Anticipation.

I know my Floridian-born-and-raised husband would certainly disagree with me on this, but there are few things that I love the way I love sitting in the house with all the blinds open and all the lights off in the late afternoon of a late November day waiting for it to start snowing outside. I can smell the snow; it's right around the corner and I'm so excited for it.

I won't love it so much when I have to shovel it or drive in it or watch said husband come home and start madly searching for jobs in Florida while he mumbles angrily under (or over, occasionally) his breath about "the enemy from above."

But waiting inside, curled up with a blanket/good book/cup of hot chocolate/two snuggly kittens/the cutest toddler ever?

That's my favorite kind of snow, and I'm kind of psyched for it.



Sorry, hon. If it helps, I promise not to sing any Dean Martin songs encouraging that particular form of precipitation. Or at least not while you're in the room. Or at least not too loudly.

Just what I needed

I was going to write a different post today, but then I came upon these two blog entries from two separate blogs, both written yesterday, and both exactly what I needed to hear today. So I'm going to share them with you instead. Thanks to Casey and Ashley for being in tune.


Coincidence? I think not!

Yes, I may or may not be seven years old.

In my heart of hearts, I still want to be a princess when I grow up.

So this website pretty much made my day.

So if I'm supposed to dress for the job I want, this is what I'll be wearing from here on out:

Admit it. Your inner seven-year-old is thrilled.

Yes, there's that.

In times of trouble, it is a great comfort to me to reflect that, were the need to arise, the Little Guy could, in fact, kill Macbeth.



Take that, Caesar.

A Tale of Four Socks; or, Really Just Two Socks Now.

The Little Guy has roughly two pairs of socks (out of the dozens that he owns) that consistently stay on his feet. As fate would have it, these are also his only two pairs of brown socks. I'm not sure why we don't have more brown socks for him when most of his wardrobe falls into the green and brown category, thus clashing with his multitude of blue socks. But so it goes.

So why is it that on the same day that half of one pair goes missing in the laundry, half of the other pair decides to fall off of his feet for the first time? And why is it that this happens in the middle of a cemetery full of fallen leaves?

Imagine looking for a light brown sock in a pile of light brown, orange and yellow leaves.

Yeah.

Farewell, sock. We hardly knew thee.

Hopefully I'll have better luck with the dark brown laundry sock. Or else infant sockbuying might be in my very near future.



Day 16! We are officially over the halfway point now. Who would like to celebrate this milestone by sending me brown baby socks?

Poor Little Bunny

Thanks to all who have De-Lurked so far. I've enjoyed seeing your comments.

So the Little Guy has had a tummy ache since yesterday as he tries to come to terms with his digestive system. It's nothing serious, but it does mean he needs even more love and attention (poor little guy can't even cry real tears yet), which means less time for blogging.

Which means it's time to shamelessly lift hilarious videos from other blogs!

I laughed at this. Very hard. Because it is TRUE.



As Bridget kindly explained:

(PS - the one line in the clip that's difficult to catch is "you've not heard of LemSip?" which is like TheraFlu. And at the end he asks to watch cbeebies, which is like British Sesame Street.)

(Thanks, Bridget, and I hope your family feels better soon!)

Here's hoping that the Little Guy's tummy ache doesn't turn into a Man Cold. (Do you think it's related to the Cold of the Century?)

Till tomorrow, then!



A 10-day streak! Admit it, you didn't think I'd make it this far. (I know I sure didn't!)

Short and sweet: The Amazon PayPhrase.

Today was rather busier than usual so we're going with the short and sweet post today.

All I really want to say is that Amazon PayPhrase is one of the joys of my life. I have not yet and never will set my Amazon PayPhrase because if I did, it would stop suggesting pay phrases for me. And I get such good ones.

Like today's gem:

"Elliespen's Austere Sofas."

Past favorites include:

"Elliespen's Sketchy Seat"
"Elliespen's Unstoppable Disco"
"Elliespen's Glowing Jewels"
"Elliespen's Unfocused Thoughts"
"Elliespen's Social Fraternity"
"Elliespen's Extreme Retention" (This was either a good omen for bar study or an apt reflection on the size of my pregnancy feet.)

