Alcoholics totally love babies

This morning I went to the post office because I did something bad in my last five or six lives. I continued down to the village, and I had to detour to kill time because the hippie lunch hole wasn't open yet. This took me past the bus station alcoholics who patrol the payphones for returned change. "Oh, shweet bundle of love," they slurred, lurching towards me as if to paw the baby passed out in the sack I hang around my neck. The baby woke up, displeased, and we pepper sprayed the living hell out of the alcoholics. A passing police officer smiled and chucked the baby under the chin. "Saved me the trouble," he said. Then I had an avocado wrap.

Posted 12:53 PM by Licketysplit

Space: a vast conspiracy

Solar system downsized. Now, I didn't actually read that whole article. I just skimmed the headlines to make sure the casualty wasn't Uranus. Science is way boring!

A baby has been tolerating the songs of Kurt Weill this week. I am fresh out of ideas for entertaining a baby. The other day I was singing "Crafty" by the Beastie Boys, and I realized that might be a bit salty for tender ears. But then again, "Mack the Knife" is worse, but she loves it. So now we alternate between finding the way to the next whiskey bar and the "Mr. Belvidere" theme, one of Herr Weill's lesser works.

Posted 12:44 PM by Licketysplit

Boop doop beep

A dude left a message to say he was sorry for dialing the wrong number.

This is almost as entertaining as when another dude called to discuss my long distance service. I said "Oh, I'm sorry, you have the wrong number." He apologized and hung up. I can't believe that worked, but now I do it every time I get a call like that. Wiffff! No one ever catches the frisbee.

Posted 9:19 PM by Licketysplit

Welcome to Stockholm

On Wednesday, my adorable mini captor celebrated two months of breathing. Not to mention pooping and barfing. It takes a village something something. Something indeed! I didn't particularly care for her (or anything) for most of those two months, but we're on a roll now. That may sound terribly harsh, but until you've gone through it, shut your blessed screech hole. We missed out on all the post-birth slimy baby on the chest bonding, and at the time I didn't think much of it (since I was really high), but it did matter. Mr. H and I recently tried to piece together the afternoon after she was born, and we can't remember what happened when. I don't remember seeing her for the first time. I didn't get to touch her and sniff her and count toes since my damn arms were numb. Then there's a huge gap of lost time when I was busy bleeding profusely. I really resent what we both missed: me getting to know her in that early quiet alert stage, and her being cuddled as much as she deserved after a rough splashdown. The animal process was fundamentally disrupted, and I went home with a painful wound and a foreign little bundle of screaming. We've had to learn each other. It's been hard. Calculus hard. Middle East peace hard.

***

Today she demonstrated her first poor taste when she enjoyed the "Hampster Dance Song." And since I am a terrible mother, I bought it for her from iTunes. Three minutes of Hampster Dance is soooo much better than 30 seconds. There are nuances. Nuances make a baby giggle and bounce. The liquor bottles on the shelf in the kitchen also make her giggle. So do the Japanese postcards in the bathroom. In a few more days, we're going to find out how she likes "Snakes on a Plane." I wonder if it will rate as highly as watching laundry spin?

Posted 10:37 AM by Licketysplit

Hey, wanna buy a monkey?

No? How about a baby?
No? How about a cat shaved up like a baboon?
No? A husband who is psychologically blocked from putting his clothes anywhere but next to the hamper?
No? I got it then. You want my cursed condo. The one that floods and threatens to explode.

The electrician was in to see about the sparks shooting out of the breaker box, and he kept muttering and asking "You sure no one's done any work in here? This isn't right." Oh boyyyyy, Ren. No, it's just as we found it when we moved in. Home surgery, sure, but no home electricianing for me.

Clearly, my housing problems must relate to some personal failing or stolen tiki idol. Track record as follows.

First home: was a trailer.
Second home: unfortunately my parents lived there too.
First apartment: contained a roommate who played Vampire: The Masquerade and had loud nerd sex clearly audible through the wall. Next to train tracks. Total stranger climbed the balcony and came into my room, although I marched him out the front door with the fake gun from my Wild West set from the toy store.
Second apartment: Bathroom ceiling collapsed on the night I moved in. Upstairs neighbor's toilet rained liquid.
Third apartment: Bathroom ceiling also collapsed. Co-dependent relationship ended in complicated appliance custody.
Fourth apartment: landlord barbecued in basement over open flame and caused carbon monoxide poisoning. Landlord also backflushed radiators and neglected to turn off water in the boiler, causing massive jets of steam to shoot out of radiator.
Fifth apartment: mice. And hoochie roommate who enjoyed having all her townie RI friends come to visit so they could screech "OMG I am sooooo wasted" while drinking Coors Light.
Sixth apartment: Living room flooded. Haunted. Upstairs neighbor a piano teacher and casual child abuser. Living room flooded again in new location. Air conditioner exploded twice in two weeks.
First condo: I don't want to talk about. We can't have nice things.

Posted 5:31 PM by Licketysplit