Pip's Christmas list

Throngs of adoring fans have been clamoring to know what today's intellectually engaged toddler will be getting for Christmas.  There are only a few shopping days left but it isn't too late to make the perfect Christmas for your alert little one.  These are the gifts waiting under the tree for lil despot this yule.

Plastic Dinosaur Set: Pip has reached the developmental stage when he begins pondering the evanescent nature of existence.  If you're looking for a toy that opens up conversations about the inevitability of death and the fleeting moment that is life, look no further than dinos.  These cute lil critters will remind him that all beings, no matter how powerful, will be brought low in death.  It's also a fun way to remember that global climate crises lead to mass extinction.

Cars from the movie Cars:  These anthropomorphic machines with human eyes and automotive bodies will help your toddler confront his existential angst.  What does it mean to be human? Are we all merely mechanical objects overlain with a thin veneer of humanity?  If cars could talk, would they decry our exploitative society that relies on dehumanizing the masses that a minority may live profligately?  Your child can work out the stress of analyzing what it means to exist by crashing these fun little cars into one another on the church pew.

Playmobil Farm:  If your kid is anything like mine he loves enacting dystopian allegories with figurines.  Watch the piggies take over the farm and run the farmer family off to live in fear.  If the farm falls apart (all too common among toddler toys) your tot can have fun finding a scapegoat among the animals.  Eventually your kiddo will conclude that all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

Animals for the bathtub: We have a small red boat already, but not many critters to ride in it.  It isn't easy to contemplate man's overweening hubris by playing Titanic if you don't have a sizable number of victims to be left bobbing in the water.  The new package promises a very large population of critters without any corresponding growth in watercraft.  This enables your tot to play out any number of metaphorical applications of terrible tragedy.   Your kiddo will have fun deciding which animals are celebrities worth either saving or remembering, and which ones can be simply counted as horrifying statistics.



Christmas is a magical time.  It isn't easy to find that perfect gift, but the look of delight and the hours of play make the search for presents well worth while.  I hope I was able to help!!

In which I explain that I hate being pregnant

I hate being pregnant.  I don't glow.  Adjectives that spring to mind: wan, drawn, pallid, gross, pitiable.  Today while running errands I had to vomit.  I was downtown on foot so I found some bushes behind an industrial building.  Evidently someone else - dog or human hard to tell after weeks of rain -- had used the same spot for defecation.  There I was, puking in the bushes crouched behind a pickup.  I felt bathed in a warm maternal glow of self-loathing.

Tell me more! You cry.  Two weeks ago I took P to Shopko to buy festive holiday gel clings for the windows.  When we got in the car I knew I had to puke so I drove to a more deserted part of the parking lot and heaved out my door.  I also full-on wet my pants because now that's something that happens.  I didn't leak a little.  No, I soaked my jeans.  I had to sit on one of P's sweatshirts (sorry darling) to make sure it didn't also leak into the car seat.  I'm that woman.  Soaked in urine and vomit in the Shopko parking lot.  The people behind me in the checkout line had been vocal Trump supporters, reading the National Inquirer headline as though it were cutting edge journalism and speculating about whether Mexico really would pay for the wall.  My one regret is not vomiting and peeing right there and then (though it wouldn't have been nice for the employees.)

Hey Emily, did you puke in the Costco parking lot?  Is the Pope Catholic? Of course I did!  What about in the alley behind the Catholic elementary school? You betcha!  Do you have buckets in every bathroom so you can peepuke in peace? Sure do!  Is there dried vomit crusted on the toilet lid of the guest bathroom? There is! And it will be there until I hire a cleaner or some time late next year!  Do you do a preparatory puke before going to dinner parties in the hopes of getting it out of the way so you can interact with other humans? Yes I do.  Hey, does your own saliva provoke nausea so you either have to drool on a towel or vomit? Why yes it does! Sometimes I do both, alternately!

I really need to remove the "What to Expect" app from my phone because it keeps suggesting annoying articles that provoke profanity and/or obscenity.  I realize they struggle to have nine months worth of articles when honestly there is not THAT much to be said about pregnancy.  I still feel bitter resentment toward their twee posts though.  Oh, a cute way to announce?  Here's a cute way! Tell everyone long before you really want to or feel safe doing so because you're an omni-directional spewmatron! Oh your worst symptom is boob soreness? I find I barely notice it because I'm choking on my vomit!

