Where’s The Beef?

The Google Summer of Code is winding down, which means that (like any software project) activity is ramping up. Ross has a nearly complete theme together, and I’ve given him a partial review. I’m partway through review number two.

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Noah Was Glad To Have Me Home

Ooo, I’m a ghost!

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Here’s To The Boys In The Summer Dresses

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Lisa brought Noah upstairs to show me his lovely dress. He’s a princess and Lisa is a King. Then, Noah wanted to hear Brendan Benson. Happy to mother fucking oblige, little man. He danced. Lisa gave me a random hug. What’s that about?

Post Title From Walt Mink - Settled

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Fake It Harder, Jesse

Having night terrors? Waking up screaming? I will stay on your couch so that you can get to sleep before it gets light out. All the people about whom I really care hide deep wounds. I handle news of rape and abuse with cool and calm. Tell me your tragedy and I will be the most mature person you have ever met. I am a mountain of strength.

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My Hands Smell Like Basil

Lisa always seems to forget that we have a few herbs in the back garden. As I was supplementing her sauce-from-a-jar I said that I am jealous of Paul’s Mom’s vegetable garden with tomatoes and a forest of pepper plants (don’t tell them who ate all the spicy sweet pickle slices, holy fucking delicious). Anyway, Lisa said that next year I could probably dig up more of the yard to claim my own space, and I casually mentioned that I might not be here next year.

I’m a little sad that I didn’t join Paul’s Party Pad as the eigth and oldest Power Ranger, heretofore to be referred to as the Den Mother, or just Mom, but I’m not sure that spending six months or a year living with 22 year olds would really improve my social standing. Nonetheless, it was an opportunity to revel in adolescence.

It was only three or four years ago that I had thought to myself that I would be looking at houses “in a few months.” Then, life went tits up.

I must be slipping, I only took 120 pictures at the art thing.

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Pants are for suckers!

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Babysitting update

When Lisa and Stan left, Noah started crying very hard and then crawled into my arms. I hadn’t held him like that since he was just a few months old and we would take naps together. Eventually he stopped crying, mostly because I outlined my four point plan for the evening:

  1. Pizza
  2. Park
  3. Movie
  4. Bed… and Mom and Dad would come home

It turned out to take too long to make the pizza, so we didn’t go swim at the park, even though it was the kind of day that commands a person to go lie down in chlorinated water while three year olds splash you. How is that not an hour of heaven?

We did go to the park, but I had to carry Noah up the hill. He was being extra cute as we passed a house where five women were seated around a patio table drinking. I sensed their heads swiveling to face me even though all I could see were shadows. A light flashed, which was either a picture being taken of Noah and I, or the sound and fury of five women simultaneously ovulating.

Ladies, please. Last night I went to a trashy movie by myself at 10:30 at night with macaroni and cheese on the shirt that I had worn to sleep the night before. Well, it was just the cheese, but whatever.

Later, as we were walking back down the hill, Noah wanted to run, but tripped, tumbled, and bumped his head a little. Immediate, giant tears poured out of his eyes and he wanted to be held right away so he could scream closer to my ear. I settled him down again and we sniffled our way down the hill. Again the invisible eyes tracked us, and I distinctly heard an “aww” as the last glow of twilight glinted in a tear rolling down Noah’s cheek.

If I ever become completely evil I will just go ahead and use Noah to get dates. Oh yeah, my dad used to do that with me.

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Since I’m already sweaty

Stan and I rode bicycles to Mill City Coffee (or whatever the hell it’s called these days) and back. I was towing Noah in the Burly. It’s only 2.6 miles each way, but it felt like 26. When we put the bikes back in the garage, I noticed that Noah had thrown the boat anchor out the back. I guess that explains the load grinding noise. Note to self: I hate flat handlebars.

Then, I mowed the lawn, which is always strangely relaxing. Tonight I babysit Noah so that Lisa and Stan can go out and pretend to not be grown ups for a while. I’m either 13 now or 43.

After some discussion with my financiers I think that I might still be able to get a bike, so I think that I will drive to some bike shops and get measured. Or, I could just go get that $50 mountain bike at Target and swear a lot when I ride. Nothin’ wrong with that. I enjoy swearing. It’s a fine art.

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Yours Truly

Who’s the hot blonde?

Dude, that’s my sister!

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