It's All About Meme, Meme, Meme
Snack I Enjoy, But Probably Shouldn't:
Gerber Fruit/Veggie Puffs. Yes, I KNOW they're technically for my child. But they're only 125 calories for a whole can! Also, he's still working on his pincer grip, whereas I have perfected my cram-down-gaping-maw-by-the-handful grip.
Song To Which I Don't Know All The Lyrics, But Damned If I've Let That Slow Me Down:
"Last Goodbye" - Jeff Buckley. I sing this one in the car all the time. When I'm doing my version of Jeff's falsetto, I get the impression my car REALLY wishes it were an automatic transmission, just so it could shift itself into first gear while doing 60 and thereby end the agony. In one of my longest-standing secret fantasies, I am finally uninhibited enough to sing "Last Goodbye" in front of other people, and I sound AWESOME. That's how I know it's a FANTASY: I couldn't hit a note if it was tied down and I had a Louisville Slugger. Also, I've been drunk enough to shriek "IGGY POP RULES!" and then vomit on myself, yet I STILL wasn't drunk enough to sing in public.
If I Had a Million Dollars... I'd Be Boring:
1. Have medical science resurrect Frank Lloyd Wright and then force him remodel my house before I'd let him return to eternal slumber.
2. Have as many kids as I wanted and send them all to ridiculously overpriced Quaker private schools.
3. Trade in the ancient Civic of Shame for the NEW Civic of Triumph.
Baby's Got a Bad, Bad Habit:
1. Too verbose. No shit, Sherlock.
2. Easily distractable: will start reorganizing linen closet, go off on series of tangents and wind up reroofing house. Possibly even the neighbor's house ("GET OFF OF THERE, YOU CRAZY B- ... wait, are those 25-year textured-lap shingles? Carry on, then.").
3. Horrendous dietary transgressions: sugar, sugar, sugar... with the occasional dash of capsicum. I guess my ideal food would be Buffalo Milk Duds.
4. Convincing myself that I sometimes "predict" things. Just because I was thinking about a particular song just before it began playing in Home Depot does NOT mean I'm psychic; I probably heard it during one of our other 10,000 trips there and came to subconsciously associate Elton John with Roto-Zip attachments.
Things I Enjoy Even More Than Sugar-Dipped Sugar:
1. Playing with my boy.
- We sing! Our latest batch of Gerber-inspired songs have a 70's bent: "Piiiiineapples in flight... Hawaiian Dee-light!" and "Puff, the magic fruit thingy, goes in your mouth, then travels through your digestive tract, 'til it shows up down south!"
- We dance! Some of us need clean diapers after dancing too vigorously, but damn it, we STILL DANCE.
- We play! Recent games include "Rocket Infant Blasts Off to Planet Zebulon!" and "Sweet Potato Cessna Crashes into Baby-Mouth Gorge".
2. Reading and writing. I suck ass at 'rithmetic, however.
3. Organizing more or less anything, from shoes to CDs to life choices. Not that you'd know it from the state of my house, but I find ordering stuff very soothing. I had a spreadsheet for my pregnancy, for god's sake. If possible, I would've conceived the child via Excel function... =IF((CONCATENATE($EGG&$SPERM))="Fertilize!","Pink Line","No Pink Line") .
Special Exclusive-to-This-Blog Section: Most Amusing Yet Awful Thing Ever Done By My Bastardly Ex-Boyfriend:
Barged into the bathroom and tossed a dead baby mouse between my splayed knees and into the toilet bowl while I sat there, wide-eyed, pants around my ankles and "Solider of Fortune" across my lap. An unmedicated manic-depressive, he had cared for the abandoned mouse-ling with great zeal (constructing a nest from a cigarette box, feeding it milk from a pipette). Following its inevitable demise, he had apparently applied the same can-do spirit to the question of "how to dispose of mouse corpse in manner MOST upsetting to girlfriend?" This is one of those memories which makes me simultaneously smile and cringe. It's like eating fudge-zipped pickles. Mmmn... emotional turmoil-icious.
Gerber Fruit/Veggie Puffs. Yes, I KNOW they're technically for my child. But they're only 125 calories for a whole can! Also, he's still working on his pincer grip, whereas I have perfected my cram-down-gaping-maw-by-the-handful grip.