Here's my contribution to the "what's one thing about pregnancy that took you by surprise?" genre.  Two really.  1) Peeing my pants.  Surprise! Haven't done that in a long time.  2) Chronic sore throat.  It turns out stomach acid is hard on your esophagus and the result is a perpetual sore throat.  Who knew?

La la la la laaaaaa! Glowing like an incandescent bulb!!!!

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel like sh--

Hi bloggo world.  Why haven't I written anything in like a month?  Because I'm pregnant.  Yay! Ugh. This is the point where my blog takes a sharp turn away from witty froth toward depression.  If you know me, you know I am the puke queen.  I vomit several times a day, right through to the bitter end.  So while I'm happy to be having a baby, I'm also very happy knowing each day that passes is one more day toward my goal of never, ever being pregnant again.  Would I like a bigger family? Maybe. But psychologically I just can't do this again.  Some have insinuated that it'll be like labor, I'll forget, I'll be willing.  No, no, and no.  There are things that cannot be unseen or unfelt.

Some things are different this pregnancy.

• My aversions are possibly slightly less acute.  I still can't cook, go grocery shopping or open the fridge without holding my breath, but I can often eat food if I don't think about it and it magically appears (i.e. takeout).  
• Another thing that is different is that my mom gave me a calendar to keep track of how often I throw up.  It's sort of like an advent calendar of misery.  How many hash marks can I make today? (Three so far). Sometimes I find myself wondering whether I can count something as one or two barfs.  For example, this morning Pip had a poopy diaper, which inevitably leads to throwing up for me.  One hash mark.  Then later we went to the grocery store, another trigger, so I was dry heaving in my bucket in the parking lot and bailing it out the car door.  I hadn't eaten much so it was just saliva and gagging.  But some snotty preppy looking people walked up to the car next to me so I had to try to seem like I wasn't the grossest human in the world.    Then I got home and finished the job properly with a nice dose of bile.  Is that two pukes because of two locations? Or one because really it was all part of the same horrific nightmare? I counted it as two.  If the attacks are separated by five to ten minutes you get to count it twice.  My barf, my rules.
• Also, thanks to having already had a baby I have poor bladder control.  This means that, unlike last time, every time I vomit I also pee my pants a little.  Sometimes a lot.   It is deeply demoralizing and also generates more laundry.
• I don't cherish naive hopes about all this awfulness getting better in a month or so. 

What can I do to help? Some people say.  I don't know.  If I'm barfing at your house, be cool.  Try to pretend it isn't happening.  Maybe switch on the TV and lie to me and tell me it drowned me out (I am a loud and assertive barfer).  Let me wear your old sweatpants home if I pee my pants, then sit down on the toilet and accidentally also barf in my underwear and ultimately just have to take a shower and wear a towel around my waist in lieu of underwear and slacks (thanks, Mom).  Offer me snacks without asking me what I want, so I don't have to think about food. A nice shoulder rub.  Dramatically lower your expectations of me.  

What can you avoid doing?

• I can't tolerate the smell of onions or garlic.  Cool people keep these things to themselves.
• Don't suggest some remedy that works for people whose guts are weak-willed.  Some people have a gag reflex that will respond to such measures as mints, ginger tea, small meals throughout the day, etc. etc.  My diaphragm is powerful and firm of purpose.  All easy measures have been tried.  Medication has also proved to be a joke.  So don't tell me "if I just ate a saltine in bed I was fine." Bully for you.  My gut isn't a quitter to be put off by such things.  It will vomit and no saltine is going to stop it! En avant!
• Don't tell me how you're amazed I can do this because vomiting is so hard for you it just makes you cry and feel awful and helpless.  I feel the same way! I also cry! I have a throat that is raw, a belly that is always hungry and empty, and I'm depressed and sad!  I'm not amazing, I simply have no alternative.  I'm not going to get an abortion so there is no way out but through.
• Don't be hateful to Muslims, non-white people, women or anyone else.  This isn't really about my pregnancy but it is very hard for me to keep badgering our representatives to save America between barfing.  You can do your bit by not being a terrible human.

