I’m writing this post on Sunday evening as we watch the Oscars. Forty-five minutes or so in, my takeaways are this:
1) My ears say Stewie is hosting. My eyes see something different. So very confused.
2) The “We Saw Your Boobs” song. Surprisingly catchy. I give it a … C. (Sorry, that’s the breast pun I could muster.)
3) Paul Rudd was completely stoned, right? No matter. Still my celebrity boyfriend.
4) Jaws speech cut-off music?! Ha. Pure awesome.
5) Jessica Chastain. Just, gasp.
The truth is, I’ve always loved movies, but in 2012, I saw exactly two in the theater: “This is 40″ and “Argo.” The former isn’t anywhere near the Oscars, and rightfully so – it was terrible. The latter, Argo? Both my guy and I loved it. And because it’s pretty much the only movie we’re really familiar with, we’re cheering it on.
I don’t want to whine about the weather, I really don’t. I mean, I don’t necessarily have to live in Washington State. It’s a free country. And these dreary, gray winters are the price we pay for stellar spring days, glorious summers, and amazing autumns.
But if I were to whine, I would mention that winters here stink, and I am in desperate need of a little sun, a lot of light, and the feel of warm sun on my skin. Ugh. Desperate need.
I sort of thought I’d avoid all the family ailments that come along with having a toddler, because our little one isn’t in daycare at the moment. Ha! I was so naive, in so many ways. So many many ways. Turns out thatstory times and music classes and Target all have lots of those lovely little germs and our little girl is picking them up right and left. Therefore my guy and I are subsequently picking them up right and left.
“Squash” is such an ugly word. Say it 10 times fast. Other than that being sort of an impossible task, it also helps you realize just how ugly the word is.
Which is kind of too bad, because squash itself – as in butternut, pumpkin, spaghetti, delicata – is pretty awesome. Actually, I suppose squashes are sort of lumpy and bumpy and often goblin-colored, but as a foodstuff? Come hither.
When I was, oh, 16 or so, I heard a man wisely say to someone who was bemoaning a horrible photo of themselves: “You take a picture of a potato, you get a potato.” I have no idea why I stored that little nugget away, but a few months later when my high school friend Rik* got her senior photos back and was going on about how bad they were, I pulled it out of my hat. “You take a picture of a potato, you get a potato!”