Do
you think it's possible to gain weight just by thinking about eating
something super fattening? I've been craving a giant cinnamon bun
with oozing white frosting like nobody's business and I think I'm
getting bloated from all the mental gorging.
===
It
drives me crazy when I pick a lyric to use for the title up there
and I google it and it turns out the words I've been singing for
perhaps years are wrong. Ugh. Today's choice was going to be Vertical
Horizon's "Everything You Want," which I realize is a
little pedestrian or whatever, but there's this great line "You
never could get it unless you were faded," but it turns out
it's actually "You never could get it unless you were fed it,"
which is also not bad, especially given my cinnamon bun obsession,
but not what I was going for.
===
What
I've been doing lately is traveling. First to Gray's grandma's 90th
birthday party way up at the top of California last weekend (FYI
I had to get on two planes and I was a trouper, even though they
confiscated my hair products and I was mad). The weekend was filled
with birthday grandmas taking photos in streets:
And
also to my chagrin cake that did not contain ninety candles:
And
snow-cones, a responsible non-fattening treat:
Everyone
on this trip wanted to know the names we've picked for the baby.
I said nosiree, I'm not telling any of you fools anything. You see,
I tried that once when I had a favorite name a few months ago, which
I won't say here but will tell you is the name of the young lead
male in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and also Steve Carell's character
in Anchorman, and everybody in unison went "WhAT THE FUCK YOU
CAN'T NAME HIM THAT." So now I just keep our choices to myself.
Have
I announced here that baby Stealthpunch is a boy? Pretty definitive
on the ultrasound, is how I like to announce it to people. My feelings
about this will be reserved for another entry, and for now I will
just say that the cliche is true: healthy, healthy, healthy = all
that matters.
So
people kept throwing these names at me all weekend, including but
not limited to both really boring ones and really weird ones. My
mother in law has become attached to the name which graces both
a Charlie Brown character and the inventor of Linux, and finally
after she talked about it a whole bunch and said, "Does it
have a chance?" I simply and cruelly so as not to foster false
hope said, "No." The moral of this story is that people
are VERY opinionated about names, to which I say to them breed your
own damn children, and I'm not telling anybody anything until the
child is born and its name is written in pen on a certificate.
I
will just quickly add that it (he, it's still hard to say "he")
won't be named Tyler, Austin, Connor, Logan, or anything of its
ilk. Thank you very much.
===
The
second part of travel commenced and concluded yesterday when I drove
north to my Buck Owens hometown and hung out with my old friend
who was visiting from Portland. I hadn't seen him in two years and
I figured the least I could do after he drove 14 hours was drive
2 to see him. So we had lunch where he had a Coors Light and I smelled
it and we caught up and I signed some books for his mom and it was
really nice. Then we took our dogs to the dog park. I took only
Paul, no Beans, because Beans is wild. And at first I felt bad for
excluding him but then I was really glad he stayed at home. Because
here's what Paul did and what Beans would have done, too, times
ten.
Paul,
awaiting thrown ball:
Closeup
of pretty Paul:
Then
he found the one one stinky mud puddle in the whole football-field
sized place:
And
there was really nothing we could do but laugh and throw the ball
some more.
Before
the park yesterday, my favorite smell in the world used to be the
top of Paul's head. I will just say not anymore. Good times.
