My child told my husband a bedtime story today about how our house was full of boxes and boxes of clowns, and Mr. Clown is the best at jiujitsu, except he's wearing a turtle suit. Now we're not sure if he's really a creepy, demonic clown or just a turtle with a funny name. And i'm scared to look in spare boxes.
Where on earth do they get this stuff?
My 7-month-old son pulled himself up to stand today on his Jungle Party Manifest Destiny. Then he shrieked maniacally, turned on one fat little foot, and tried to walk across the room. He almost ate bookshelf, but I was luckily sitting right there, jaw dropped in amazement, to catch him as he fell. Because 7-monthers don't know how to catch themselves when they fall. Or eat Cheerios. Or play Parcheesi. He's a jerk.
We're engrossed in Season 7 of Family Guy right now, which seems tightened up from the last season and is actually making me cackle again. Sadly, i've got "The Fart Song" stuck in my head. That's what we get for putting the DVD on Play All before falling asleep. There's a lovely homage to the fax machine death scene in Office Space in which Brian and Stewie put the royal beat-down on a record of "The Bird is the Word".
And now that's in my head.
Sorry that my posts aren't as contrived as usual, folks. Most of my creative energy is being channeled into Dr. Krog's Super Secret Project of Doom, so by the time I get t.rex to sleep and floss the spinach out of my teeth, all I have left for you are anectdotes, toddler quotes, and weird stories about nearly drinking dead baby mice.
But I'd be more than happy to tell you the story about how I got thrown out of Belgium. Or maybe you'd like to hear about how I ended up covered in ketchup and crying at my first spin-the-bottle party?
Or what about the time I was behind pro wrestler Goldberg at the mall?
Well, that's the story, really. It was on the escalator. His neck was as big around as my waist.
Anybody got any questions or requests?