Monday, February 01Katie West is the Best
There are a lot of blogs and websites I read regularly. Some of them belong to friends, and it's the best way to keep up on how old friends are doing when there isn't time to pick up the phone. Some of them belong to strangers who write the way I wish I could. Some of them are funny, some sexy, some intelligent, some mindless entertainment.
Then there is Katie West.
I adore Katie West for a lot of reasons. One is the fabulous headline; "Come for the breasts, stay for the heart"; because you do, and you will. She takes amazing self-portraits, with the sort of honesty that most women could never muster. She writes amazing short stories. She writes with this spectacular style, and you really get the feeling that you're seeing into her life, into her head, into her heart.
Tonight, I read
this. I literally cried. I never cry over things I read. It just doesn't happen. I think it's maybe that there are very few people who can write something that gets all the way through; something that really touches a chord with me. This, though... I know this. Everyone knows this. It's human. It's real life. And I think you should all go read it, because I think it might touch a chord with you as well.
That, and she deserves to have people come to her site for the heart. It's cool with me, though, if you end up staying for the breasts, too.
Posted by:Heather
Friday, January 15The head-al region
"See, now that's how you do it! Hold 'em down, and punch 'em, in or around the head-al region! Elbow, knee! Yeeeah!"
"Dude! Right there! Just ska... ska... ska... naked agression."
"Haha, look at that bruise on his leg from where the dude's been kicking him!"
"Pound that ass! Turn him into (expletive deleted because his mom reads this) hamburger!"
What I have transcribed here is Tim's version of cheering while watching UFC fights. He does this while grinning and clapping his hands in childlike delight.
(Well, either cheering, or pointing out to Zoe the finer points of beating the crap out of a full grown man. She seems somewhat disinterested, and possibly mildly annoyed by all the shouting.)
"Ooh, he's really bleeding a lot. That can't be good."
"What the... what just happened? Are they going to replay that? What happened?"
"Poor guy, he really is too old for this."
What I have transcribed now is my version of cheering while watching UFC fights. It's accompanied by lots of wincing and grinning.
It never fails to blow my little mind that this undeniably manly sport so often takes place while wearing what amounts to hot pants. Seriously. I think my bikini covers more of my ass than those shorts do. I don't care what you're doing, if you're a 6'5" dude who weighs over 240 pounds, you should never, ever, EVER wear hot pants. Leave that to the little hot chicks who walk around outside the octagon (the ring, to those of you who aren't in the know) with the cards announcing the rounds and stuff. Those chicks should pretty much always be wearing hot pants. Wow. Just... wow.
We are so very Texan. Minus most of the unfavorable stereotypes (like racism, homophobia, toothlessnes, chewing tobacco, retarded accents, etc), but including more than we'd care to admit very often (like a big truck, shotguns, a strong desire to go pig hunting, cussing like sailors, farmers tans, etc). We spend quiet evenings at home watching grown men beat each other up for no real reason.
Sweet.
Posted by:Heather
Monday, December 28Zombies!!
Want to know how I know that my friends are cooler than your friends? My friend Erin just gave me these.
They were handmade by her mother especially for me (or I guess technically for the baby, but still.) Which basically means that even my friends moms are cooler than your friends. Check out her etsy shop,
Franny and June. Feel free to buy me cute things, I won't mind. In fact, while you're at it, go to this one, too,
One True Tree, and special order me, ahem, I mean the baby, robots. Lots of robots. She makes Zombies, too, I wouldn't mind one of those.
In completely unrelated and irrelevant news, I finally learned where the term "happy as a clam" comes from. The full phrase is "Happy as a clam at high tide", because you can only collect clams when the tide is out. They're happy because they're not going to be eaten! Yay, clams!
Posted by:Heather
Friday, December 18You know how we do.
So on Monday, Tim looks at me withe those big puppy dog eyes of his and says, "Baby, what are we going to do today?"
Now, in case you've never met Tim, there is only one correct answer to that particular question, and that answer is, "Let's go climbing." I know that full damn well, there is literally not one single other acceptable answer. There is also not one other possible thing he's fishing for me to reply, so I generally just shrug and say some variation of "Whatever you want to do is fine by me."
So I shrugged and replied as expected, looking forward to parking my six months pregnant ass on the couch and watching movies in solitude for the next few hours. I immediately drifted off into my own little world, planning out my day of peace and quiet, when Tim shocked me out of my pleasant reverie with the words...
"How do you feel about remodeling the kitchen?"
Within the hour, he was removing tiles from the counter top of the island with a hammer and chisel (and damned if he didn't manage to remove every single one intact), tearing off the counter under the tile, and cutting the half wall out. I, for my part, got to knock a hole in the half wall with a hammer, which I have always wanted to do (and yeah, it feels as awesome as you would think it might).
Five minutes into the project.
An hour later.
(Cute side note; if you look in the upper right corner, you can see Zoe staring in with a very worried look on her face. She was very uncomfortable with the whole noisy process.)
You know when you were a kid, and your dad was finally starting some project that your mom had been yelling at him to do for months/years/forever, and he asks you to help, and all you do is hand him a screwdriver one time and hit your head on something and cry a little bit, but when it's done you still feel like you did the whole thing yourself? This was exactly like that, only without the cheerful illusion that I was helping. I was so totally in his way. He is already shaping up to be a good dad, though, because he acted like I was super useful and not annoying him at all.
Then yesterday we went and bought new cabinets. Tim got the bigger one put together and ready to go. I did nothing, unless maybe I handed him a screwdriver and forgot about it. It's entirely possible.
Posted by:Heather
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