1. 23 people have responded with pictures of their glasses and/or links to their websites for my collection of spectacles! This makes one Schmutzie very, very happy. If you have not already, please submit your specs to my collection, because I'm sure there is a third very lurking around here somewhere.

  2. My friend Frances had a baby boy on April 20th. Due to financial constraints, I cannot travel up to Cosmopolis for at least the next couple of months to see her and my new little faux-nephew, so she has offered to come down for a visit. I just have to pick a good weekend.

    She keeps teasing me with fabulous photos him, the latest of which showed him sporting her huge glasses on his tiny new-baby head. This is one of the only babies I have ever even liked let alone yearned to hold, and I haven't even met him yet. If he shows up in egghead glasses, I don't think I'll let her take him home.

  3. I find anything akin to maternal desire alarming. It's not that there's anything inherently wrong with maternal desire, but it feels weird to me, like some sort of fetish that I'm uncomfortable with. Riding crops, anyone? Wingnut fundamentalism? Babies with adorable footwear?

  4. My favourite spammer name as of late is "Titicaca B. Crybabies".

  5. When I try rattling out an entry over my lunch hour, such as this one, I get so into it that I subconsciously try to ignore the fact that I have to pee. Before I know it, I'm doing the pee dance to "Let's Do the Pee Dance Again" a la Rocky Horror Picture Show in my head. And I hate that movie. And I started doing the pee dance before I started this point. And I'm still doing it now.

  6. I love Bowl Noodle soup. Mmm mmm good. I am eating some right now, and it's leaving little oily orange wet spots all over my keyboard.
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  7. Since I came clean about my anxiety/depression, I have been taking my St. John's Wort religiously three times a day and occasionally using an over-the-counter sleep aid to avoid over-thinking about the water damage to the ceiling above our bed and whether I would die fast or slow if the upstairs neighbours' bed crashed through the floor on top of us.

    I am not sure if the St. John's Wort is working or if I have just become a rapid cycling manic depressive. Before, I was trapped in constant grip of existential anxiety with little will to live, but now that is only an issue for brief periods in between stretches of something that is not quite well-being but is definitely liveable.

    The sleep aid is my new favourite legal way to turn off the brain noise. I will warn you, though, that it can make you more susceptible to religioius indoctrination. I took one before I started reading Guideposts, a magazine I read because my paternal grandmother gave me a subscription. Usually I snort quite a bit when I am flipping through its pages, but when I finally put the thing down, I thought to myself That God guy sounds pretty okay. Uh, no, he doesn't, you freak. Remember that book called The Bible? Of course, at the time that I was thinking that, I was also drooling a little into my own ear and experiencing the beginnings of a dream monster movie in my head.

    So, to wrap up point number seven: I am intermittently happier between episodes of existential anxiety, and the sleep aid is also good as long as I put away the religious literature.

  8. I and the Fiery One have to move out of our apartment in thirty-one days. We have not started packing. We do not know where we are going to live. I'm going to slap the term "adventure" onto this one and grin wildly until we find either another apartment or a sweet little dumpster to call our own.

My Invention

"Duck And Cover"