Until the beginning of June.
See you then, pippa.
Until the beginning of June.
See you then, pippa.
Here’s The Butt Grabber, double-fisting waffle cones at the Wild Animal Park.
Clearly, he is a boy of ……………. many appetites.
HE: ‘Hamburger sandwich,” indeed.
ME: Look at you, all mad at Ayn Rand. About hamburgers.
HE: “Hamburger sandwich,” indeed.
FEMALE FRIEND 1: See, I don’t have a lot of …….uhm ….. (motioning to herself) … uhm …….
FRIEND 2: Clothes?
FRIEND 3: Outfits?
MB: Put-ey on-eys?
HE (admiring the cuffs on his shirt): Wow! The stitching on these is really nice!
ME: (Silent, agog.)
HE: Annnd this is where you’re thinking, “I just love my big gay husband.”
HE: Wow. They’re pretty busy for a Monday.
ME: You mean Thursday?
ME: You’re so pretty.
ME (alarmed): What’s that outfit??
HE: I call it binge-wear.
ME: I seee …….
Text from a friend:
I’d like to smack someone in this company and I’m not particular about who it is either.
A few weekends ago, MB and I went to the San Diego Wild Animal Park with my SIL and the Banshee Kids. Banshee Boy is 14 months old now, jolly and pudgy with arms and legs as plump as juicy tenderloins. We had a stroller for him, but he likes to be on the move whenever possible, so he was probably out of the stroller more than he was in it.
At one point, we were standing in line to go on the tram that winds through the various valleys where the beasts roam free. Look, there’s a giraffe. Oh, a baby one! Look at that rhino with the weird horn. No, Banshee Boy. Stay in the tram, you know, that kind of thing, complete with a play-by-play commentary from an earnest, sweat-stained biology major from UCSD.
The line was roped off. People jostled in close quarters. Banshee Boy was on the ground, hovering close to his mom. In front of us were two ladies, one of whom had a very … ample bottom.
Which Banshee Boy promptly reached up and grabbed.
Firmly. With both chubby fists.
MB, my SIL, and I — the three adults in the situation — burst out laughing, completely useless and immature. There was so much jostling in the line, I’m not sure the lady even noticed. SIL pulled at BB and barked a feeble “No, BB!” between guffaws but it was too late.
That boy’s big blue eyes bugged out like he’d had his first hit of crack. Instant addiction.
And a split second later, he grabbed that big ol’ butt again.
Firmly. With both chubby fists.
He was hooked. Helpless.
“NO, BB!” more sternly from my SIL, but the three of us were basically limp with hysterics. MB beamed with pride at his pervy toddler nephew and said, “Yeah! That’s my boy!”
As his fat little hands were pulled away from their fleshy object of desire, I saw a different kind of glow in BB’s eyes. The glow of secret discovery. The gleam of knowing this particular something new was different from all the other somethings new that he experiences nearly every day.
No, this, this was something completely other.
I swear I saw it, flickering in his eyes: The exact moment that touch was forever seared in his memory banks.
Banshee Boy just stood silently next to his mom, grinning, grinning in post-assault glee.
The other day, I was on some Hollywood site doing vital research on the upcoming movie, Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. (Think what you must of me.)
While there, I saw the ad below in the sidebar of the page and I am still flummoxed.
So, I was wondering, ad, if I could I ask you some questions? Would that be all right with you?
I’ll take your silence as tacit agreement.
All right. You claim I can “triple my sexiness in 7 days,” but I’m curious how you came to these figures. How is this measured? Do you weigh me? Put a cuff around my arm? Draw blood? I’m sorry, ad, but wouldn’t you need to know my baseline sexiness before you can claim to triple that amount? How can you triple X if you don’t know what X is? And, yes, you heard me, ad, I said triple X. But what if I don’t want to triple it? What if I only want to double it? How can I make sure I stop or slow the effects of your product so I don’t get, you know, toooo sexy? On the other hand, what if triple isn’t enough? What if I want to quadruple it or more? Would I need to purchase more of your product in order to achieve those results? And why is it precisely 7 days? God rested on the 7th day, as you may or may not know, so what if I’m tired from all this tripling of my sexiness and need to rest on that 7th day? Does that then negate all the results of the previous 6 days? Do I lose “sexy” ground?
