Sugar Daddy: I think it’s cute that you wear Snoopy jammies with impunity.

Madhousewife: Why shouldn’t I wear Snoopy jammies?

SD: You’re almost 40 years old. “When I was a child, I thought as a child…”

Mad: You’re a grown man who goes to work in Donkey Kong shirts. I won’t take this from you.

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Mister Bubby: I’m going to invent a machine that will make you young again. Only eventually you will have to die.

Princess Zurg: But when you’re about to die, you could just use the machine and make yourself young again.

MB: Except it wouldn’t work that way.

PZ: Why not?

Madhousewife: Mister Bubby doesn’t want to play God.

MB: Well, I wouldn’t want to challenge Him. He might set me on fire.

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Sugar Daddy was writing music reviews on the interwebs (I don’t want to explain, just accept), and he decided to write one for Blind Guardian’s new single, but wanted to write it in German (because Blind Guardian are from Germany, for those of you not in the know). Because SD’s German is limited to what he can remember from high school and listening to Falco albums, the review went thusly:

Meine Lieblingsgruppe!

Hansi und seine Freunde sind erstklassig! Sie sind ja toll! Blind Guardian machen John Mayer wie ein Misthaufen aussehen. Sie feuern meine Nieren aus! Rock on BG!

English translation:

My favorite band!

Hansi and his friends are first-rate! They are great! Blind Guardian make John Mayer look like a manure pile. They set my kidneys on fire! Rock on, BG!

If you’re still wondering why I married him, well, I just don’t know what else I can say.

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How many more days until school starts? I have not yet begun to count, which either means that having all four kids home all day isn’t really that bad, or I’m so far out of my mind that I don’t know what the numbers mean anymore. Or Elvis has stolen my calendar again.

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“I can’t learn to ride a bike without killing myself! And I want to live!”
–Princess Zurg, after falling off her bike for the first time

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In other news, Elvis has painted his left-hand fingernails green and his right-hand fingernails red. Then he holds up his hands and says, “Green Go! Red Stop!” I think I’m going to have to buy some amber nail polish so he can kick up his feet and say, “Yellow Caution!”

He’s making his peace with the flashing yellow arrow lights, incidentally. Slowly but surely. He’s been watching YouTube videos and learning more about them. Education is the key, brothers and sisters. I want you to know that.

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I’m not making any headway on my list of Books I Must Read in 2010. I picked up Smilla’s Sense of Snow again the other day, and I plodded through a few pages, but I’m still just not feeling it. I’m on page 98. The thought of reading further makes me tired. I’m also reading Mao: The Unknown Story, which is not on my list of Books I Must Read in 2010, but in that book I’m on page 302. I’m having no difficulty whatsoever getting through it, although it will take me some time because it’s about 1,000 pages long. What does it mean when I would rather read a 1,000-page biography of a Chinese Communist dictator–complete with a bunch of names I can’t pronounce, and you know how much I hate that–than “a superbly constructed thriller…a combination of suspense narrative, Hemingwayesque prose, exotic setting and spellbinding central female” (People). Yeah, I know, it looked great when I paid $4 for it at the Goodwill. Where have I gone astray?

I don’t like to give up on books, unless they’re just lame. If I start a book that’s supposed to be good, I like to finish it, even if I’m not enjoying it for the first…100 pages. Sometimes a book doesn’t get good until page 200 or so. That’s the thing, you never know. When I read Portrait of a Lady, I didn’t really start enjoying it until about page 400. Then it got really good. Then I hit page 600 or so and the thrill was mostly gone. I finished it, though. I like Henry James, generally, so I felt obligated to eat the whole thing, as it were. It didn’t give me indigestion, but on the other hand, there was a strong sense of “So that’s Portrait of a Lady, then. Hm.” I don’t regret reading books; at least I can’t think of any I regret reading. But I’m not getting any younger, and there are lots of books I need to finish reading before I can morally justify buying more.

If any of you has read Smilla’s Sense of Snow, I need you either to encourage me to keep going or give me permission to stop. I will trust your judgment. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?

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The other day I was playing dollhouse with Girlfriend, and the kitty got sick. Girlfriend, incidentally, can make fake kitty vomit noises with the best of them. But I digress. I was playing the Mommy doll, and Girlfriend–who is very particular about her play scenarios–instructed me to please open the front door for the giraffe. (I was not playing this giraffe. Girlfriend doesn’t have a lot of awareness about my blog, or my past.) So I/Mommy doll opened the front door. “Why, hello, Mr. Giraffe!” I said.

“No!” said Girlfriend. “DOCTOR Giraffe!”

“Oh, excuse me, Doctor Giraffe. Please come in.”

So Dr. Giraffe came in and cured the kitty. Within seconds. True story.

Sometimes I regret dropping out of grad school, but not often.

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