All posts by Licketysplit

This year, I am thankful that Pharrell gave us something to bump to

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Pharrell is like the Great Pumpkin, I think.

Secret confession: I am the lady driving around in the Saab wagon with the duct-taped in windshield with the hip hop station blasting. A baby likes it better than all other forms of musical entertainment.

Now, I have an ethical dilemma. Ethicist, a baby went on the Google and found the very embarassing personal ad of the head troll from the condo association Yahoo! group. This troll recently lobbied for the installation of stockades in the lobby for the person who left trash next to the trash chute. This troll makes statements like “Didn’t this yahoo learn anything in kindergarten?”

How did a baby know this person was single? A wretchedly abrasive personality is never a non-starter when it comes to coupling. A baby has a lot to learn. There is some awful person out there for everyone, and the Internet is a uniter, not a divider.

But here’s the problem: a baby thinks I should print out the ad and plaster it liberally about the lobby. I think this is a good idea, but perhaps not environmentally sound. I think I should make a gmail address and email a PDF around instead. You see how we are at odds. A baby offered the compromise that we should do the printing on recycled paper, with vegetable-based inks, and only put the flyers on car windshields in the parking lot instead of all over the lobby. WWYD?

Leaves fined by condo board for falling in parking lot

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Today, the Yahoo! group brain trust proposed that my building should become a gated community because people who don’t live here sometimes turn around in the parking lot. I worry about many frivolous things, but so far, I had managed to skip that one. Someone else’s tires may be touching pavement that my tires will need to touch! I am going to write back and suggest that we erect an ornate gate house and staff it with folks dressed like Raffles Hotel employees. I also want to be addressed as memsahib each time I come back from grocery shopping. Then they must ferry me over the alligator-and-stingray-filled moat on a raft of platinum.

To train up a child

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Earlier a baby stopped draining my life force and whipped her head around to face the speakers when “Every Day is Like Sunday” came on the shuffle. Then she demanded to sit up and bounce. How many zillion hours of Morrissey did I expose her to in utero? That was probably more dangerous than all the wine*.

Now we have to go outside before we accidentally weep to death!

*It’s a joke. Joke. Close the email window. Step away from the computer. I mean “all the wine” is a joke. Well, an exaggeration. I certainly did drink a spot of wine here and there. Like they do in freaking Europe, after all the important organs are baked. But certainly more Morrissey was absorbed than alcohol. Certainly.

Fucktoberfest

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My October surprise? Something in the living room smells funny, and I can’t find the source. Dead animal? Spot of vomit? We may never know.

In other surprises, a baby has learned to drink out of a sippy cup*. She will attain four months of age on Monday. Now she reaches for my cup while sitting in my lap. Does this mean I have to stop drinking? What next, no more blowing lines off the unbreakable mirror in her play gym?

This whole post was just so I could use the subject line. It came to me on my ten millionth walk with a baby today. Yes, really, ten millionth. Balloons did not drop out of the sky, and I did not get a year’s worth of free groceries. I almost got run over by a Puerto Rican kid on a mini bike. Yes, he was Puerto Rican. I’m not just being an assumption racist. The giant flag on his shirt tipped me off. It was sort of like getting mowed down by Ralph the mouse, proportion-wise. Anyway, so I walked for the ten millionth time. Then I gave up on walking and stood by the railing at the edge of the river and bounced up and down so a baby would stay asleep in the wrap. Bounce bounce bounce.

*She gets mommy milk in her cup, not Dr. Pepper, so shut it, would-be drive-by-ers. No Dr. Pepper until five months.

Mommy drinks because you cry

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Today a baby went out of the house dressed like an Olsen twin yet again. Perhaps we will get better at matching when someone stops soiling various parts of her outfit so frequently. Until then, we remain “boho.” Or around the house, “naked and easily hosed down.”

In another two years, I expect to be able to discuss things that do not relate to a baby. That’s not totally true. If you’d like to discuss consolidating student loans or car insurance discounts, I’m your huckleberry. Would you like to talk about how my wretched, wretched condo won’t sell for what I paid for it? Also, I had a dream that I bought a bunch of bananas housing a tarantula.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, a baby is teething, so I have to put some whiskey on my gums.

