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Name: funky
Country: United States
State: Washington
Gender: Female
Interests: painting my toenails, changing diapers and reading.
Expertise: deconstructing the "male gaze" and fetish symbology in comic art.
Occupation: Other
Industry: Other
Message: message me
Member Since:
8/15/2002
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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| Heh. Apparently some nudie mag in the UK shares a name with me. So I get a lot of traffic intended for their website. I find this funny. I have nothing against boobs, actually (I'm rather fond of my own, for example), but I will not be posting any pictures of them here. Sorry to disappoint. | | |
| For some reason, despite the highly untraditional nature of our planned
pirate-themed nuptials, I purchased "The Knot" to see if it had any
useful tips for me. It didn't really, except for the suggestion
that we rent a pony to entertain the kids during the reception.
That would be cool. It would be even better if we could rent a
giraffe, but I wouldn't know where to get one.
Who writes these magazines? How big of a control freak do you
have to be to plan a wedding? Reading about items like
personalized photo confetti, or which name should be first on the
cake-cutting knife, or how to structure your contract with the band so
you don't have to feed them, makes me a little sick to my
stomach. Seriously, I would have to be lobotomized, or at least
heavily sedated, to be able to throw one of these large, fancy
weddings.
If I get bride-fever and suddenly decide I must have a post-ceremony
tank top with "Taken" written in rhinestones and flip-flops that say
"Just Married," I want to be clubbed to death like a baby harp
seal. Please.
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| So, the other morning, while changing the channel to "Sesame Street" for small one, I passed by and oddly paused on the weather report. I say oddly, because the weather in my city is moody and immensely variable; and I tend to view meteorologists with as much pity and suspicion as I view those raving street prophets. Perhaps more.
However, this morning, I not only stopped to watch the weather report; I BELIEVED the weather report. I decided that since the perky weather girl said it would not rain all week, despite all evidence to the contrary, it was not actually raining outside. So I left the house without my umbrella, and walked my daughter to school in the rain. And then waited for the bus in the rain.
In retrospect, I'm not entirely sure it was even a local broadcast.
I do not understand my own motivations in any of this, except to think that perhaps I really, really needed some conviction to get me out of the door that morning. And since I was too tired to come up with my own, I borrowed one from the weather report.
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| *shutting up mama*
this afternoon the princess and i went on a hike with a friend and his daughter. eventually, as is her way, the princess began to lag behind, wandering off the trail, bushwacking her own path through the tall grass, stopping to do her own little experiments in gravity and levity.
i tried to cajole her into moving a little faster, as is my way. one of the hardest things for me about having a toddler, especially a deliberate one like i do, is the slow speed everything moves at. i move quickly, i talk quickly, i eat quickly, i laugh quickly. slow is painful for me.
"c'mon, pooh bear," i say, "you're lucky we're not aborigines, living in the outback, because the dingos would have already picked you off. you would easily be caught and eaten by dingos." she looks at me, skeptically. "aaaaahhhhh! aaaaaahhhhh! " i yell. "they're coming, they're coming! run! run!" i start to dash ahead, trying to motivate her.
she dutifully runs for a minute, arms flapping, and then slows down again, to poke at a hole in the ground. "what about the dingos, baby?" i ask. "they're dead, mommy." she says, seriously, "they died." | | |
| *it's a bird, it's a plane...*
tonight, while i was making dinner and listening to n.p.r., i heard a piece on how to determine, from the privacy of your own home, whether or not you're a "supertaster." supertasters, for the uninitiated, are people who taste flavors more intensely than ordinary people. about 25% of the population is so blessed. or not so blessed, as it apparently makes a lot of foods too hard to take.
the main way researchers test for this is with a little piece of paper that has a certain flavor on it that only a certain percentage of people will detect. people can either taste it a little, not at all, or find it extremely bitter. since the little pieces of paper are hard to come by, the scientist on n.p.r. suggested coating the tip of your tongue with blue food coloring and, using a flashlight and magnifying glass, decide if you have a few large taste buds, or lots of little ones all jammed together. lots and lots of them means you're a supertaster.
of course, i had to try this immediately. i'm incapable of NOT categorizing myself, if given the opportunity. i like those little personality tests in magazines too, even if they're for married people or rodeo clowns and don't really apply to me. if someone came on the radio with a self test for prostate health, i would do my darndest to follow the instructions as closely as i was physiologically capable of. because it never hurts to know.
so i blotted blue food coloring on my tongue (and several other places around the kitchen as well. oops!) and dutifully trekked to the bathroom with a flashlight. and the results are... inconclusive. my tongue looked pretty cool, though. as did my blue teeth and lips. quite a few bumps there, but i really have nothing to compare them too. (excuse me, do you mind if i look in your mouth for a second? hold this flashlight, i need to put this on your tongue..)
i'm assuming i have enough of those puppies to rule out my being a non-taster, but due to my regular, excessive consumption of hotsauce (something a supertaster would never go for) i'm assuming i don't have a super tongue, either. at least not in the tasting department.
anyhow, if you'd like to give the whole thing a try, follow these instructions:
supertaster test
let me know how it goes. | | |
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