all. He was a friend of a friend; a smart kid with clever taglines which I enjoyed reading. Unfortunately I would drunk-message him at 3am oftentimes after returning home from a bar. Being that he had no idea who I was, or how I knew who he was, or why I continually spied on him, he eventually blocked my account. I was thinking about him today. He often had excellent musical suggestions. I thought about him today not because of his excellent musical suggestions but because I amused myself when I asked Elyse about her shoe size after she asked me if I could force her to exercise.

Dion and I took Simon to the Gravity-free Zone today. This is similar to the Discovery-free Zone, except that there is zero gravity. He enjoys being able to float around in the ball pit, hover above the sliding board, and slam dunk himself into the basketball net. There aren't many other six month olds there. His zero-gravity motor skills are quite advanced; he has yet to master navigating at 9.8 m/s^2, an enigma similar to that of the direction of flushing toilet water in the southern hemisphere. Living here in Little Baltimore, the most empirical borough of Blazakisville, there are no shortages of fascinating inquiries!

temperamental express

It's hard to start a blog. However, rediculously wealthy housewives such as myself have too much time on their hands and thus the blog is created. But of course I have a ghost-typer. During the time that I would have writing this, I took Simon to the park in my cadillac to teach him the lesson called "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." He learned this lesson very quickly and said nothing the entire trip. I decided to try to teach him this lesson because I do not understand it's limitations. I figured when he gets older he can reteach me. Can I only not speak the opposite of nice things? I'd never talk, and no one could possibly benefit from that nonsense.

Bootsy the maid took down the Christmas tree tonight. He prefers to be referred to as my handyperson. He has no problem with lead exposures, which is a plus (as an aside he was able to hang thirty pounds of Christmas lights around the mansion with only a drop of two IQ points). I purchased a Christmas tree removal bag at the store for this occasion. The Christmas tree removal bag did not remove the tree at all and Bootsy had to work very hard. Bootsy now has pine holes all over his handyman, I mean handyperson, hands. I wonder if he's going to charge me extra for that- it's damaging to his title. I allowed him to turn in early tonight to his quarters in the east wing. I'd like him to build me two more closets on the lower level tomorrow for my gi's and skiing attire, respectively. He'll need his rest.