Fun places I've puked so far: (* denotes place I also peed my pants)

1. Albertan's bathroom*
2. Safeway bathroom*
3. Parking lot of Baja Fresh
4. Parking lot of Market of Choice
5. The student union*
6. My office bathroom*
7. The church bathroom* (Technically peed my skirt in this instance)
8. Mom's bathroom** (see above incident in which I both barfed AND peed in my underwear)
9. Mom-in-law's bathroom*
10. Friend's house meeting her boyfriend for the first time at Thanksgiving*

This wasn't funny or fun to read I'm sure.  But now you know.  Stay tuned for more fun and games from a bitter vomit-splattered hag!

Check your privilege

Today I helped pass the time while parenting the heck out of my toddler by texting with my oldest friend Laura, a librarian of great renown living in deep in a red state.  We discussed how depressing and exhausting the news (and social media, and human interactions and....) can be right now, and how we wanted a good alternative thing to do.  What to listen to while doing the dishes or going for a walk?  We started recommending podcasts to one another and then she made the fatal error of posting a request for ideas on Facebook.  Classic mistake!  She had the gall to specify that she wanted podcasts that were not political.

Immediately her brother-in-law made an outraged comment about her privilege and burying her head in the sand but SOME people (him) weren't so lucky.  That's right, folks! I mean yes, I wrote a letter to both of my senators and my congressional representative today expressing outrage over Trump's appointment of chief strategist.  Yes, Laura made a donation to Planned Parenthood this week.  But unless every single thing you consume or do is actively and constantly political, you're willfully disengaged from current events.  So shame on you, people reading my blog with it's fluffy nonsense.  You are morally bankrupt for seeking a non-political interaction with another human being.

Laura and I were suitably chastened.  My neighbor was cleaning the leaves out of his gutter and I realized I had been absentmindedly watching him for fifteen seconds or more without making any political statement whatsoever, so I screamed "Smash the Patriarchy!"  He couldn't hear me though because we have excellent insulation.  When he had the gall to use a hose to swoosh leaves off his roof I put up a giant sign chastising his phallo-centric display of water pressure.

In the course of our discussion, Laura and I found ourselves wondering whether her brother-in-law reads only political books, or if you are sufficiently able to check your privilege everything becomes a form of political engagement.  I promised her I would do some research and return and report.  The following books look promising.

The Highland Rose: Lusty Forbidden Erotic Historical Scottish Taboo Tartan BDSM Romance
by Bonnie Brand (I am not making that title up) (note: Bold phrases original to the blurb)
When Rosa, the Laird's young flame-haired herbalist, discovers an abandoned cottage on one of her highland excursions, she rests there overnight to avoid contact with wolves and other wild creatures.

When she wakes the next morning, strapped to the bed, she discovers a different kind of wild creature: Hamish, a proud, passionate highlander.  He's not happy that she's stolen his bed, and soon, she's going to want to pay the price for her crime, hard and without protection.

Soon, h'ell make her his woman and let her in on a big, dark secret.

Analysis:
This is clearly a Republican think piece.  Unsure how you can tell at a glance? She's sheltering from WOLVES.  Wolves are dangerous predators that pose a threat to ranch animals.  If this were a liberal book she'd probably be cavorting with them making friendship bracelets or something. So.  What conservative messages will you find in this book?

1) Wolves are dangerous predators.
2) No more free handouts for layabouts.  Someone worked hard to earn that bed, you can't just take it because you didn't prepare yourself.  Welfare is a trap for everyone -- it hurts those who earned their highland huts, and it also traps flame-haired herbalists in a cycle of endless taking.
3) Tough on crime.  You heard the man. Hard and without protection.   Only a filthy liberal would read that as sexual innuendo.
4) The big dark secret is obviously the bloated state and corruption of the federal government.  Once she realizes the need for fiscal responsibility and free enterprise she'll get a real job instead of being an "herbalist" -- yeah, we know what kind of herb, Rosa.

