A few Rancid Rants. It's been awhile.......
Clarification - I am being tested for gestational diabetes Monday morning. In truth, my blood sugar merely tested high enough to warrant further testing, but it's not clear yet whether I actually have gestational diabetes. Lest I be accused of being a drama queen, I thought I should mention that - you know?
Love and Logic - It Ain't Just for Kids Anymore.
Over the weekend, I dumped some uncooked rice into Arun's sand and water table for him to play with (it was old, leftover rice from X's pre-diabetes Days of Unlimited Carbs). So, Arun was playing with the rice outside while X worked on his laptop nearby. As Arun was gleefully showering rice on X, I kept telling X to not allow Arun to do it. However, I didn't make a big deal of it because it's hard enough to discipline a toddler, why start a fight with your spouse over it -- right? However, imagine my unabashed delight when later I spied X desperately trying to pry bits o' rice out of his keyboard. Squee!!
Rice, Rice Baby
Speaking of throwing rice, when Arun is done with his little "experiments", his hair is chock FULL of rice. Which is quite disgusting because the grains look like LICE, not rice. Specifically, obese lice that could use a good stint in Fat Camp. Bleh.
Apparently, you can wash an iPod Shuffle in the WASHER, then run it through a hot cycle in the DRYER and it will be fine, just fine. Not that my husband left a Shuffle in his running shorts this weekend. He would never do something like THAT.
Blue, Get a Clue!
Quite frankly, Joe is just too hot for the job to even be believable. TOO HOT. When Steve furrows his eyebrows at the camera, you believe him. Joe? Too hot. I can see Joe totally getting snockered at the hottest clubs in LA, trying to play up his "gig on TV" as an actual "paid actor" while trying to score himself a nice piece of tail. Frankly, when Steve does the cabbage patch dance move in the closing song it's sweet. When Joe does the cabbage patch , it's just wrong.
If He Screams, I WILL Scream.
I despise our ice cream truck dude with his stupid clanging bell as he slowly snakes through our neighborhood during nap time. I want to grab the little fucker by his mullet, yank him through the window of his Creepy Paneled Van and just pummel the shit out of him.
I May Just Be a SAHM, But My Husband is a WAHD.
And we're running both of our little empires from our living room couch. Awesome.