Wednesday, January 21, 2004

Joke of the day

Question: How many Jennies does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Answer: Just one, but it takes her twenty minutes to do it, including finding a chair to stand on and a light bulb to screw into the socket and locating the screws that hold in the light fixture w/o a light to see by. Then, of course, we must factor in time to dig those screws out of the garbage can once she accidently throws them away with the lightbulb, and a couple more minutes to frantically scrub last night's dinner off her hands. So probably half an hour, by the time she's done. This while trying to get ready to leave for work, which is always a balletic display of clumsiness and dropping things.

Excerpt from an actual IM conversation

Jennie_Smash: rightwing christians frighten even the baby jesus

Banjo1: jesus doesn't like them, that's true

Jennie_Smash: that's what he told me

Jennie_Smash: jesus likes all the same people i like

Jennie_Smash: isn't that GREAT?

Banjo1: YES!

Jennie_Smash: it just proves that i'm right

Banjo1: if everyone else can tell me what jesus thinks, i feel i can pitch in my own two cents

Jennie_Smash: me too

Jennie_Smash: "jesus likes flake mashed potatoes. not the real kind."

Jennie_Smash: "jesus likes punk rock, but he hates your crappy pop rip off."

Banjo1: and grits. he likes grits.

Jennie_Smash: oh, man. he LOVES grits. i remember the last time jesus and i were down south...

Banjo1: see. now you're talking

Jennie_Smash: i was going to tell you about jesus and the strip club, but his people have asked me not to.

Sunday, January 4, 2004

Baby boom

Christmas was full of babies. My cousin has one now, and so does one of my sister's best friends. I feel like I haven't seen a baby up close for awhile, having lived in this weird babyfree post-college zone for the past five years or so.

During that time, my older friends have been threatening me with the impending wind-up of my biological clock. "Just wait and see," they've said. "You'll hit age 26 or 27 and -- boom! -- you'll want one."

The thing is, I've never been much of a baby person. I've always been kind of embarrassed about it, the same way that I'm embarrassed about not really liking dogs or cats enough to deal with the annoyance of caring for a pet. It seems like a character flaw, somehow, like if I were a real woman, I'd just love cute little mammals so much that I'd have to get one for myself -- a puppy, at least, if not an actual pocket-size human.

This year, however, I have noticed a small change. Horowitz pointed out to me one day as we were walking through Back Bay that I look at babies now, whereas before, people would hold up their offspring proudly and my gaze would slip right off them, like eggs on teflon. "Nice," I'd say, nervously. "He looks just like you."

And the mother would frown. "He looks like his daddy, actually. Don't you look like your daddy, Ashton? Yes, you do! Here, wanna hold him?"

"Oh, dear God, no! I mean...I have a cold. Yeah. I'd hate to give it to him."

But now, in my maturity (har, har) I will actually hold a baby if he's handed to me. The thing is, though, the baby usually starts to cry right away. I think they know that I'm not totally in control of the situation. I mean, seriously, what's with the wiggling? They can't hold still? Babies are like teensy little crack addicts, or very old men. They've got the shimmy-shakes all the live-long day.

I still say it's progress, my newfound willingness to hold one of the little rugrats. If they can extend the female breeding age to 50 or so, I think I might just be able to have one someday.