• It’s been ten days. I’ve earned the opportunity to phone it in a bit.
  • While writing at the coffeehouse today I consumed 48 ounces of black coffee and three shots of espresso. I’ve learned that coffee hangovers rivals once created by alcohol.
  • Speaking of alcohol, I shouldn’t have found this humorous, but I did. In my post-coffee stupor tonight I’ve been watching a slew of music shows on Biography. I got this little nugget of advice courtesy of Duff McKagen, formerly of Guns n’ Roses: when you drink until your pancreas explodes, it’s time to quit the band. I’ll keep that in mind, Duff!
  • The conversations with my child keep getting more and more bizarre. Just when we thought the imaginary frog hat was the apex, we had a conversation about her butt, which ended with her request that I smell the inside of her butt. NO! Can I ground her for that? Or send her straight to therapy? What about therapy for me? I need some now.
  • Parenting ain’t for pussies.
  • Who wants ice cream?
  • On these commercials for Lap-Band, I don’t understand why one of the fat girls says that she’d fly to Seattle to visit her sister if she lost some weight. I’ve been on airplanes, and I know for a fact that they allow fat people. They even let us ride up top with the skinny people and not in the cargo hold. Maybe she thinks that if she loses enough weight, she will be able to become airborne sans plane. I don’t think it works like that.
  • Another thing I just learned on Biography, this time from John Mellencamp’s wife: after having a heart attack, John couldn’t understand why. He was healthy and fit. Oh, there were the 23 packs of smokes a day but still. Why not the unhealthy-looking guy eating the French fries?
  • Rock stars and their model wives? Not always smart. Let that be a lesson to us all.