Loved by the Dragon by Vivienne Savage (definitely not her real name)

Chloe Ellis' decision to celebrate the end of a turbulent relationship sends her off for a weekend of hiking and bonding with Mother Nature.  When a rainstorm strikes during a spontaneous mountain climb, she has no choice bet to seek shelter -- and become hopelessly lost within a dank and dismal cave system.  There's one more problem: her golden-eyed, incredibly sexy rescuer isn't the average hiker.  He's also a dragon.
Chloe's life takes another dramatic turn that brings her and her dragon to her home in Houston, Texas From there, her future with Saul becomes dicey as shadowy forces in the draconic world object to their new union.  When Marceline Vargas agrees to join her friend Chloe for an island vacation in Mexico, she's ready for fun in the sun and an escape from her hectic career.  After crossing paths with the resort's owner, she soon discovers the billionaire dragon shifter is a charismatic enigma -- sexist but kind-hearted, intimidating yet generous.  Can his chauvinistic patterns be tamed? Marcy intends to find out.

Analysis:
Definitely liberal reading material.  Worn out by being represented in Congress by the opposition? Head to nature to commune. While nature is portrayed as maternal, eternal and a source of refreshment, the masculinized patriarchal caves are a "dank dismal system."  Sometimes you encounter a guy out of context and he seems really appealing.  Bring him back to Texas and you realize he's got a Biblical name and your future is "dicey" and "shadowy."

The story arc finally becomes clear with the explicitly stated question "Can chauvinistic patterns be tamed?" Take a hint Marcy.  "Kind and generous" doesn't wipe out "sexist and intimidating."  Chloe and Marcy realize the only way to live free of patriarchal relationship patterns is to join an all-female commune in Northern California.  The lizard men return to Congress.



Well I for one rest easy tonight, knowing I have not engaged in a single non-political activity all day, nor have I encouraged others to do so.  You're welcome.

Are you a Regency Buck or Belle?

These days it can be so hard to tell whether you're the hero of a shoddily researched romance novel or actually living in 1813.  Luckily, as a historian, I am well qualified to help you establish your exact circumstance.  Are you ready to take the quiz? Good.

For Gentlemen:
A. You are wearing a coat tailored by Weston, skin-tight inexpressibles and Hessians polished to a mirror-like shine by your valet, with whom you fought in the Peninsula, Rawlins.

Assessment: Tough call, but the fact that in your inner monologue you referred to trousers or breeches as "inexpressibles" suggests you are a figment of Georgette Heyer's imagination.

"I'm searching for just the right word to describe this. Imagine something moving with an aura of controlled power and radiating confidence.  It ripples like a stallion's heaving flank after a bruising ride.  Okay now think of an article of clothing that would cover something like that.  No, not my sleeves.  Nor my cravat, which I have tied in the Mathematical Waterfall, though I appreciate that you've noticed my puissant neck.  Golly this is hard.  Let's just call them 'inexpressibles.'"

B. Ask an honest friend from the 21st century to assess your body odor and rank it accordingly:
1. You smell like a wrestling camp locker room
2. You smell like an outhouse that has been dumped with Axe body spray
3. You smell of brandy, leather, and something inexpressibly male.
4. Your odor is unique to you, yet intoxicating
5. You smell of soap and a hint of, what is it, lemon? Cinnamon? I don't know but I want to kiss it.

Assessment: 1-2  Definitely 1813.   3 -- difficult to say.  Press you friend for details.  If the inexpressible odor turns out to be related to bodily fluids, you're probably really in the regency.  If you're just ineffably and olfactorily desirable human you're likely in a novel. 4-5 You're a work of fiction, mate.

"Oh my Lord, I'm shrinking from you for reasons of maidenly modesty, and definitely not because you smell like an open sewer. Etiquette forbids me to inhale unless we are separated by ten feet, what would Mama say?!"

C. In the past 24 hours have you: Made a magnificent leg, made a bet about a gently born lady's prospects on the Marriage Mart and recorded it in the betting book at White's or proposed marriage to a woman you scarcely know in order to secure an inheritance?
Assessment: Novel.

"It shall be strictly a marriage of convenience, at least until we are snowed in at my hunting lodge and the firelight plays tricks with my resolve!"
"Fine.  But my dead dog rug comes with me."

D.  Are you grotesquely disfigured from your presence at the Battle of Talavera?
Assessment: Really in 1813.  You might score a bit role as the impetus for an affecting scene in a novel wherein the heroine demonstrates her awareness of current events and sensibility, but you're definitely not the hero.

