This is Ridiculous

I have no excuse. I am a five-year old with ADHD. I have been sitting at the computer (or running from it) all day and I still have five pages left. Which, admittedly, isn't much, but gosh. I'm so ready to be done. I'm willing to do anything else, but write. Except maybe have a plane crash into my house, but you get my point.

I have: stared at my expanding belly, which now covers the top of my shorts, so I can't see my waistband anymore... I know... you just looked down to see if you could see your waistband. That's what makes us friends.

I have: eaten everything in my kitchen that I don't hate. Which isn't much, so I've gorged myself on what I do like. Also, I ate some fruit today, so don't judge. I'm feeding Baby Boy, who needs lots of food. Seriously. He's gonna be huge and healthy and therefore come weeks early. That's my plan.

I have: consumed mass quantities of water and gotten very excited when I have to use the bathroom, because it's a legitimate excuse to get up, for which the angel on my shoulder cannot get angry with me. She has to pee, too.


All of this and God thought it a good idea to give me a little boy (all little boys come with preexisting ADD).

This is ridiculous.

Three Random and Unrelated Facts

1) The more water I drink, the more often I'm thirsty. So much for thirst being a sign of dehydration.

2) I am a writing machine. As of today, I will have completed and turned in one ten and two fifteen-page papers. All written in about the span of a week, since I had all semester to do them. That makes sense.

3) A homeless man once told Jon he laughed like a 500-pound gorilla. Jon bought him a hamburger.

We Are Having a Man Child

Our Current Family... Jon, me and our first child (he's adopted).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E66HOca7Auk
Our second child (he's normal).

I'm Supposed to Be Writing a Paper

But my paper is on boring things and it just occurred to be that the worst job in the world must be being a colorectal surgeon. You spend all day staring up butts, analyzing butts and writing up reports on...anuses. In addition to the gross factor (which otherwise could be rivaled by veterinarians), there is significant awkwardness that is attached to that activity. "Oh my, do you have a bad case of hemorrhoids, Mr Jones... could you just hold still a moment longer?"

I imagine that in med school, they have a lottery system and the smart kids get something like dermatology and as the list goes on and get less good, "pediatrics... gerontology... orthopedics..." nerves begin to cause sweating until finally, "And the last three, Bob, Joe and Jim get colorectal surgery." Cursing ensues.

I can just see it. That's why I didn't go to med school. I'm not smart enough for dermatology or brain surgery and I'd end up plugging my nose all day.

Back to my paper... for a degree I'll probably never use. But at least I didn't go to med school.

Point Loma With a View

The Mother-in-Law was recently in town. We had loads of fun, but got hardly any pictures. These are at the public launch at Point Loma:


The In-laws bought us this while they were here. We are so blessed. Our child is already so spoiled.

No Title Comes to Mind

Our neighbors' dog decided to take up howling this morning. For no apparent reason, he has a bout of howls every 5-10 minutes. Mournful ones, as if someone has kicked him and stolen his mother. Henry sits at the back door, looking into the yard with his ears up. I don't know what he's thinking, but he doesn't bark or yowl back. For this I am grateful.

The other thing for which I am grateful is the above. Fresh tomatoes, fresh basil from our pot garden, olive oil, cheese and a little bit of salt. Broiled for a bit and then eaten while they're all drippy and delicious. And the ones below have herbed goat cheese, which is cheap-ish at the commissary. I treat myself well.

Compliments of My Mom

Everyone is in a hurry to scream 'racism' these days!

'In what aisle could I find the Polish sausage?'

The clerk looks at him and says, 'Are you Polish?'

The guy (clearly offended) says, 'Well, yes I am.
But let me ask you something.
If I had asked for Italian sausage,
would you ask me if I was Italian?

Or if I had asked for German Bratwurst, would you ask me if I was
German?

Or if I asked for a kosher hot dog.
would you ask me if I was Jewish?
Or if I had asked for a Taco,
would you ask if I was Mexican?

If I asked for some Irish whiskey,
would you ask if I was Irish?'

The clerk says, 'Well, no, I probably wouldn't!'

With deep self-righteous indignation, the guy says,
'Well then, why did you ask me if I'm Polish,
because I asked for Polish sausage?'

The clerk replied, 'Because you're in Home Depot.'