there is one person who can, from a state of pure bliss, reduce me to tears.

it´s not the person i want it to be.




i don´t know what to do with this kind of information.

other than that, life is idyllic.

United Methodist Women

Today at a church I visited they had posted something on that large white screen up front. You know, the one we've all grown to know and love.

"You are invited to a program on Gang Awareness. The United Methodist Women will have refreshments available at 6:30."

I mean, goodness forbid that just any old women should provide refreshments after a Gang Awareness program! We better leave this one to the pros. If you have ANY concerns about the quality of your food, you can rest assured that it has been lovingly and sanitarily prepared by none other than the United Methodist Women.

I will sleep easy tonight. : )


*Cara, please don't take this as a sign of disrespect toward United Methodists--to the contrary, I thought it was adorable!

A Fart Story 2, and Other Miscellany

First of all, my money is on J.K. Rowling revealing that she will be releasing a book of a new series after the final Harry Potter is released. She's had that book written for what, a year? I doubt she's spent the time just sitting there, twiddling her thumbs and being a mom. Not that a girl does much sitting and twiddling of one's thumbs when one is a mom.

Speaking of being a mom, I dreamed I was pregnant the other night. Something has been happening around town with, oh, I don't know, babies being EVERYWHERE. No joke. And you thought rabbits were prolific. I can barely step out the door without practically plowing some sunflower dress-clad blonde thing down. They dash across the street. Women everywhere are wheeling them in enormous strollers. A dad walks outside of his house with one screaming while Shawn and I are walking by, minding our own baby-free business. And yet I stare at that baby, mid-scream, and remark, "Wow, she is absolutely beautiful," and then proceed to turn into a large pinky pile of mush.

In fact, my second in the trilogy of Fart Stories includes a kid. Let's call her Tiffany. I had just spent however long babysitting Tiffany and her younger brother. Tiffany was maybe 3 at the time. Mind you, whenever put within the general vicinity of a child, I am compelled to play a certain game with them. This game is entitled "Whoopsie Daisy." It involves me standing there, bent over and holding the child's legs while she kind of sits. I'm basically a ginormous human swing, if you get the picture. I proceed to follow my swingish duties, counting and swinging at the same time: "A one-ey and a two-ey and a three-ey and a WHOOOOOOPS-IE DAISY!!" With the WHOOOOOOPS-IE DAISY!! I give the child an extra large arching throw up into the air, during which the child generally shrieks with glee.

Well, Tiffany and I had been playing this game right before her parents arrived back at home. They came in with another couple, and they all proceed to collapse into the L-shaped couch, aka Stadium Seating. Tiffany immediately insists that we show Mommy and Daddy the new game. So I take her in my hands and start to play. I count,

"A one-ey and a two-ey and a three-ey and a PFFFFFFFFFT!!!!WHOOOOOOPS-IE DAISY!!" The room is left in complete silence for one agonizing moment as my face begins to burn, yea, blister due to the shade of red it is turning. Then Tiffany's dad says,

"Tiffany, what do you say?" Tiffany looks around the room confusedly for a moment, and then in the sweetest voice I've ever heard, says,

"'Scuse me."