E. How many teeth do you have, and are they straight and gleamingly white?
Assessment: If the answer is not "all of them, and they are incandescent" you are in 1813.  No gap toothed swains need apply.

F.  You find yourself accumulating demonic nicknames.  Perhaps it is your saturnine good looks, or how you have the devil's luck at cards, but many call you "Lucifer" Beresford, the Dark Duke.
Assessment: In a novel, unless you are in fact the eminence of evil and your legal name is B. Elzebub.  In which case you might be Ol' Scratch in 1813.

For Misses Scarcely Out of the School Room

A.  Your honesty and frank innocence is refreshingly entrancing and a hardened rake has forsaken his gaming hells, claiming to find you fascinating and swearing he could never be bored by you, despite evidence that you are overwhelmingly bland.
Assessment:  Novel.

B. You embark upon the Marriage Mart determined that your head will rule your heart and you will make a marriage that will please papa.  You accomplish this.
Assessment: 1813.

C. A gentleman who reads aloud well has found favor with both you and your family, who are all greatly diverted by the distraction from the inexpressible boredom of living in the countryside in 1813.
Assessment: You're really in the Regency.  Novel heroines spend their evenings at Vauxhall or being kidnapped by dastardly roués who want to ruin their reputations in return for a handsome dowry and humiliating the once proud Lord Wrexham.

"Great.  He's reading Fordyce's sermons from the beginning.  Mama is charmed and says I must accept. Why cannot I have your happiness and freedom?"
"Take my advice, Lucy dearest.  Always wear pink satin, and never leave home without a dead dog."

 D.  When you go to a play, your gentleman escort is completely absorbed in watching your innocent wonder and emotional attachment to the spectacle, even as the rest of jaded London preens and spies upon one another.  You do not notice him staring fixedly, so wrapt is your gaze.  You are able to hear every note despite the lack of amplification and the raucousness of the audience.
Assessment: Novel.  Expect him to offer you a monogrammed handkerchief as a single crystalline tear slides down your porcelain cheek when the last note dies.

E.  You know adult women who affect baby talk or a lisp in order to entrance a man. And it seemingly works.
Assessment: Novel.  Slap that woman next time you see her.

"Ow you wead so weww! Widdow me could never manage!"
Can I get any further away from them while still keeping in contact with my dead dog? Edge carefully, don't wrinkle your only dress, self.

F.  The fact that England has been at war for your entirely life time has been personally devastating.  You have lost loved ones in the conflict.  Your dislike of Bonaparte is based on personal tragedy, rather than a pettish desire for a trip to Paris.
Assessment: 1813.  Hang in there, Lucinda.  Just a couple more years.

"Let me sing you a warm tune I learned in the Peninsula, which sounds a little like penis if you're drunk enough!"
"Oh la sir! You put me in the blush!"
Dog rug wishes he could be left at home for once.

G. Your ability to dance is dependent entirely on having a partner who commands you to maintain eye contact.  He glides expertly, with the grace of leonine panther, around Alamacks as the ton gazes on with disapproving jealousy, you suddenly discover that you move with the tender grace of a willow or a snowdrop or something that doesn't move under its own power.

Assessment: Novel written by high schoolers who were bored in class.

H. You are forced to feign interest in poorly executed music.

Assessment: You could be anywhere.

"I sat down first when the music stopped! Fair is fair, I get the dog rug as a prize!"

"Your mama told me you had an ear for music"
"She didn't mean you should attempt to lick it"
"Fido is asleep, he will not wake your duenna!"
"I wish I were as dead as Fido."
"What my dearest?"
"Nothing." 

La, sir! You caught me idly strumming my lyre and flattening my dog pelt. I know how men love a lady who is accomplished AND a skilled manager of the home!

Special credit goes to painter Vittorio Reggianini and to his dead dog, neither gone nor forgotten. RIP Fido.

Better know a Pip

Pip has ruled our kingdom with benevolent despotism for nineteen months and we feel we know him pretty well.  But how well do YOU know your overlord? Take the quiz to find out!

1. When picnicking in the back yard, Pip's favorite food/beverage is:

A) Sucking rain water out of a dish rag used to clean tables at our barbecue a month ago

B) Sucking rain water out of a sock that I took off and left in the mud, so it is sweaty, moldy and soaked

C) Sucking rain water out of a used paint roller that I set outside to dry three months ago and then never brought in.