A friend of mine once got "Metallurgical Episodes" and "Racy Writings." Today, Shallow Man got "Gradual Layers," and once it was "Shallow Man's Wild Missions."

Yes, an Amazon PayPhrase suggestion can brighten up a grey day or add extra zest to a happy one. What are some of your favorite past PayPhrases?


Today, mine should be something like "Elliespen's Continued Triumph." Day 6, baby!

Remember, Remember...; or, A Memory.

So . . . Happy Guy Fawkes Day! I actually remembered it before midnight this year. Actually, I remembered it before three in the afternoon, which I think is making great progress.

All together now:

Remember, remember,
The fifth of November
Gunpowder treason and plot;
We see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

Yeah, I have a confession.

I don't really actually care about Guy Fawkes Day. Not like I care about other not-really holidays, like International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

I just like to point it out every year because it reminds me of the first time I heard of Guy Fawkes Day.

Which wasn't on Guy Fawkes Day. At least, I don't think it was. At any rate, it might have been, but if it was, I didn't know it at the time and it was purely coincidental and actually has NOTHING to do with the story I am trying to tell but keep getting sidetracked from telling.

ANYWAY.

Do you remember book orders in elementary school? (YES THIS IS IMPORTANT. I am laying a foundation here, like Prof. Goldsmith would want me to do.)

(We just watched an episode of Psych in which he was in court and NO FOUNDATION was laid for anything whatsoever but the judge for some reason kept allowing stuff. That's what made me think of foundation laying. Sorry. Tangent over.)

I loved book orders. I loved getting those fliers made out of the flimsy newsprint type paper with the pictures and the blurbs and the little red-ribbon labels for the Newberry winners. I loved turning to the last page and reading down the full list of titles and then trying to find each of them in the flier, like a little game of hide and seek.

I also loved filling out the order form (Confession [and apology for yet another tangent]: I like filling out forms. Especially when it's a little stack of forms on top of each other, making it all cushiony when I fill in the blanks with a black ball-point pen. Yeah, I know I'm odd.) and cutting it out and putting it in a little envelope with the money for my order (although I always wished that it didn't ruin the rest of the flier; it was harder to re-read later if some of the entries from the other side of the form were half-cut-out and missing) (see above comment re: I know I'm odd).

Most of all I loved the day that the actual books from book orders came and the parent volunteer in charge of coordinating book orders for that year would come hand out the stacks of books and put them on the desks of their respective order-ers. And then the new book smell coming from the stack, and the anticipation. Which book would I read first? What new words and stories would I discover in these pages? Would I be able to avoid getting any papercuts from this stack of awesome on my desk?

One time I ordered a collection of short stories by Agatha Christie featuring a funny little Belgian detective. The book was called Murder in the Mews, had an oh-so-pretty cream-and-purple-and-dark-green cover with an attractive art deco design with the silhouette in red of a man with a bowler hat and a cane, and was my first introduction to M. Hercule Poirot. (I shortly thereafter made the connection that this detective was also on TV on Masterpiece Mystery. Gotta love PBS.)

I pretty much devoured the book but my favorite story was the titular case. I'm not sure why. I just really liked it. (Maybe it had something to do with the name of one of the key characters: Miss Jane Plenderleith. How could you not fall in love with such a story?)

And this story opened with Hercule Poirot and Inspector Japp walking home one evening and remarking that it would be a great night for a murder because no one would hear the sound of a shot.

Why? Because of all the fireworks going off for Guy Fawkes day.

For your benefit, here is the passage from which I gleaned my knowledge of this day.

"Rank excuse for begging, that's what Guy Fawkes day is!" said Japp.

"An interesting survival," mused Hercule Poirot. "The fireworks go up—crack—crack—long after the man they commemorate and his deed are forgotten."

The Scotland Yard man agreed.

"Don't suppose many of those kids really know who Guy Fawkes was."

"And soon doubtless there will be confusion of thought. Is it in honor or in execration that on the 5th of November the feu d'artifice are sent up? To blow up an English parliament, was it a sin or a noble deed?"

Japp chuckled.

"Some people would say undoubtedly the latter."

So, penny for the guy?

(Yeah, you were worried I wouldn't ever get back to my original point, weren't you? I totally showed you!)