Song To Which I Don't Know All The Lyrics, But Damned If I've Let That Slow Me Down:
"Last Goodbye" - Jeff Buckley. I sing this one in the car all the time. When I'm doing my version of Jeff's falsetto, I get the impression my car REALLY wishes it were an automatic transmission, just so it could shift itself into first gear while doing 60 and thereby end the agony. In one of my longest-standing secret fantasies, I am finally uninhibited enough to sing "Last Goodbye" in front of other people, and I sound AWESOME. That's how I know it's a FANTASY: I couldn't hit a note if it was tied down and I had a Louisville Slugger. Also, I've been drunk enough to shriek "IGGY POP RULES!" and then vomit on myself, yet I STILL wasn't drunk enough to sing in public.
If I Had a Million Dollars... I'd Be Boring:
1. Have medical science resurrect Frank Lloyd Wright and then force him remodel my house before I'd let him return to eternal slumber.
2. Have as many kids as I wanted and send them all to ridiculously overpriced Quaker private schools.
3. Trade in the ancient Civic of Shame for the NEW Civic of Triumph.
Baby's Got a Bad, Bad Habit:
1. Too verbose. No shit, Sherlock.
2. Easily distractable: will start reorganizing linen closet, go off on series of tangents and wind up reroofing house. Possibly even the neighbor's house ("GET OFF OF THERE, YOU CRAZY B- ... wait, are those 25-year textured-lap shingles? Carry on, then.").
3. Horrendous dietary transgressions: sugar, sugar, sugar... with the occasional dash of capsicum. I guess my ideal food would be Buffalo Milk Duds.
4. Convincing myself that I sometimes "predict" things. Just because I was thinking about a particular song just before it began playing in Home Depot does NOT mean I'm psychic; I probably heard it during one of our other 10,000 trips there and came to subconsciously associate Elton John with Roto-Zip attachments.
Things I Enjoy Even More Than Sugar-Dipped Sugar:
1. Playing with my boy.
- We sing! Our latest batch of Gerber-inspired songs have a 70's bent: "Piiiiineapples in flight... Hawaiian Dee-light!" and "Puff, the magic fruit thingy, goes in your mouth, then travels through your digestive tract, 'til it shows up down south!"
- We dance! Some of us need clean diapers after dancing too vigorously, but damn it, we STILL DANCE.
- We play! Recent games include "Rocket Infant Blasts Off to Planet Zebulon!" and "Sweet Potato Cessna Crashes into Baby-Mouth Gorge".
2. Reading and writing. I suck ass at 'rithmetic, however.
3. Organizing more or less anything, from shoes to CDs to life choices. Not that you'd know it from the state of my house, but I find ordering stuff very soothing. I had a spreadsheet for my pregnancy, for god's sake. If possible, I would've conceived the child via Excel function... =IF((CONCATENATE($EGG&$SPERM))="Fertilize!","Pink Line","No Pink Line") .
Special Exclusive-to-This-Blog Section: Most Amusing Yet Awful Thing Ever Done By My Bastardly Ex-Boyfriend:
Barged into the bathroom and tossed a dead baby mouse between my splayed knees and into the toilet bowl while I sat there, wide-eyed, pants around my ankles and "Solider of Fortune" across my lap. An unmedicated manic-depressive, he had cared for the abandoned mouse-ling with great zeal (constructing a nest from a cigarette box, feeding it milk from a pipette). Following its inevitable demise, he had apparently applied the same can-do spirit to the question of "how to dispose of mouse corpse in manner MOST upsetting to girlfriend?" This is one of those memories which makes me simultaneously smile and cringe. It's like eating fudge-zipped pickles. Mmmn... emotional turmoil-icious.
Labels: The Compleat Thumbscrew
posted by thumbscre.ws at
1/13/2006
13 Comments:
KIIIIIISS ME
PLEEEEEASE KI-ISS ME
BUT KISS ME OUT OF DEE-SIRE BABY NOT CONSOLATION
YOU KNOW IT MAKES ME SO ANGRY
'CAUSE I KNOW THAT IN TIIIME
I'LL ONLY MAKE YOU CRY
THIS IS OUR LAST GOODBYE
*Bass thunka thunka*
While you are enjoying the above musical interlude, please consider the fact that Frank Lloyd Wright was known to visit houses he'd designed and peevishly move the furniture if he didn't feel it was correctly situated.
Aw, man, now I want to take down my answers and plagiarize yours.