Answer:  Trick question. I get off on being withholding and snatched each one away before he could do a comparative taste test.

2.  We watch the skies because:

A) We hope to see a plane dragging a banner on game day.

B) We're hoping to see the Geese Blue Angels do a fly past

C) We are aiming to spot a tiny plane scarcely visible to the human eye

Answer: Geese!!! When you see them, scream and point with glee!!! Planes will do when no geese are available.

3. "Brrzzz" means:

A) The sound bees make

B) The sound cars make

C) Grapes

D) That tickles

Answer.  Grapes.  He replaces g with b, doesn't really get the letter p, and s becomes z.  It's fairly simple. Also he demands them in lieu of other food items at every meal.

4. When mom reads "The Gruffalo" the fox speaks with what accent?

A) Mr. Renard parle français, bien sûr

B) A faintly eastern European patois, with a hint of Spanish influence

C) He's from Louisiana, obviously

Answer: The fox learned to speak English by listening to NPR interviews with people from the former Soviet Union.  But he has a little Zorro in there too.

5. "Eh eee!" Is a common phrase in our house.  It means:

A) I want cheese, pronto.

B) I want to be on the couch along with this very large ungainly toy.

C) I do not wish to have my diaper refreshed.

Answer: B.  Remove all the consonants from "help please!" and you have his pronunciation.  I respond to his whining by using that phrase in the hopes that he'd learn to ask for help instead of sniveling.  It has kind of worked. 

6.  When a varlet goes to get Pip out of his crib in the morning, it is customary to:

A) Have a stuffed animal peer around the door and hop about greeting him

B) Send a truck in as an advance emissary

C) Sing the good morning song which involves a number of "tra la la las" 

Answer: C.  The puppets usually aren't up for a show until after nap time.  Trucks are downstairs friends, obviously.  The song is a thing of beauty and poetry.

7.  Pip's favorite music is:

A) The songs in the public domain that his annoying battery operated toys drone endlessly.

B) Specifically, "Mary had a little lamb" which inexplicably is what his train engine produces, accompanied by cheerful train toots

C) The first cabinet meeting from the second CD of the Hamilton soundtrack, because he likes debating debt plans with Mommy.  We take turns with who has to be Jefferson.

Answer: C.  Obviously.  Hamilton is basically the only music to which my son has been consistently exposed.  Answers A and B technically fall into the category of noise, not music.  Mom knows where the off switch is.

8.  When out and about, Pip frequently removes his socks and flings them with wild abandon, never to be seen again.  The reason for this is:

A) BORN FREE!!!

B) Need to find out what the piggies have accomplished

C) Chris taught him socks are the devil.

Answer: Could be A or B.  Chris has taught him that socks are our friends because they protect us from the true evil, which are shoes.

Literary Quiz: Damon Snow and the Nocturnal Lessons

My childhood bestie Laura and I have long exchanged literary quizzes.  The premise is that you find the most absurd blurb on the back of a novel you can, then invite your reader to dissect it.  Actually reading the book is strongly discouraged.  Today's selection:

Damon Snow and the Nocturnal Lessons

Damon Snow thinks he has the world figured out. As an incubus demon and male prostitute, the world is a cruel, dark and lonely place where men only want one thing. When his long-time patron Byrne discovers he's dying, Byrne offers to leave his entire fortune to Damon. There's only one catch: Damon has to investigate and write about the reason another patron Price visits him. Easy – the same reason as all men. But what starts as an easy assignment turns into an impossible secret, the last thing Damon would ever suspect. If men only want one thing, how can one possibly fall in love?


