MSPIGGY

(who was getting her shop on at TJ Maxx today)

A few days ago I was chatting online with Mix and I interrupted myself to tell her to turn on Wheel of Fortune because Vanna’s outfit was particularly hideous. (Speaking of Vanna, the trivia on her imdb page is not to be missed!) A minute ago I had Wheel of Fortune on (shut up, I’m old) and tonight Vanna was wearing a pantsuit get up that had a sleeveless brocade top with orange sherbet-colored flowing pants. I didn’t have my cellphone handy so I googled Mix’s husband’s name to get their home phone number. I called, left a message about the orange sherbet and the flowingness, and then I hung up and looked again at the Google result.

Then I realized I had just called her in laws’ house.

I am certain that Mix’s in laws are very nice people, but once Mix told me that they thought the only pizza available in the world was a pepperoni pizza — there were no other toppings, ever — and now I am certain that the message I left them is going to send them into a panicked tailspin of confusion.

I haven’t done any of the standard, boring “here is what I did today” posts in awhile, so here goes.

The baby is sick again (ear infection, as usual — he is headed for tubes pretty quickly here) so I was at home with him. He’s been in a pretty great mood all day, so that means he was engaged in his usual activities: rolling on the floor and trying to remove all the skin from my face with his tiny, steel fingers. Gorjus came over for lunch (I only offer my guests the finest of meals: today we had grilled cheese) and then we watched a couple of Law and Orders. Then Spike and I went for a walk because it was the most beautiful day today, and then Spike went to bed, and then I discovered that the dryer died, and then I discovered that Pete thinks Knock the Baby Clothes Off the Drying Rack is a super fun game, and then I put some new potatoes in the oven to roast and then I wrestled with a giant piece of salmon that I thought was cut into pieces but was not cut into pieces, and now here I am. On the couch.

I anticipate that I will do the following things with the rest of my evening:
–eat dinner, possibly with apologies for how I prepared the salmon
–watch 30 Rock
–bathe a cute baby
–go to bed at a Matlock-appropriate time

If any of these things change, I will be sure and let you know.

That is all.

PRAZHIM
GZUS4US

1. MSSEXYS
2. EYEZOPN
3. On punch ladle at staff function:
PERSONALLY OWN
BY SUSIE BROWN
JACKSON, MS 39202
PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH

Let us discuss #3. “Personally own” is comedy gold, but the city, state, and zip with no actual address is comedy platinum studded with diamonds. And the addition of “please do not touch [this ladle you are currently touching]” sends this into the outer space of hilarity.

This afternoon I found this intricate chart regarding an episode of Judge Hatchett that I wrote out a few years ago. I have studied this extensively trying to figure it out and feel I have a good grasp of it now.

Spike is teething! The exclamation point means OH NO HE IS TEETHING. As I write this he is in my lap moaning. Occasionally he gives me a dirty look. Yesterday he was chomping on my finger and I felt the first of the teethlets, which was very exciting and sort of sad, as I would like Spike to remain at the stage he’s in indefinitely, thank you. Then the poop started, the legendary teething poop, and now we have an unhappy customer with diaper rash and sore gums and HE IS LOOKING AT ME AGAIN.

Tonight I went into the kitchen to clean up after the dinner Larry made and on the counter was the block of cheddar cheese he used to top our turkey burgers. People, it was the moldiest, greenest block of cheese in the history of all moldy green cheese blocks. I didn’t say anything and just threw it away.

Later, he admitted that he hadn’t used that cheese at all, but had merely staged it so that I’d think I ate old penicillic cheese. He even sliced an extra piece and left it and the knife on the cutting board. Between this kind of thing — which happens a lot, friends; see also: the condom that suddenly appeared on my bedside table and that also has a May 2006 expiration date on it* — and my various quirks, Spike doesn’t have a chance of growing up to be a normal human.

*This is the first I’m acknowledging the condom.

So say you know some crazy people, certifiably crazy people, and daily they tell you stories. You listen, you say “uh-huh,” you try not to get sucked in, but sometimes you slip and have to ask follow up questions and then you feel stupid for even believing a shred of the story. However, you believe that even the weirdest of lies/stories has at least some particle of truth to it. After you talk to the crazy people you discuss what they said with your friend. You argue over which parts could possibly be true. You feel bad betting money on their situations so you bet a pan of brownies instead.

So the day comes when one of your crazy people tells you something that officially Is Not True, Cannot Be True. And you tell your crazy, “I’m sorry. I don’t believe that. I can’t listen to your stories anymore.” And while you think to yourself, finally! I am free of my crazy! later on you start to think, oh shit. What if the crazy has a psychotic break because you called her out on this not being true? You will fret about this but will go to bed with ease, but when the baby wakes you up at 4:41 this morning you will think of your crazy and hope she is ok.

The next day the words gee I hope old crazypants is ok today will have just come out of your mouth and will still be hanging in the air above your head when the phone will ring again. It will be your crazy. She will still be crazy. Her story will still be made up. Bursting her bubble won’t have done a damn thing because her bubble will also be crazy. All will be well.

And you’ll be getting those brownies.

I have abandoned my dream of wanting to name lipsticks for a living. I now want to be the person who writes the descriptions of shows for digital cable companies. Larry recorded an animal show the other day merely because of this description:

Barking Mad. Episode: “Elmo and Ollie.” Horse refuses to be mounted; tortoise thinks it is a fearsome dinosaur; dog is obsessed with stones; rabbit is a bully; goat and pig fight.

Please note that the tortoise doesn’t think it’s a dinosaur. The tortoise thinks it’s a FEARSOME DINOSAUR. Because I haven’t watched this yet, I am imagining that all these animals live together and they all speak English. How else would we know what the tortoise thinks?

Hello! I am the happiest baby on earth! No, that’s not poop on my shirt, that’s prunes!

Do you care that I got a flu shot this morning? No? I didn’t think so. Instead of hearing that uninteresting story, take a look at Larry’s two office cats kicking each other’s asses instead, why don’t you:

A few weeks ago a coworker and I were talking about True Blood and she said, “You know what I find totally unrealistic about last night’s show?” The vampires strolling around Louisiana, perchance? “As if a town the size of Bon Temps would have a taxi!”

Tonight’s show gave me the willies, but not in a good way. Theory: Zack from the Gilmore Girls is the killer. IF YOU READ THE BOOKS AND KNOW ALREADY PLEASE SAY NOTHING.

Well-Intentioned Non-Native Speaker: How is your baby?
Me: Oh, he’s good. He’s a big boy.
WINNS: What do you mean big?
Me: He’s really tall.
WINNS: Oh, maybe he will grow up to be like Michael Jackson!
Me: (pause)
Me: Maybe so!

Look, it’s always a possibility.

This afternoon “To Be With You” came on the radio and I was thinking that the whole song is ruined by one word: next. “Just to be the next to be with you”? Couldn’t it have just been “just to be the one to be with you”? How much nicer would it have been that way? Next means that a) there is a line of dudes at the ready and b) they will ALL get their turn. Maybe she should pass out numbers or something.

Huh. Seven days into NaBloPoMo and I am already bored with the concept.