Underwear dance party boots. Although I think I could wear them with leggings as well.

I took back those hurty little hellboxes.

By that I mean, I'm no longer the owner of fabulous leopard print heels.

Which makes me very sad, because one, I spent so much time justifying! And two, I need - NEED - some leopard in my life. And three, they made me tall! And four, I love hairy shoes.

I know they call it pony hair, although I don't understand why.

Years ago when I still had a good relationship with my sister-in-law, we were shopping and trying on pony hair shoes. I said I loved them but just couldn't bring myself to wear shoes that used to be parts of cute little ponies. She insisted they weren't actually pony bits, but rather cows.

So we had this big debate in the shoe section of Macy's, and she went and asked the shoe guy, who laughed out loud at her question.

They're not made of pony. They are in fact cow.

Anyway, I wore the hellboxes around the house for half an hour, much of it sitting with my feet up, admiring the glamour...and I realized that they were stiff and squinchy and just terribly uncomfortable. My feet were begging to be let out.

So I boxed them up, and marched them over to Nine West. They were all delighted and welcoming until I said I had a return, at which point they were polite-ish but kind of attitudey.

Which prompted me to be bitchfaced attitudey back. I get very pursed lips flared nostril glarey when people do that to me.

I was all, "Of course I have the receipt and go ahead and act like this is a huge effort and pointedly examine the soles because no, I haven't worn them, and the reason I'm returning them is because they're more uncomfortable than driving nails into the bottom of your feet and then riding Metro with a bunch of idiot tourists, fuckyouverymuch."

But the story ends well!

Because I realized that these lovely grey over-the-knee boots were totally on sale at Piperlime and also I found a 10% off code and so for under $20 I swapped the hurty hellboxes for some deliciously comfortable suede cutie boots.

With no guilt! Because most of the money was already spent on shoes anyway!

And now I'm trying to figure out what to wear them with. So far I've just been having an underwear dance party in them. Yes, that's what's going on above.

Don't judge. At least, not till you've walked a mile. With no pants.

In fact, maybe today will be a No More Pants kind of day.

So maybe just go ahead and judge.

Happy Friday!

Cheddar cheese and anal glands. Not together.

I've been on a sharp cheddar cheese kick recently.

I'm one of those people who will pick something and have it over and over and over. Lately, I'm really craving Trader Joe's chocolate peanut butter pretzel thingies. And since now I get to TJ's almost never, I just have them on my mind. Daily.

But I do this with food all the time. I'll get on a Brussels sprouts kick, and have them every night for dinner for weeks. And then, it's on to the next thing.

I don't get bored. Until I do.

Also, every time I really like something at TJ's, they stop carrying it. I take it personally.

+++++

Maude was visiting this past weekend, and she wanted a cheese sandwich, and I asked what kind. I said we had a good cheddar, but we had a number of options.

And she replied, "Provolone. I've had a lot of cheddar in the last 10 years."

+++++

When Maude and I lived together, her mom gave us a pumpkin to carve. Which we never got around to doing.

So I cut it up and ate a piece. And bit by bit, over the week, I ate the whole damn pumpkin. Maude told people about it for years.

Also, I dislike pumpkin pie.

+++++

I don't know if you've ever had a dog who needed to have his or her anal glands squozen.

Gloria was one of those. When her anal glands got full, she'd scoot around on her butt. And then you'd take her off to the vet and they'd express them. That's what they called it. "Expressing the anal glands."

One time my dad decided to try it at home. How hard could it be? He was successful.

He never did it again.

Anyway, the vet told us to feed her a little bt of pumpkin every day to add fiber to her diet and help with the anal gland situation. It did.

+++++

I didn't have a plan when I sat down to write, and I'm actually kind of shocked that I started with cheese and ended up with anal glands.

I bet you're not, though, huh?

Pumpkins, poison, floorboards, and just basically more ways to get yourself arrested

I'm not a violent person, and I don't think I have anger issues, but sometimes I think some very terrible things.

Not just ha ha let's fling poo at people. No.

More like oh, what's a little murder here and there anyway.

Seriously.

It started when Nick suggested we have a pumpkin carving contest. And then he carved them both, since I'm not such a pumpkin carver.

Also, the inside of pumpkin gunk really grosses me out. Although Maude told me that the seeds are high in zinc and good things to feed men to improve their baby missiles. If that's up your alley.

No pun.

The second pumpkin is mine, and we both like it better. So basically, I win. Don't you think?

Anyway, more on-topic, we live in this urban neighborhood with a lot of post-bar foot traffic on weekend nights. So Nick didn't want to leave our pumpkins out front for drunken idiots to smash. Which I think is only smart.

But it got me thinking.

"What if you put poison all over your pumpkin and someone stole it and died? Could you get in trouble?"

"Yes."

"But why? If it was on your property?"

His explanation had something to do with using force out of proportion to the crime, if I recall correctly.

"But you could use rat poison. You could pretend you were just trying to kill neighborhood rats. And if someone stole it and died, well, that wasn't your intention."

