Werewolf Bar Mitzvah

…that seemed as good a place as any to start. Particularly because I come with nothing in particular to say. Seriously, there’s a million things to talk about but I really don’t wanna deal with it – surprise! I know, it’s completely outside of my nature. Sometimes it’s simply because if you don’t get it, I don’t see how you’re gonna get it just because I clarify (placing Carrie Prejean or anyone other than Christ at the helm of Christianity and thinking you’ve finally found your “proof” – tip: God’s gonna ask about you, not her), (Precious: why I could watch it and just think of it as a movie and how we should know better than to assume 99% of Americans can do the same and therefore how about a little decorum and accountability…and then, le sigh, that’s a lovely tightrope: not perpetuating the minority-ness of having to watch what you say because people will hold 12% of the population to it but at the same time being culturally responsible and perhaps making it a touch less probable that so depraved of an account isn’t just presented as “proof”), …. Lord, there’s too much. And that’s why it’s just better – at least for a moment – to join Tracey Jordan in song. “Boys becoming men, men becoming wolves!”

Let’s see. I’m not speaking French any better as far as I can tell. Which is entirely my fault, but feel free not to mention. My son on the other hand is having hilarious outtakes in which he must repeatedly be corrected when saying things like John Deere.

Ezra: Jean Deere.

Daddy: John Deere.

Ezra: Jeeaann Deere. (Confident that he’s repeating Daddy exactly.)

Daddy: *laughing* John.

Ezra: *upset* Jean!

Daddy: *laughing*

Ezra: Jean Deere. (Crosses his arms. It’s settled. He’s saying it right. Daddy’s just being mean.)

I also really enjoy when he says thing like, “That’s not how you say it in this world!” His eyes are comically wide with concern. Did I mention that I (and his father, as mentioned above) end up laughing at him a lot. With him. Laughing with him. This world, yo? Really? Hilarity. I simply cannot wait to hear him speaking French fluently. I will be bowled over with amusement. Hopefully, I won’t be so lame as I currently am.

This week: Happy birthday to my broseph, Andy!!!! And – one the same day – happy birthday to my dovey, Sasha!!

Later this month: Happy birthday to my godmama – auntiemom – auntizzle!!

In celebration of these  and other special days (like it being Thursday), please feel free to send me a box of these:

Do not judge.

 

ZOMG

I could give you cryptic updates – so as not to disclose my literal home address even by way of surrounding landmarks – but I think we’d both be better served by reading another entry from The Self-Publishing Review. I left a comment. So should you. This blog is fast becoming the wind beneath my wings.

My son: “Dad, it’s not lib-ary, it’s libRARY.”

*wipes tear* That’s my boy!!

 

Time The *$%^ OUT!

What Andy did to the donkeys, I had to do to the duck-lipped, flesh rail of VD. I can’t even say her name lest the vultures return. And I won’t even disgust you with the latest search engine terms that have been apparently bringing people here. Like, are you not embarrassed that – though I may not know who got here by searching for “p*ssing, sh*tting, sc*t, p**p” – you do?! Seriously. How do you live with yourselves?

 

Time Keeps On Slipping…

Dude, remembering to blog is not coming easy right now, mes amis. The Santa Cruz exodus is finished, the Sacramento interim is quickly slipping away. July is upon us?! My son is supposed to turn five? Methinks not, calendar. I’ll have none of this. – See, like for one thing? The aforestated was written whilst it was still June. And here we are, three hours into the first day of the Official Month of Morrow.

I did this in the meantime!

You may have noticed that I’ve done no brushing up on the French thus far. No worries. I saw this in a movie once. All works out. Magically – or fictionally? – upon arriving in Montreal, everything learned between 1996 and 1999 comes rushing back. So. Really. Worry not.

You may also be alarmed to f ind that I do not have The Sims 3 game yet. And that my sister (WHO DIDN’T EVEN APPRECIATE SIMS 2 AND SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS!) does. And that I’ve been playing that SimSocial thing, which routinely deletes your most recent achievements to ensure you do not think it fun enough to forgo expeditiously getting the game. LAME. Aside from which, someone has already made Nathan Explosion and how pissed off am I even though it hadn’t ever occurred to me to make a Nathan sim. What. Ever.