Condo meeting attended; area jerk spotted

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Mr. H went to the meeting while I stayed home to ply a baby with strong drink, ed and when he returned, cialis I asked after the lady who picks fights on the email list and then declares that the list is not a good forum for discussion when people disagree with her.

“Did you figure out who that cooze is?”

“Yes!”

“What does she look like?”

“A cooze.”

Well, I figured!

In Frisco Bay there lived a whale, she ate porkchops by the pail

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A baby just survived two days of being awakened at untimely points by her grandmother. Her grandmother agrees that a baby is “high needs,” which I could have fucking told you. Each day is like juggling several rabid badgers and running chainsaws, although a baby allowed us to eat dinner the other night because she was too busy stuffing her feet in her face. My mother elaborated so much as to use the term “handful.” And this is coming from a person who never met an inconvenient, convoluted process that she didn’t like.

To wit: on her last baby-poking expedition, Mr. H sent my mother to the grocery store with a detailed map. She returned with bags of groceries. Mission accomplished. On this expedition, I offered to draw her a map to the store, but she said she remembered where it was. My instinct said “no, not so much,” but I let her go anyway. Three hours later, I was thinking about calling the police. Turns out she went to the wrong store last time. Over the state line, in New Hampshire. So in the process of attempting to mis-follow the original directions, she missed New Hampshire. Some people gave her directions, and she ended up at the store in the next town. An employee at that store then gave her directions to the store I had initially suggested. Then she went to that store. So three hours for two real and one imaginary stores isn’t so bad. I guess.

What happens when you Google failure?

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Content Challenge, I hardly knew ye.

Today is the fourth time I’ve turned twenty-five. It was OK. I had a burrito! But then I noticed the otherwise fine establishment spelled it “Talapia.” Did you mean tilapia? Google says I am right, and that’s what you meant. I knew I was right. Duh. On principle, I should stop ordering the “Talapia,” but it is so darn tasty. This is like the time I had to stop eating at the restaurant with the inconsistent apostrophe, except I’m still going to eat the burrito sometimes. I have a whole card to fill up before I get a free one.

Today was probably the least celebrated and eventful birthday I’ve ever had, but what are you gonna do? If you’re a baby, you get THISCLOSE to rolling over, and you make a cute face. You are also good at the post office. You clearly test well with the latin market since that guy said “Que linda!” to you.

Watching you watching me

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Oh hi, Content Challenge! Hi! You look so pretty! Is that your prettiest outfit? I think it is. Let’s have an adventure, shall we?

I mentioned I’d gone back to a therapist after a baby was born, but that’s not the full story. I went all of four times. The first two times, I wept uncontrollably for fifty minutes. The next two times, she was able to get a word in edgewise now and then. I received such helpful advice as “make time for you” and “schedule a date night.” What, is she going to come to my house and put her doctorate to use babysitting while I take a relaxing Me Time bath? It’s hard enough to arrange baby wrangling to go to therapy, for fuck’s sake. Each hour I spend away from a baby is an hour when a baby may accidentally learn a Massachusetts accent.

And lately I’ve been trying to decide if I’m nuts or not, but I can’t go back to that therapist. The reason why probably answers the nuts question once and for all. I can’t go back because she drinks twenty ounce full-calorie sodas. At 10 a.m., not even in conjunction with a meal. And there are more empties on her desk. I hate seeing people eat or drink things. And soda! A slurry of corn syrup! Don’t people with degrees know there are calories in soda? You could have a croissant or something actually delicious instead! Like maybe some Emergency Chocolate.

With all the time I save not going to therapy, I’m able to learn new ways to tie a baby to my body. Tomorrow we will try this at the post office.

Next stop: the bottom

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Ah, it’s that special time of the day when a baby slumbers. She slumbers her ass off while draped in my lap. Anything else yields an unpleasant talk about Feelings. I am working on developing the power of my mind to mix myself a drink and float it on over here. No luck yet.

We went to the library and signed up to get free stuff. I completely forgot about the existence of libraries. The barrier to entry is low: show up and say “I want a library card.” The librarian explained the policies very seriously. You can take out an unlimited number of items, except for DVDs and puppets. You may only borrow two puppets at a time. She underlined this part on the quarter sheet of pink copy paper devoted to policies. Puppets?

Puppets?

That made me want three puppets, of course.