“You. Lady whose name I don’t know. Get back here. I. Don’t. Care. For frog pellets. Pellets? What are they, dog food? Do I look like a dog in need of kibbles? BLOOD WORMS. Blood worms are what I like. Pour them over my head and I’ll gobble them up. You leaving? You coming back? With the BLOOD WORMS? Aiii.”

(kicks legs, swims away angrily.)

This just in from the wire (aka, my sister sent it to me in an e-mail):

“A Missouri woman says she has found Jesus in a bag of Cheetos. When Kelly Ramey opened a snack-sized bag of Cheetos, she felt something unusual and checked it out.

Most of her family and friends believe it looks like a mini orange sculpture of Jesus on the cross. Ramey and her husband call it ‘Cheesus.’ Others see something completely different.

A local minister does not see anything theologically special about the Cheeto, but thinks some good could come from it.

Ramey doesn’t plan to sell the Cheeto because it’s bringing a lot of joy into her home. She will keep it in a safe deposit box or put it on display so more people can enjoy it.”

And as if that wasn’t enough, my best girlfriend sends this along. Meow!!!!

and that’s about all you’re going to hear from me about work. (fingers crossed.)

wm

Naw, it’s not really raining over here, just figuratively. I have a throwing-up kid, dear little Wacky Boy. Fever? Yes. Fever? No. Throwing up still? Yes. Then no. Then we’re better. Then we’re not.

Gotta blame it on something. And… Wacky Mommy out.

Edited to say:

“Why can’t I go to someone’s house? I’m not throwing up at the moment.”

That is classic 6-year-old logic for you.

Also:

“Shark Week isn’t on? Why do they call it ‘Shark Week’ if it doesn’t start ’til seven tonight? Huh?”

Discovery Channel, don’t mess with us.

Edited at 2 o’clock to say: Argh. He locked me out of the house!!!! I ran across the street to say hey to our old friend, who’s working in the neighborhood this week. Then came back to a locked front door. Outwitted!

me: Little pig, little pig, let me come in! (My friend is across the street, busting up. I’m thinking — aiiiiiiiiiiii…)
Wacky Boy: NO! (finally relents, unlocks lock. and pulls stool over to unlock deadbolt. Nice!)
me: Don’t lock me out again.
Wacky Boy, dismissively: Well. It’s your own fault for not taking your keys. (Next breath…) It is not FAIR that my sister gets to play at a friend’s house and I don’t. I’m not even SICK anymore.
me: (deep breath.)

I’ve been hearing way too much lately with the warm weather and all our windows open. For example, this, last night, about twenty times in a row:

Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you, Jesus.

Or…

Kid: You’re mean.
Her dad: Why?
Kid: JUST BECAUSE!!!

And then there are Drunk Guys, Figuring Out Their Problems:
1st Guy: Then she just goes and disappears on me! For a whole day!
2nd Guy: Huh.
1st Guy: And she’s all, turning up pregnant and shit. And I’m all, I’m out of here.
2nd Guy: So what you are doing here is setting the record straight.
1st Guy: Right! Cuz I don’t even know if it’s my kid!
2nd Guy: Uh-huh.

Dang, I thought I had problems! I’m good, thanks.

wm

My son tells me he wants to breed guppies. In fact, Grandma broke out all of Grandpa’s old fish-raising and -keeping gear and there was a breeder box in there! Who knew such a thing existed! It’s a clear plastic cube, with two compartments.

“You clip this onto the side, see? You put the mom and the dad in there,” (may I interrupt, please, to say that I have no idea if ours are indeed male/female? One of the guppies does look a little preggers, though) “they have the eggs, they fall through the bottom, see?” (He shows me the slats.) “Then the dad fertilizes them and you have babies! We’ll need another tank.”

Steve: “What do they do to get in the mood? Drink a little wine? Play some Barry White? I’ve been thinking of you all day, baby…“

Enough with the five-gallon tanks. Bah! Ten gallons or 20 gallons or nothing! Yeah. (Secretly I want a 55-gallon tank for living room.) (Or 100 gallons.) We set up another little five-gallon tank. Vixen has a 150-gallon salt water tank. (Cute pix right here.) I am dying of envy over here. I do not know that I am Woman Enough for 150-gallon tank. Also, we have no space. I don’t want them in our cold, drafty, unfinished basement, I want them where I can see them fifty times a day. Aquariums really are soothing (says the stress case who is finally relaxing. Thanks, little fish!).

Hmm. Maybe the kids could share a room? I digress. We got a new snail for the one tank (the other one starved to death. Bad on us. They are vegetarians and enjoy lettuce, cuke slices, and the occasional green bean. Our tank was too clean for him. We loved you, Scarfy.) New tiny tank is now home to two somewhat psychotic guppies, a big snail in a yellow shell and the cutest little wee dwarf frog you ever saw in your life.

“They are one hundred percent underwater!” my son told his dad. (After his dad said, “A frog?”)

He’s got the funniest damn personality. The frog. (But Steve does, too. Heh heh heh.) One of the guppies dive-bombed him, to grab a frog pellet (good luck getting food, frog — I’ll keep trying). He kicked the guppy right in the head with his bitsy-witsy little frog leggie. I don’t think I can adequately describe how teeny he is. Look at your thumbnail. About that big.

Oh. My God. He is allegedly full-grown. All I can think of is that crazy frog from the cartoons because for real — that’s who he reminds me of. Exactly.

“Hello my baby, hello my honey…” Michigan J. Frog!

I found a couple new ones — here is…

Radio Gretchen and…

Caffeinated Librarian (plus “vintage” Caffeinated Librarian)

Woot!

“So difficult it is to show the various meanings and imperfections of words when we have nothing else but words to do it with.”

— John Locke, philosopher (1632-1704)

And now, a note from my old roommate, who doesn’t have time for tools. I had e-ed her, hoping to catch up. (more…)

Dear Internets,

I’m a little excited about starting my new job. I’ve been collecting books, recipes and ideas for a few months now, and it’s paying off. (more…)