Other than that, I’m lulu-ing “the first book” for my greatest fan (determined by her obsessive need to buy all of the books for which I send her a direct access link, regardless of whether I tell her it takes me posting them in book form to figure out that there are seberal typos that need fixing and the font needs to be larger… so I basically have to replace every single thing she’s bought) and lord almighty did I love this whimsical world but cringe at the drama that is melo. For trizzle. Man. And yet I still love the story. The funny thing is I’m pretty sure it’s more melo than the YA book I finished senior year of high school. (So by “first” up there, I clearly meant the one I’m posting soon is the first thing I at one time thought might actually be sold at some point. Which, if you’ve missed it, no. No, it shan’t. For verily…I cringe.)

On second thought. It's too hot for all that.

It’s 3:15am and I’m totally writing what I’m sure is an obnoxious post here, what with the semi-nonsensicalness spattered throughout. Let us end with this.

This, my friends, is called a leap of super faith.

 

Slave To Her People

Okay, so since it was getting a little obvious that my “About” (renamed: “Hey, what happah??”) page was leaving some visitors wanting… well, actually that isn’t obvious. What’s obvious is that it has been repeatedly visited and based on the fact that it was formerly one line, I assume visitors would wonder why they’d bothered. So I updated it. And I mean really. There are paragraphs now. Suckle, my children. Suckle.

 

Suddenly Spam

I can’t believe the negative effect having all my comments go to spam is having. I used to be so energetic about blogging and commenting on the blogs of others. Alas. Akismet learns nothing.

Yeah, I think that might be it.

PS. Apparently it’s keeping people from commenting on my blog, as well, even though you’re only supposed to have to fill in your name/email addreess. LAME. What is going on with WordPress?

 

My Comments!

Aren’t showing up on your blogs! Blerg, because the last one on Andy’s Juno blog was rather longish, I think! LAME!

 

Conversion Reversion

I’m neurotic. I know this because things bother me that wouldn’t bother other people… and not just bother but make me itch. And there’s not really a logical reason why the difference between tags and categories would elicit that kind of physical reaction. But I’ve got it in my mind that categories make more sense. So I’ve started undoing the recent conversion. It actually won’t take me very long because I can do mindless data entry in one sitting. Just stopped to let you know the good news.

 

The Conversion of 2008

So, I’m not sure what motivated me to do this – now that it’s done – but I converted all my glorious categories to tags. The thing is that if you wanna read any of my myspace-archived-blog, they aren’t tagged. So… yeah. Maybe I can hire Andy to go through it and do that in another leg of the sponsored-a-thons. Which will be televised come August. Look out Olympics.

That is all.

P.S. I immediately regret this decision.

 

I’m A Custodian

Firstly, on my blog info page it says I – or someone – edited a bunch of previous entries. Of which I have no recollection. Stay off my blog, invisible spirits! Secondly, we – nay, Josh – bought Stubb’s Bar-b-que sauce at Safeway. The “tagline” on the bottle? Prepare yourselves.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m a cook!”

The only thing more confounding? The line on the top of the label that reads: “My life is in these bottles.” ….Um. Ew. Get your “life” out of my meat sauce, young sir.

Anywho, we had a lovely day today. Josh took Ezzie and I to the tide pools at Natural Bridges – which we reached via the convalescent modular home park – and gave us his soon-to-be award-winning tour. We saw a snow egret (which apparently has a special hang out spot making himself easy to find; by the way, awesome to see one in real life!), a pair of swans (in the pond prior to reaching the pools), a garden snake (that I almost stepped on! I didn’t know they could slither so fast…), a bunch of sea stars, anemones, urchin, sponge, mussels, turban snails. It’s also really beautiful how the waves and resulting erosion have created little bridges (hi, “natural bridges state beach”) where you can step to look into these beautiful, colorful pools. Next time we have visitors, we have to take them out there! Josh and I were taking about taking diving lessons to enjoy the underwater bridge formations, too, which would be amazing. … As long as it wasn’t as nerve-racking as that time we went snorkeling. I almost died. But only because a barracuda swam underneath me and I gasped. Underwater. Good times.

I r happy.

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Now playing: Comptine D’Un Autre: L’Apres Midi – Yann Tiersen
via FoxyTunes