Egad!
It's a rather disgruntled form that greets you this morning. I feel a little like 'lumpy' (my human beanbag representative), down there.
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm listening to 'Premiers Symptomes' by Air at the moment.
It's a well-known fact that 9 out of 10 doctors advise against listening to French house music if your mood can be classed as anything but ecstatic (or 'enthousiaste', if you prefer to use the Gallian vernacular). I'm tempted to wonder if that last disagreeable Doctor knows something we don't. My guess is he's probably got some deep-seated French patriotism that needs to be worked through. Or possibly a penchant for vanilla Yoplait.
Even thought I may have inadvertently explained the mood differential of one unfortunate garlic snail-eating GP, none of the above musical (and perhaps slightly philosophical), verbal meanderings shed any light on explaining my rather bland state of mind.
However, I shall try and rise above it for a brief time (what am I, manic depressive?!), and regale you with positive things that have happened recently.
I bought a car. It's quite a nice car. A car that doesn't have an oversized playboy symbol on the rear window, a bumper sticker proclaiming that any girl with a prodigious body mass would unfortunately be precluded entry, or a baseless claim that I do in fact 'own the road'.
No, this car just sits there at the traffic lights and in it's own understated way quietly lets you know that it feels real empathy for you and your Barina and wishes there was something it could to help but unfortunately it's hands are tied.
In fact, I'm sure if it did have hands it would put them around your car and give it one of those hugs that someone gives you after you've just hurt yourself rather badly whilst attempting to show off in front of your friends.
Oh, and it has leather seats. Which raises yet another thought-provoking question.
Why is it people strive to buy a car with the above luxury option, but given the much more cost effective alternative of driving around whilst wearing a pair of leather pants (which I'm told is rather similar), would rather take as job as Anna-Nicole Smith's interpreter than suffer that particular indignity?.
I think there's something in that for all of us.
Last weekend was also my little guy's 4th birthday. This incredibly exclusive (black diaper only), social event was held last Sunday at KidCity (much better than the originally slated name 'Juvenile Hall', which unfortunately didn't have quite the same ring to it).
A grand total of 18 children gained access to the party. Security was extremely tight on the day, with a number of children being refused entry due to them failing the ID requirements. Unfortunately, a signed crayon drawing of a dog standing next to a house with the sun shining over it cannot be classed as adequate.
There was also some initial confusion with the security team when one of the Fisher Price walkie talkies failed, but this was quickly resolved when fresh batteries arrived shortly after.
Naturally the paparazzi made their presence felt, with the main question being who Connor was bringing to the event. After speaking with his publicist the day before, he decided to play it safe and come with his parents. In hindsight, a very wise move from a publicity standpoint.
Lunch was held in the 'Space' room, and the view of the the entire galaxy during the meal was spectacular.
Even though the context is extremely tempting, I shall refrain from doing the usual 'Uranus' joke here, due to the age group involved.
Connor received a number of extremely thoughtful and fun presents, all of which have now been reduced to wires, bits of plastic and tiny lego blocks and stacked in completely irrelevant piles in his room.
I'm assuming at some point I will need to reconstitute these items.
Maybe I'll build a Lego time machine.
Well, my blood sugar level is dropping rapidly, so I'm off. I hope (dear reader), that this has given you another insight into the inner workings of my mind. Or possibly amused you for a few minutes.
Hmm...wonder if the cafe sells Yoplait...
Posted on 11:24 AM by thenewbeige and filed under | 0 Comments »
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm listening to 'Premiers Symptomes' by Air at the moment.
It's a well-known fact that 9 out of 10 doctors advise against listening to French house music if your mood can be classed as anything but ecstatic (or 'enthousiaste', if you prefer to use the Gallian vernacular). I'm tempted to wonder if that last disagreeable Doctor knows something we don't. My guess is he's probably got some deep-seated French patriotism that needs to be worked through. Or possibly a penchant for vanilla Yoplait.
Even thought I may have inadvertently explained the mood differential of one unfortunate garlic snail-eating GP, none of the above musical (and perhaps slightly philosophical), verbal meanderings shed any light on explaining my rather bland state of mind.
However, I shall try and rise above it for a brief time (what am I, manic depressive?!), and regale you with positive things that have happened recently.
I bought a car. It's quite a nice car. A car that doesn't have an oversized playboy symbol on the rear window, a bumper sticker proclaiming that any girl with a prodigious body mass would unfortunately be precluded entry, or a baseless claim that I do in fact 'own the road'.
No, this car just sits there at the traffic lights and in it's own understated way quietly lets you know that it feels real empathy for you and your Barina and wishes there was something it could to help but unfortunately it's hands are tied.
In fact, I'm sure if it did have hands it would put them around your car and give it one of those hugs that someone gives you after you've just hurt yourself rather badly whilst attempting to show off in front of your friends.
Oh, and it has leather seats. Which raises yet another thought-provoking question.
Why is it people strive to buy a car with the above luxury option, but given the much more cost effective alternative of driving around whilst wearing a pair of leather pants (which I'm told is rather similar), would rather take as job as Anna-Nicole Smith's interpreter than suffer that particular indignity?.
I think there's something in that for all of us.
Last weekend was also my little guy's 4th birthday. This incredibly exclusive (black diaper only), social event was held last Sunday at KidCity (much better than the originally slated name 'Juvenile Hall', which unfortunately didn't have quite the same ring to it).
A grand total of 18 children gained access to the party. Security was extremely tight on the day, with a number of children being refused entry due to them failing the ID requirements. Unfortunately, a signed crayon drawing of a dog standing next to a house with the sun shining over it cannot be classed as adequate.
There was also some initial confusion with the security team when one of the Fisher Price walkie talkies failed, but this was quickly resolved when fresh batteries arrived shortly after.
Naturally the paparazzi made their presence felt, with the main question being who Connor was bringing to the event. After speaking with his publicist the day before, he decided to play it safe and come with his parents. In hindsight, a very wise move from a publicity standpoint.
Lunch was held in the 'Space' room, and the view of the the entire galaxy during the meal was spectacular.
Even though the context is extremely tempting, I shall refrain from doing the usual 'Uranus' joke here, due to the age group involved.
Connor received a number of extremely thoughtful and fun presents, all of which have now been reduced to wires, bits of plastic and tiny lego blocks and stacked in completely irrelevant piles in his room.
I'm assuming at some point I will need to reconstitute these items.
Maybe I'll build a Lego time machine.
Well, my blood sugar level is dropping rapidly, so I'm off. I hope (dear reader), that this has given you another insight into the inner workings of my mind. Or possibly amused you for a few minutes.
Hmm...wonder if the cafe sells Yoplait...
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