Julie: wow, FLW was one cantankerous genius. He'd be spinning in his wee little coffin if he knew my original plans for the kid's nursey: "Frank Lloyd Lite". I wanted to make it a classic Mission-style room, but in soft colors and squishy materials. The centerpiece was going to be an "exposed brick" wall made of fleece-upholstered foam. Thankfully, my backup plan won out ("ignore nursery, wind up bringing child home and depositing him in a room filled with disassembled computers and power tools").
Doc to tha M: Hee... I liked your answers! But if you're gonna steal mine, you have to steal HellBoy's Fruit Puffs as well. At least then I wouldn't have to feel guilty about snatching food from my kid's mouth alone.
umm, what's capsicum? At our Home Deep-oh this morning they were playing Julio Iglesias. Did Enrique get that big-ass mole cut off his face, by the way?
Oh, I've tried the Puffs. Too puffy. Guess I'll have to stick with my answers.
Frank Lloyd Lite, hee hee.
(mignon: hot peppers.)
Thumb--did you know that there is a type of Jamaican Ginger Beer that you can find in the Goya and Other Ethnic Foods section of your local grocery store that is made with TONS of sugar AND capsicum? That's what it says on the ingredients--CAPSICUM. Great stuff for a head cold. And the Gerber Puffs? Apple/banana are a disappointment, and Cherry are okay, but Sweet Potato? Rock the house. Carry on.
"Too puffy"? Mwa ha. Reminds me of why I used to reject shrimp scampi... "too scampy" (that's before I discovered shrimp submerged in a pool of garlic butter were good eatin').
Ginger? And capsicum? OH MY FREAKING GOD. I haven't had conventional soda in about a decade (I'm an old-school diet soda G), but I HAVE to get me some of that shit.
Wanna know a secret? The Sweet Potato Puffs taste oddly familiar, right? That's because they are more or less IDENTICAL to Kix. This STUNNED me when I finally figured it out. Yeah, I'm easily stunned.
Confirmation word? "oxdzkia". A rusted Sportage? *is dork*
How about chocolate coated baby puffs? Sure it might raise the calorie count a smidge, and seem disgusting to anyone watching, but yuuuum yum!
Delurking, FINALLY! I am always laughing too hard to comment. I didn't know it was de-lurking week, but it's as good of an excuse as any.
First things first: I heart Gerber's Wagon Wheels, and all things puffed for my toddlers' eating pleasure.
When I don't know the words to a song, I simply substitute dirty ones. A lifetime of amusement! (For me, anyway).
Iggy Pop DOES Rule, doesn't he? But 'rithmetic? Not so much.
And finally, any time you want to come over and organize my shit, feel free-though the odd combinations of things (crayons, screwdrivers, empty Diet Coke cans, outlet covers, overdue library books, stray pieces of cat chow) might send you screaming over the edge...
DUDE. First Julie starts stalking you, and now Julia is pimping you. As for me, I linked to you in today's post but am considering editing that out and taking you off the MFA blogroll so that the taint of association with me doesn't slow your rising star in the least (I couldn't get arrested in the comments at A Little Pregnant, and Julia...oh, it's too painful). Of course I still read them both. With a bottle of Jamaican Ginger Beer in-hand (you may have fame and fortune, but I have sweet, sweet sugar and fiery fiery capsicum, so nyah). Also I'm meeting with a seamstress tomorrow to discuss your dress idea for the NYC shindig; I think it has promise if paired with a REALLY BIG BOW, maybe off-center at the waistline? Yeeeeees. XOX
Le Mom du Feral: oh, man, those carrot/cheese Wagon Wheels kick ass. When I popped open the can, I was like, "DUDE! These things are the size of my kid's HEAD!" Then I realized that meant I could eat them all myself under the guise of protecting him from a choking hazard.
MFA Mama: this is the first time in my life the cool kids have ever had anything to do with me. I can't shake the suspicion that this is all a ruse and they're going to beat me up on the playground later. Or at least play "keep away" with my sitemeter or something. As far as the dress, I was thinking you could just buy a sleeping bag and cut three holes in it!
Holy shit - you are hilarious. I found you thru Julia, the Vicountess of Blog-enbourg herself. Damnit, now I have to go back and read your archives. Ah, how my work does suffer in the pursuit of blog-ity greatness.
Remember us little people when you are Queen of the Mommy Blogs!! :-)
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