"It's a pumpkin, Lisa."

He went on to say that people used to be jailed (or maybe it was put to death?) for hunting on a land owner's property. But then over time chattel property became less important and a higher value was put on human life and a lot of other details that I didn't really listen to but basically you can't shoot someone for breaking into your house.

And of course I am in favor of gun control, and I can't imagine actually shooting someone. Or more likely stabbing someone, as that's my constant refrain. But you'd have to be really close and strong and I just don't seem like a good stabber, you know?

Unless it were my husband and he was sleeping. But I haven't felt like doing since the PPD, I don't think.

So Nick gave the example of setting up a shotgun to shoot if the front door was opened. So if you weren't home and someone broke in, they'd be killed. Which apparently people have actually done.

And somehow, although I will never own a gun, I understand this.

"But you aren't actually shooting them yourself. And they're breaking in."

"You can't protect property with murder. It's not a good enough reason to kill someone."

"What you should do in that case is have rotting floorboards just inside the front door. And you keep them covered with carpets. And then the person who breaks in falls through to the basement and dies."

"What's up with you and the killing imaginary people?"

I don't know. I really don't.

Although, seriously, look at this: This guy in London moved out for a week for his house to be decorated, and squatters moved in and changed the locks.

Would that not make you violent?

It's all fun and cow farting until somebody winds up in jail

Perhaps you read the post on DCist last week about PETA and the farting cows?

PETA had announced they were going to blast cow fart noises outside of a DC steak house. A friend sent me the link, suggesting it was right up my alley.

Naturally, I replied that I thought it would be more effective if they had fart spray to go along with it. Don't you think?

To which she replied that maybe I could donate some of Jordan's used diapers, or some of the poo from our alley.

Which seems like the kind of thing that is never going to end well.

I'd call Nick and be all, "Hi. I'm in jail...Oh. Well, it all started because I donated some poo..."

I didn't. In case you're wondering.

Now, there are people that I wouldn't mind throwing poo at, but random meat-eaters are not among them. I'm not in favor of poor treatment of animals, but I'm also not a PETAer. They're a little extreme.

I realize this might sound odd coming from someone with a list of people I'd like to throw poo at. But it's a pretty short list.

More of a category list. I mean, there are some named people on there. But then there are rubrics - like "asshole drivers who cut you off" and things like that. Or maybe just "asshole drivers," really.

It would be so great to have a bag of poo and a catapult attached to the side of your car for those people. I know I'd find it really satisfying.

Although now that I'm thinking about it, that'd probably be another call from jail, huh?

Ball! Boat! Hole! Hello 14 months!

You are now 14 months old, and boy, are you fun.

Exhausting, non-stop, but fun, so fun. Every day is a new surprise. Even though sometimes the surprise is a week-old half-filled milk bottle in a brass urn.

The urn in the video turns out to be your favorite place to put stuff. Dad saw a your dog's butt sticking out, decided to look in, and wow! Every ball and fish and block we couldn't find! Right there in one place!

I know everyone says babies grow so fast, and I was all, yah, of course, uh huh. But suddenly you're so barely a baby and so much a big boy! I still kiss you all over your face at every opportunity, because one day I won't be able to and I revel while I can.

Now you say so many words. Ball is still your favorite, as far as I can tell. A lot of days when you wake up, it's the first thing you say. "Ball!?"

Although it's more like baawww.

Oh, and also hi! Hi! Hiiii! And hot. Hot! Perennial favorites.

You've just added Nana to Mama and Dada. You now also regularly say: wall, uh-oh, boat, hole, and nose. Although they sound like: waaww, uh-oh!, boooh, hole said with a posh British accent minus the L, and noow.

I haven't heard them, but you also say "ear" and "dog." And when the downstairs dogs bark, you always stop whatever you're doing and bark along. Wooouw! Wooouw!

The fact that you say hole is kind of random and funny, and if we didn't live in an old house with holes in the floor, you probably wouldn't.

But we had these holes in the wood, and you liked to put your fingers in them. And then one day, Dad drilled them into perfect circles, cut up a dowel, and filled the holes. This rocked your little world.

They are, however, still holes to you. You will point to and poke at them and say, "Heowwwww." If anyone ever had a need for a tour of the historic holes of the house, you'd be up for the task.

You're very chatty, and you look at people, point to something, and say things like, "Juhjuhjuhjuhjuh!" and "Leeedleleedleleedlelee!"

You still prefer to crawl, and you crawl like lightening, but you're getting more confident in your steps. You also still stick every damn thing in your mouth, and I'll tell you, I'm going to be really excited when that passes.

Not surprisingly, you hate the cold wipes on your butt, and you really protest them. Hell, I would too. But the only plug for the wipe warmer is behind your crib, which could only lead to disaster. Sorry for the cold ass wipings, little friend.

OH! And you also say butt paste! "Bah pa!" You're pretty delighted with yourself on that one.

I love seeing your sweet little pink face first thing in the morning. You're such a happy fellow, and you wake up smiling and giggling, which makes us do the same.

I love you love you love you.

Mama