(Also, happy 5th NaBlo post! Which, I think, is a much more exciting event to commemorate.)

An open letter to Miguel Rivas.

Dear Miguel,

To my knowledge, we've never met, although I've come to feel as though I know you.

After all, I've had conversations with so many of your acquaintances. I know many of them are probably just your bill collectors who think I'm lying when I say I don't know you—they must think I'm your overprotective girlfriend or something—but still. I've even had (very confused on my end) text conversations with some of your buddies. (By the way, what WAS so awesome about that one time you and your buddies went to Midvale? I've gotten texts about that one at least four times. "Hey man remember MIDVALE? 4REAL!" If you could fill me in on that, that would be great. I like feeling included. Also, I was unaware that there was anything that exciting going on in Midvale, and my curiosity is piqued.) And the number of Spanish calls telling me that I—sorry, I mean YOU—may already have won $10,000 has really increased my level of cultural awareness and the amount of randomness in my life. So thank you, Miguel, for that.

But Miguel, I am disappointed in you. I know it's hard to hear, but a true friend tells you stuff like that.

Seriously (and I'm just basing this off the number of times she's called and the length of time that I've had this cell phone number), you need to call your grandmother more often. We're talking four years and she still thinks you're at my number.

Shame on you, Miguel. Shame on you.

Now go and call your abuela, stat.

Regards,

Your cell number successor (that would be me)


P.S. Oh, and pay your Comcast bill. They're getting a bit testy.

Holy awesome contest, Batman!

Okay. I don't usually do this but I WANT TO WIN THIS CONTEST SO BADLY IT HURTS. So go check out this amazing contest from The Undercover Book Lover for ARCs of five really awesome upcoming books. And gum. There is also gum involved. Really, how can you lose? (Other than by, you know, not winning.) So go check it out. (But don't enter, because that might diminish my chances of winning. You know, statistically speaking.)

Annnnd... back to bar study.

Remember, remember; or, Not.

Well, Guy Fawkes, I have failed you.

My memory + Guy Fawkes = EPIC FAIL.

What with Stump the Professor and two funerals and the midterm for my class and studying for the MPRE, and let's not under any circumstances forget Ratchet and Clank or SYTYCD and OH my old nemesis is back, I forgot Guy Fawkes Day.

So yeah, that whole

Remember, remember the fifth of November

thing? Totally not what I did.

See?

Epic. Fail.

Well, I guess there's always next year. . . .


At least my forgetfulness was not the result of getting a manicure. (Name that reference for 27 points!)

If you wish to show your sympathy and solidarity, feel free to leave a belated penny for the Guy.

How To

It's no big secret that there are no Little Nibs or Shallow Jrs running about the house here, nor is it much of a secret that we have been wishing this was different for some time now.

But I think I've found something that might help:

How to Make a Baby from Cassidy Curtis on Vimeo.

Ah. Well, now I see where we've been going wrong.* Problem solved! We'll be in Sunday School in no time!


*Boy, were we WAY off on that one!

Salmon Carrot Cake; or, Good Grief, I Love Parentheses!

So back when I was an English undergrad, I had to take a course entitled "Introduction to the English Language." I called it my crazy language class. The professor (whose name, and I am not making this up, was David Bowie) opened the class by saying that he was a Linguistics professor and that he didn't know why English majors had to take this course as a requirement, but that the powers that be didn't really know where else to put the class.

I spent a fair amount of the class keeping a detailed record of the random things this professor would say, along with the three other people who sat in the back right-hand corner of the class. One of my favorite moments (besides the time when he stopped, mid-class, to tell us "Where I grew up, hurricanes were the natural disaster of choice, so earthquakes just freak me out") was when he was talking about how the mind processes things we think we hear but that just don't make sense. The example he used was from his youth in the South (yayy for sight rhymes!) and a group of ladies (in my mind I picture a Sewing Circle like in Anne of Green Gables) were discussing what goodies and delectables to bring to the Big Function. (Probably a bazaar. Which, when I was little, I always thought people were saying "bizarre." This could explain some of my dislike of shopping.)

