Word to your mother
2004-02-03, 8:25 a.m.

Lil Guy was listening to music on his lil cd player in the car yesterday on the way home, and he was extolling the virtues of the wonderful sound quality he gets with his lil machine.

"Mom, you know the song "Eat It" by Weird Al? How in the background, you hear someone go "erp" and someone else go "Ow!"? Well, on these headphones, you hear the "erp" in one ear, and the "ow!" in the other ear. And when they sing "Eat it eat it eat it eat it eat it", it kind of bounces back and forth from ear to the other."

I laughed WITH him, not at him. For being so impressed with the sound quality that he can hear the burps in one ear, and the MJ-like "OW!"s in the other ear. He didn't get it - this boy takes his music very seriously. Do not mock the Weird Al.

In other news, I sent DW to the grocery store for crescent rolls yesterday. Yeppiree, I called from the car, and said "Can you go to the store and get crescent rolls?" After telling him where they are (by the biscuits), how they are packaged (in a can), and the name (Pillsbury), he felt pretty confident, and pulled off his own little Fear Factr stunt all by himself: a trip to the grocery store. Unescorted. AAEEEIIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!!

This little act completely pre-empted my sulky pouting "I do all the work around here" bout...we completely avoided another pouty breakdown.

In other news, I have decided that the slackers way to working out is not achieving any results. I'm too fatty. I'm not fat - I weight 110 pounds for the love of all that is good and holy. But much of that is fat, and the muscle that is there is quite slack. Therefore, I started back on the P90 this morning. Did me some sculpt, and now my legs are weak and wobbly feeling. 90 days, that's all I gotta do. 90 days. Gee shit, I hope I can hang in there.

And in quite some other news, I have a buttload of work to do. How large exactly is a buttload? Well, as we determined in college (we meaning my little friend Chris and I), it all depends upon sphincter size. It's all relative, but anybody's buttload is a buttload to them. Your buttload might not be a buttload to me, and vice versa. Or your toilet-stopping buttload might be an overwhelming unmanageable avalanche to me. My buttload is my buttload. The sphincter is your own subjective measuring device.

Yo, VIP....let's kick it.