September 30, 2011

-image-okay, this does amuse me


September 29, 2011

-image-just to be clear

If you’ve written me requesting the password, please know this:

It ain’t just one post.

Oh no.

I wish it were, but it ain’t. It’s more like 30 to 40 posts. There’s just no way in heaven or hell to tell the whole ridiculous saga in one post. So please know in advance that this will be a time-consuming, enervating, frustrating experience for you. Although, if it makes you feel any better, probably less so for you than it’s been for me.

But I’m dead serious here: Think it through first. Decide if you want to make that kind of investment in a stupid story with an ultimately unsatisfying ending.

Way to sell it, Trace.

(There’s a query letter for you: “XYZ is a stupid story with an ultimately unsatisfying ending.”)

I’m telling you, though. You’ll agree with that assessment when all is said and done.

(Also, I’ll be sending out the password as I get closer to posting the first post. If you haven’t gotten it yet, that’s why.)

September 27, 2011

-image-random snippets

I have nothing to be upset about and that makes me upset.


Heaven is gonna have to be mindblowing and it’s not gonna be about “really good pizza,” all right?

(Woman sitting several feet away from us in the diner reeks of smoke. We are engulfed.)

ME: Good Lord. She’s like the Pig Pen of smoking.


Okay. Getting back to your earlier stupid statement ……


HE: My coffee reflection makes me look really old.
ME: What?
HE: When I look into my coffee cup and see my reflection in the coffee, I look really old.
ME: You mean, IN the coffee itself?
HE: Yes.
ME: Are you serious?
HE: Yes.
ME: That’s insane. You actually look at your reflection IN your coffee?
HE: Yes.
ME: Nuts. I had no idea.
HE: It’s true. I look terrible.
ME: Okay. This conversation is totally backwards. That sounds like the kind of crap I’m usually spewing.
HE: Well, there you have it.


ME: You know, if it’s any consolation, no one’s looking at you through coffee goggles, okay?


September 26, 2011

-image-oh, also

Just to complicate things, because I like to do whatever I can to complicate your lives, the password for the church posts will be different from any password you’ve had in the past for this blog.

I don’t know why.

September 23, 2011

-image-the negotiator wants peas


BANSHEE BOY: So. Tee Tee. Here you are ageen. Vill you never let me hef peas?
ME: Peas? Sure, you can have peas. I mean, I have carrots for you here but you want peas?
BB: No! Not peas. Peas. Peeeeas. Peas of mind.
ME: Ohh, peas of mind.
BB: Yes! Dis is vhat I say! Peas of mind!
ME: Well, I dunno, Banshee Boy. You’re 7 months old. Your life seems pretty peaceful to me. You think painful gas is the height of suffering.
BB: You no understand me at all. I veddy disappointed.
ME: I’m sorry to hear that.
BB: Please to geef me peas to suck on mushed apples in dis cone tingy you geef me. Dat is all I vant.
ME: Sure.
BB: You no need to stare at me.
ME: Uhm, sure. Sorry.
BB: Tank you. You move along now, Tee Tee.

September 20, 2011

-image-tale to tell

Oh, dear pippa. Do I have a tale to tell. I’ve waited a long long time to tell it.

The end of the whole sordid story of what happened at Maybe Church.

Remember that? I left everyone hanging once the “lookers” and “lurkers” from Maybe Church arrived. Well, stay tuned. I have much to tell. Much I haven’t told. Much I’ve debated whether I ever would tell on this blog.

But I’ve decided I will. It’s all written already. It was all written long long ago.

So. Get ready. I’ll finally share everything with the people I always wanted to share it with anyway: the people who were there with me from the beginning of the whole lame-ass deal.

There will be a sort of “introductory” post coming in the next few days and then the actual “church” posts will be password protected because I still have a reasonable yet lingering paranoia. If one can have a reasonable paranoia, then I have it.

Please email me for the password if you’re interested.

That said, if you’ve never commented here before or never made yourself known to me in some way that would lead me to feel comfortable with you, I can’t give the password to you. To be honest, if I get an email from you and don’t have the slightest clue who you are, I just can’t do it. I’m sorry to have to make that choice but I have to make that choice. This is something I want to share/discuss with people I recognize, people who have been and are my friends here. I just need to feel safe about it. I hope you can understand.

So. Pippa.

Let the insanity begin.

(I will still be posting other non-church posts in the meantime because I understand this topic won’t necessarily be interesting to everyone. Besides that, there are a lot of church posts to cover. A lot. Gird your loins, everyone.)

September 15, 2011

-image-“you just got smacked”

So I’m now in love with comedian Kevin Hart.

The other night, I watched his HBO comedy special — on YouTube, no less, in the little 10-minute segments that are all YouTube seems to allow. But that was my mania to finish it. I had to watch it all. Right now. No matter what it took. MB was unconscious on the sofa after a long hard day and I was sitting nearby, laptop blazing, trying to cry quietly with laughter, trying not to let any sounds escape that would wake him. It has hard, pippa. See my sacrificial love?

His special is called “I’m a Grown Little Man.” Apparently, he’s very short and he uses this fact to hilarious advantage in his special. Below are a couple of clips. (Language alert. I’m serious. If you’re likely to be offended by that, you may want to pass.)

He’s a bit like Tracy Morgan for me. I can simply hear Tracy Morgan’s voice and start laughing. Or I can see his face with no sound and start laughing. This guy looks and sounds quite different from Tracy Morgan, but there’s that same feel for me — his voice is funny to me, his face is funny to me.

Put it all together and I’m toast.

September 14, 2011

-image-btw, the baby roo is here!

Dear roo has had her baby. He’s a beauty. Go check out new mama and baby.

September 12, 2011


An old photo I just found of Piper and Younger Nephew, circa 2003/4?

Please. It’s a conflagration of cuteness.


I am in physical pain from the cuteness.

Although, they’ve clearly been kidnapped and forced to work in BIL’s garage “workshop”/sweatshop with no shoes and only one sippy cup between them.

Brave little soldiers.

September 9, 2011

-image-“if you like pianos ….”

I rewatched “The Piano” on Netflix last weekend. Out of curiosity, after I was done watching it, I perused the Netflix reviews. Somewhere along the line, one of the reviews basically said, “If you like pianos, you’ll love The Piano!”

And I just laughed out loud. If you like pianos, you’ll love The Piano? I mean, my parents like pianos, but they would definitely not like The Piano. Which reminds me to tell my dad he’s not allowed to put that in his queue. I’m pretty sure he’s never seen a woman naked so I see no reason to open that can of worms now.

So what kind of review is that? The irrelevant useless kind, I say. But while the review itself was useless as a review, I’m grateful because it sparked a whole new game for MB and I to play in the car:

Irrelevant Movie Reviews.

By way of explanation, I’ll just give you some of our Irrelevant Movie Reviews and you’ll see the game. Please feel free to add your own.

“If you like sleds, you’ll love Citizen Kane!

“If you like red coats, you’ll love Schindler’s List!”

“If you like whistles, you’ll love The Sound of Music!”

“If you like orange wedges, you’ll love The Godfather Part II!”

“If you like stupid little birds you hide in your pocket, you’ll love The Shawshank Redemption!”

And ’round and ’round we went with this. Granted, the piano in The Piano is much more integral to the story than the items named in our reviews — I actually consider it a character in the movie — but that’s why it just got funnier and funnier to us — because it just got more and more stupid.

I really hope to start a nationwide trend. There aren’t enough Irrelevant Movie Reviews, if you ask me.

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