BUT ANYWAY. One lady said, according to my professor, "Salmon carrot cake sounds nice." (His response: "And it DOESN'T sound nice.") Everyone did a bit of a spit-take until they remembered that they were in the South, where people insist on speaking in such a way as makes misunderstandings mandatory (think: that moment in Gettysburg where Johnny Reb explains that the Confederacy is fighting for their rats), and realized that what she was really saying was "Cinnamon Carrot Cake" (which does sound nice), but her crazy accent had produced gobbledegook which everyone's brains had translated as "Salmon Carrot Cake."

Mmmmm… imagined malapropisms…. yum.

Well, I told you that story so I could tell you this one.

There's a moment in the Disney version of Peter Pan where this crazy pirate (I think he's wearing a pink shirt, but I may be wrong on this) is sitting up in the riggings with a (very fake-looking) accordion (seriously, it has no buttons!) and singing. (Yodeling, almost.) And Captain Hook loses patience with the long, drawn-out caterwauling and shoots him (whereupon you hear the sound of a falling fake accordion and a splash). And cute Mr. Smee tsks at him and says, "Oh, Cap'n. Shooting a man in the middle of his cadenza? 't ain't good form, you know!"

Yeah, I like that part.

But it wasn't until I was older that I actually realized that the word was "cadenza." As in, an improvised or written-out ornamental passage played or sung by a soloist or soloists, usually in a "free" rhythmic style, and often allowing for virtuosic display. (Thanks, Wikipedia!)

No, what I had heard as a child and for a rather ridiculously long time afterward was "credenza." As in, one of these:




It gives the line a whole new meaning, doesn't it?


Okay, everyone, all together now:

Mmmmm… imagined malapropisms…. yum!

I believe you have my stapler.

So does anyone remember that small scene in the movie Office Space (which I've only seen edited on TV, but really, who hasn't wanted to take the recalcitrant printer or other bit of office equipment out to the back field and whack it with a baseball bat?) where you hear this squeaking noise going up and down repeatedly and then the camera pans over to the next cubicle where the girl answers the phone and it's her voice pitch changing as she says "Hello" and "Please hold" that was making the noise the whole time?

Yeah, me neither.*

But I'm sitting at my carrel here at the law school at 5:36 p.m. when most people are gone so the few people who are left feel safe talking a bit louder than they otherwise would, and the tone of their talking is having the same effect where it sounds like some sort of cricket or small baby bird has made its way into the law library and is chirping whenever someone says a word containing the letter "s" anywhere in it.

Which of course, leaves me torn between the desire to save that poor baby bird and the urge to find that bug and kill it (or at the very least make it leave the building).

Which I guess is the long way of saying that the reading for tomorrow's class has failed to catch my interest.


*Actually, I totally remember this part. I just couldn't find a clip online quickly and didn't feel like making a protracted search effort. If one of all y'alls finds it, though, please feel free to share it with the class.

Tell me you've never wanted to do this.

Go ahead. Tell me.

Disappointingly misleading.

I just received an email entitled "Information from CTU."

Imagine my chagrin when it turned out to be from Colorado Technical University.

Maybe next time, Jack.

It's raining!

So even though I know that I won't be as excited when I have to drive on the resulting icy roads tomorrow morning, I just have to say that I love the fact that I have been able to listen to rain all night long.

Awkward transition phase.

What's with the phony accent? Nobody talks like that!

So I just saw a movie trailer on TV for Revolutionary Road, and the voice-over announcer guy pronounced it "RevolutioNAHRy."

I guess they're still in the awkward transition phase of trying to find a go-to announcer guy after Don LaFontaine's death. Which is going to be hard, and I'll try to cut them some slack. (After all, it's got to be hard to find a replacement for a guy who, in Shallow Man's words, "sounds manly enough to have been a character in The Godfather.")

But seriously. RevolutioNAHRy?

I hope they find a satisfactory replacement soon and this guy's just some sort of temp.

Oh, and 15 points to whoever can correctly identify the opening quote.

Aren't you glad you know someone so awesome?

They wanted to use my real name but I insisted on maintaining my anonymity. I think it adds to my mystique.

Now, if you can still manage to sing that song, I'll be impressed.


In other news, I am now officially halfway done with law school. Wahoo!

And once I figured out how to spell...

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