 | |
| ::: ::: Journal entries: ::: ::: Map yourself! ::: :::
Check out: HAAAAAAA! Love it. (Naughty language, take care if playing at work.) Artifact:
No toque el gato!
| Monday, December 12, 2005 We rented Revenge of the Sith last night. While watching it I realized two things: 1) you really don't want to watch that movie for the acting, and 2) while JB has told me before that he never saw the Star Wars movies as a kid but I never quite believed him until now. Here is a sample of the actual questions he had for me: "Wait, so which guy is Darth Vader? "So Luke is his....ohhhhhh." "And how does Leia - they're what? No way. Luke and Leia? Seriously? I thought they were, like, boyfriend and - no? Huh." "So who's this pregnant chick?" It's like he was raised in a parallel dimension where pop culture does not exist. ::: We're leaving on Tuesday for Bend, where we're going to stay for a few days. Supposedly there's a hot tub in the plans, so I'm looking forward to that. Hey, it's true that all babies can swim naturally, right? Because we are totally testing that out. I kid! Riley has actually lodged a recent formal complaint regarding water immersion.
Heh. From Bend we'll make our way to the coast for an early Christmas with JB's family in Coos Bay. I will confess I haven't historically shown a great interest in these visits, because of the long drive and the 1-ply toilet paper and all, but now I look at it in a whole new light: the in-laws are now grandparents, and that means guilt-free babysitting. Guilt-free since I know JB's parents are hovering over Riley like he's made of Swarovski crystal while JB and I drive off pumping our fists in the air and yelling "FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST!" Of course, our outings are confined to what Coos Bay has to offer, but I think we have established the fact that my entertainment needs are not complex. Last time we visited we went to a matinee in a freezing cold theater with terrible sound, and I was all "Yay! Junior Mints!" Listen, three hours all to myself, I might even sit through that shitfest "Yours, Mine, and Ours" for that. (Actually, no. No I wouldn't. Not even for magical pain-free liposuction and an Appaloosa pony.) We shipped our holiday presents down ahead of time, because despite careful mental Tetris efforts neither of us could figure out how to wedge several gift-wrapped boxes in a truck packed with eighty million baby-related items, my flat iron, AND Dog. I actually heard JB mumble something about how we could "really use a Suburban", which - oh god, just...no. A Suburban, to me personally, looks like the unholy offspring of a giant van and a pickup, all molded into one massive roadbeast, and the thought of filling it to the gills with formula-encrusted terrycloth rags and driving around all "Grah! Get out of way or Truck smash!" is kind of, I don't know, ecccchh. Besides, if any new vehicles are to be purchased in this household it's going to be a bright red Mini Cooper with "I AM COOL" stenciled on the side. Which *I* will drive. And thus my coolness will come to be, after all these years. I hope you have a happy week. May all your Amazon shipments arrive on time. ::: I'm officially going to stop making excuses for posting so many pictures, starting now. There will be photos, many photos, and that is how things shall be. Long live the new flesh!
The lights at the Botanical Garden.
--
I promised JB I wouldn't post the photo I took of him pretending to stuff Dog's snout in his mouth, so, um, here is some random guy.
--
New addition to the holiday mantle. I totally sewed that myself. What? Shut up, I did. FINE. I typed his name in a web form and some machine spat it out, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW.
I took this photo thinking it was such an original and clever idea. Um, not. Also, Dog would not cooperate by gazing into the ornament. And there is a stuffed squeaky toy lying there on the floor. --
The Dude.
And his holiday feetie pajamas.
|