1.  Do you think Damon's demon parents gave him that name? It seems really unoriginal, bordering on cruelty.  This is my demon son, Damon.  I bet he got teased in Imp school.  Are the Snows an old demon family, or a bunch of nouveau fiends on the make?  Expand on Damon's family background, exploring the potential impact on his life choices and the trajectory of the story. (10 points)

2. An incubus is a male-form sexual demon that preys on women in it's spare time.  How does this fit with his occupation as a male prostitute, given the contextual suggestion that his primary clients are men?  Is it really fair to say that the world is "cruel and dark" when, as a incubus demon, he's the one prowling around being shadowy and evil? Discuss the inherent paradoxes that set up the central psychological conflict of this piece. (15 points)

3.  The author asserts that men "only want one thing" but then fails to inform the audience what that might be.  What is the effect of this ambiguity? How might readers be misled? Create a list of the one thing men might plausibly want. Possibilities include: Some freaking peace and quiet for once, to finish the game without being bitten by a toddler etc. (10 points)

4.  Who is dying?  Parse the grammar. (5 points)

5. Given that Damon is a demon, suggest likely occupations for Price.  A salesman? A checker?

6.  Who is the intended audience for Damon's investigative journalism? Byrne the voyeur? People perusing the back page of Eugene Weekly to see the proclivities of local lonely weirdos? The Daily Male, the gossip rag for demonic prostitutes?  Write a sample article in Damon's signature style.  (20 points).

7.  Return to pondering question #3.  What is the one thing that is totally incompatible with also falling in love?  Pooping publicly? Very unattractive and does not promote romance.  Or does it.... happily married for seven years, yo. (10 points.)

8.  How much would you have to be paid to read this book?  Would you do it to ensure your candidate wins the presidency? What would your price be? Asking for a demon friend.

Off hiatus

Hello blogstalkers!  I haven't blogged in nearly two years, and I set the ol' spot on private.  Somehow it didn't seem to fit my life anymore.  The old blog was about grad school, a chapter of my life that has mercifully closed.  Now I'm the new me! Except increasingly I've kinda missed ye olde blog.  I have filled the void somewhat with Facebook status updates but it isn't the same.  So I'm baaaaaack.

Did you miss the first seven years my blog existed? Here's a quick recap:

• Went to grad school.  It was really hard.  Somewhat rewarding, but mostly hard.  Ambivalent feelings about that life choice.
• Married Captain Handsome.  He files my taxes in return for sexual favors.  And meals.  And companionship. And being a team.  But my I'm confident my personal magnetism plays a big role (and the fact that we file jointly anyway).
• Started teaching.  Originally found it terrifying and a miserable slog.  Now me likey.  
• I have the world's least reliable internal plumbing.  Remember that one time I blogged about pooping in the park?  "One time?" you say. "No, I don't remember one blog post on that subject. I remember you blogging about pooping in a stranger's house so you could avoid pooping in a cemetery.  I remember the time you pooped in front of a homeless woman.  I remember the time you pooped your pants in the car.  I remember the time you invited yourself into another stranger's home to have diarrhea.  I remember the time you squatted between the highway and the river.  So I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."   Yeah.  You're going to need to prepare yourself for poop tales.  Though I don't like to brag, but I haven't lost bowel control in over two years.

What have I been up to the last two years?

• I had a baby.  Specifically, I had the King Baby.   He is not to be trifled with.
• During pregnancy, I was the puke queen.  If Captain Handsome and I every produce another darling homunculus I am going to diligently track my vomiting in the interests of statistics.  I know I just bragged about not pooping publicly recently.  Would you like to hear some of the places I vomited?  Good! The parking lot of: Winco, Safeway, Market of Choice and Café Yumm (I'm also counting places where I emptied my puke bucket from driving).  I vomited in my car, obviously.  I kept a bucket so that if the urge came while driving I would be prepared.  But I also puked into a hastily emptied kleenex box one time.  I also puked in produce bags in the grocery store, in the grocery store bathroom, in church, during a concert in which I was performing (I managed to get out of the room but still), in the sink, the trash, the toilet, on my daphne bush (several times.)  I puked seven times on Thanksgiving.  I vomited so much I was dehydrated and weak to the point that seven up actually felt deeply nourishing because it had calories.  I puked while I was in labor.  People who say they love being pregnant are either lying or in league with the devil. The grossest things to vomit are: popcorn, rice, green onions and roughage that doesn't break down quickly.  The best thing to vomit is a fruit smoothie because it looks and tastes about the same in each direction. The best thing about vomiting is nothing.  The worst thing about vomiting is when it splatters into a toilet and splashes back up into your hair.
• I'm also teaching, but I think I'll keep that on the back burner in the interests of professionalism.  I'm super duper professional.  Like, the most professional.  I wear makeup for at least the first week of every term to set the clear tone that I am professional.