1. Franny’s coming back in, like, a half hour. She is six now. Because of my awesome freedom from Seattle Federline, I did not get to see her on the actual day she shot out of my body, which was the ninth. This is okay. There must be sacrifices.
HOWEVER! We are having a family party tonight and a lil’ friendlet party on Saturday, featuring cupcakes from Cupcake Royale that we will decorate ourselves. It should be pretty bomb. I’ll keep you updated.
Because of random scotch tape scarcity, i.e., we could not remember to buy any anytime we set foot out of the house, I was only able to wrap her presents this afternoon. Frankly, I did a terrible job. I think that wrapping presents is maybe something Momz* are supposed to be good at, but I get impatient and start throwing shit. The motto of my presents, as anyone who’s received one from me knows, is “don’t judge a book by its wrinkled, poorly cut cover.” I mean, look at this. I misunderestimated this job so badly that I had to patch underneath.
Figure 1: Egregiousness.
I should be ashamed, but lo, I am not.
Bonus FAQ !
Q. Will there be unitorns?
A. Do Ann Coulter like to take it up the butt? Alright then. I can’t believe you even asked me that.
Figure 2: Unitorns!
* Momz: n. What Grrls can grow into if their birth control fails.
2. On Saturday night, I had dinner guests. I made a frickin chicken fricassee and some salad and there was lots of wine. I talked Companion into whipping up a chocolate cake and he used some old Kahlua to flavor the frosting. Yum!
Here is the mannerly Jakums with my sister. I think he got a little squicked when we brought up our usual dinner topics, such as buttsecks and Tara Reid’s boobers. This is how we roll, Jakums. You are welcome to come back.
And here is Daniel, who is growing out his hair a bit so he can go all Taxi Driver mohawk on us. And Companion, of course.
3. After Jakums skipped out, begging me to stop feeding him so he could “save room for booze later,” and Daniel left, then we got really crazy. Well, by our standards. Morgan, Companion, and I were arguing about supertasters and whether or not she was one after she did not find the smoked salt caramels I fed her crazy delicious.
Additionally, Morgan and I have long thought that Companion is the opposite of a supertaster. The Jimmy James-taster to Morgan’s supertasting abilities, if you will. So we dropped food color on our tongues to see how our tastebuds are clustered.
It was just as we suspected. Companion had very few tastebuds, which explains why he happily glomps expired leftovers for breakfast and he complains about having a tummyache later. Morgan had many, many tastebuds. I was somewhere in between (a little closer to Morgan), so I can handle hot peppers and weird nouvelle cuisine, but can still tell when I am eating rancid victuals.
I’ll spare you the tongue pics. You are grateful for this small mercy.
Could we be more attractive? No, we could not. At least, not without the inclusion of some goiters.
