Tag Archives: baby einstein

No picture, for I am pressed for time

Last night I had to wrangle a baby of my acquaintance because his mum had the pukes, which he thoughtfully gave to her. He’s all better, don’t worry. We made a pizza, and we had a nasty disagreement over how much oregano to use. Then he was still steamed about that, so I agreed to make him an Americano*. Once I finished, he was all “But I wanted that iced,” and I was all “Things that could have been brought to my attention YESTERDAY.”

But we patched it up with some active listening, and then he took his first steps! He doesn’t even reach 10 months for another few days. They were pretty half-assed steps, but they totally counted, and then he did them again. The secret to teaching a baby to walk is to dangle a Chinese menu just out of his reach.

He finally passed out in my lap after about 6 Baby Einstein DVDs. Those movies rule! They made me want to smoke so much oregano. I have to get him from daycare later. I think we will make homemade ice cream and sharpen all the knives in the knife block.

I hope I don’t catch the pukes. Also, I am out of oregano. No good can come of this.

*I did not really make coffee for a 10-month-old. We just ate frosting out of a tub from Costco, duh.

I want hot noodles!

I really hope the Hellboy movie is fun. It’s got Nazis! And, um, Selma Blair. Odd.


Spalding Gray, ya bastard. Drowning has never been on my list personally. But I can understand the why. Sorry to hear it. It is hard to reach out from the midst of a black cloud. How do you call someone up and say “It hurts so bad, but I have no good reason. I don’t think I can do it anymore.” Either that person will feel put upon to be burdened thusly, or they will ignore it because it’s uncomfortable, and babble about the shoes they bought on sale. People frequently self-flagellate in the aftermath of a suicide, wondering why the person didn’t just call them up to talk. Sometimes death is preferable to saying another word. It’s not you, it’s them, like any breakup. Or is it? Ugh.


The baby shower. I saved the most horrifying thing for last! At one point some of the guests started to fight about who had the best mini van. Someone shut them down by saying “Well, mine rides like a Cadillac.” How can you top that, I dare you.

Then someone asked me what kind of cheese was in the goat cheese, raspberry, and pecan salad. So I told her, and she bellowed into the other room, “SEE, DAWN! I TOLD YOU it was FETA CHEESE!”

The low-carb dieters munched on meat and mayonnaise roll-ups. Many sports-themed outfits were received. And the “gift basket” was in full effect…instead of purchasing something actually useful, the individual fills a laundry basket with random crap from the dollar store. Oh look, novelty giant diaper pins. Frequently the cost will amount to that of one larger, useful item, but some feel quantity makes a better showing.

The worst part was that the whole event was a tacky extravaganza, from the plastic Farmer Baby favor bags to the overly be-ribboned floral arrangements. Yet everyone loved it, and complimented me on my good taste, saying how it “really shone through.” I am a mean, nasty person, because that only made me feel worse. When it’s my turn to be knocked up, I’m going to “elope” for the duration. I’ll just show up one day, bundle in tow. “Oh, this? Yeah, I found it. Someone left it on my car next to a gym flyer.”