What’s even more perplexing, you claim you can help “boost my sex appeal NOW!” — so which is it? Is it “NOW!” or in 7 days? “NOW!” is NOW. 7 days is 7 days.
Honestly, ad, if you’re not clear on those two things, then I’m pretty sure you can’t help increase my “sexiness” NOW! … or in 7 days ….. or ever.
Eli Manning — who is apparently just a giant puppy — on SNL. Everyone was convinced he couldn’t outdo Peyton’s performance, but, you know, I thought the brother with 2 Super Bowl rings managed to shine in his own right.
Here are my favorites from the other night:
His answer to brother Peyton’s United Way video ……
NFL motion capture issues …… (Click on this link. The embed lied to me! It looks like it would work, but it is just a commercial.)
On trial for murder, saved by text messages and internet searches …… (Same here. Clink on the link. Just a commercial below.)
Banshee Girl loves her Uncle Beloved. Look how wee she is compared to him. Tugs at my shriveled little heart, it does.
I love it when I write something, read it again much later, and still agree with myself. On the other hand — not to be too one-sided — it could very well mean that I haven’t grown one iota on a personal level since writing that particular something, which would then be kind of no bueno.
But for the purposes of this post, let’s assume that continuing to agree with oneself is muy bueno, otherwise this all falls apart, ‘kay?
I found a post from our FOC blog that I never posted here. It’s actually a comment I posted on one of the big FOC blogs during the FOC implosion last summer in response to all the pro-FOC people who liked to come on these blogs and denounce the wounded as bitter people who just needed to “get over it already.” (I reposted it on our FOC blog because, well, I liked it.) It’s gotten to the point where you can always spot a FOCker by the regular recitation of the “you’re all bitter and need to get over it” mantra. It’s a dead give-away. A dead dismissive giveaway. So one day, my slow burn on this topic finally erupted and I responded to these chronic invalidators.
Here’s the comment and, yes, I still agree with myself:
Can I say something in a general way to the steady stream of people who traipse onto the blog suggesting we’re all on a slow train to Bitter Town or already living there in our giant scowling mansions, building more rooms every day?
It’s always fascinating to me how these people presume to know the invisible condition of strangers’ hearts. Since one assumes, based on how massively irritating it all is, that these people aren’t Jesus, they can’t possibly know if we’re “bitter” or “unable to let it go” or whatever dismissive lingo they choose to use. Still, they presume to know what they cannot know, all the while dismissing what’s empirically in front of them, especially now: years and years of the FOC’s abuse and dysfunction and unrepentance.
Here’s the thing, though: We “bitter” souls wounded by the FOC are closer to finding freedom and healing than the unrepentant souls who wounded us. We can – and do – find those things in Christ even if/when our wounders never say “boo” to us. We can work through forgiveness apart from any healing actions or redemptive words from them. That’s just how good God is.
We don’t necessarily need them in order to be free. We ultimately need only him.
But ….. and here’s the problem for them …….. they need us in order to be free. They can go to God all they want saying, “Uh, sorry, God, sorry. Sorry about that thing with that person,” but that doesn’t truly free them because they haven’t sought forgiveness from the person they’ve wronged. I mean, I can extend forgiveness in my heart all the livelong day – and I do, I swear I do – but forgiveness isn’t received unless it’s sought. A gift that sits unwrapped isn’t a gift received. And that’s the job of the unrepentant where forgiveness is concerned: to seek it and receive it. Until they do, there’s no true freedom for them. We can find freedom without them. They can’t find freedom without us. They need us for their own healing.
I’d worry less about the people presumably living in bitterness and more about the people imprisoned by their own stubbornness. One group is much closer to true freedom than the other.
It’s all over the news here in San Diego:
Junior Seau, one of my favorite Chargers ever and one of the most universally beloved, too, just committed suicide.
His mom is only just now on the scene here in San Diego.
I cannot even take this in. I’m stunned.
Stunned and sick.
Update: Good Lord. The news just showed an aerial shot of his home on the beach with his 17-year-old son tearing up the driveway to the door, the police trying to restrain him and then letting him go. I’m in tears. This is horrible.
Seriously. The two most beloved sports figures here in SD are Tony Gwynn and …… Junior Seau.
The whole city is now at a standstill because of this.
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