it's a curly hair day

If you're feeling bulimic, Krypto has a finger to put down your throat. Don't say he didn't warn you.

Confidential to Monkey: No, I'm not a Monkey, but I spawned one. My lass climbs everything, hugs trees, has back hair - everything but a tail. (We were so dissappointed, but that's what you get from questionable bloodlines.)

Confidential to my other dear readers: if you aren't reading the comments on this blog, you're missing out. That's where all the action happens.

Confidential to FF: That's just me, you know, being me. Other blogs suck, except the ones I like.

Confidential to Greg: you missed out on the holiday fun while getting mauled by a tawainese hooker, but I invited questions a week or so ago. Go 'head. You know you wanna. Give it your best, mate. Your rules: there are none. My rules: Following the tradition of this blog, I must answer with a minimum of 60% Truth.

Now onto other news of the day:

I hate my thighs. Other people have a space between their thighs, as in they don't touch when they walk. Other people. The thing is, when I poke it there it's hard - it's frickin' muscle. I've got some muscular thighs; I can do a hundred squats without thinking. But my legs are short, so the muscle is short, so it's a tad bulky for my taste. Not others though. People who know me laugh at me when I express my concern over my thighs - whether they're embarrassed for me because they are too big, or whether they are laughing like, "Fuck you and your relatively thin thighs," I don't know. That's why I bitch to you, gentle reader, because most of you have never seen my thighs and you can give me some virtual sympathy.

I just discovered our wee lass, my little monkey of love, sitting in front of the tv with a bag of chocolate chips in her lap, feasting merrily away in front of that child-molester wannabe, Barney. Damned if that apple didn't fall far from the tree.

She's right though. It's a chocolate chip sort of day - 18 and dropping, pissing snow, and the air is all damp with fog. This morning it felt as if we lived in the middle of nowhere - I couldn't see any farther than our back fence. Let me be clear: I would never volunteer to live in the middle of nowhere, but it was fun for a day. My hair has gone native; all wavy and shit.

There really aren't too many bad things you can do inside on a froggy day: tearing up paper (which the little monkey lass is currently doing ), eating, taking a bath, fu... ahem, eating biscotti with somebody you love, hazing Krypto, watching a movie, reading, writing, or making chocolate chip cookies. That's what the lad and I'll be doing directly after school. I make; hands down, first prize at the fair, no best of blog contest needed; orgasmically good chocolate chip cookies. Yeah, I know, other people say they do, but they are all talk, baby, all talk. Email me your address and I'll send you some just to prove it.

OK, yeah, heh heh. Now I'm just playin' with ya.