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« August 2007 | Main | October 2007 »

September 28, 2007

All of a Sudden, Two

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Sometimes, yes. It's a little weird to see.

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Last night I interpreted a jumble of words and signs for Jason. Light, off, eyes, surprised. Oh! His favorite page in Goodnight, Gorilla.

I know that "eee eye eee eee eye eeee ooh" is the Farmer in the Dell. I know "nee nee" is singing and "bapap" is backpack.

I didn't know he knew the sign for "help" until he did it just now, because he'd dropped a toy behind a cabinet.

I know when he's sad or hurt or hungry, when he wants a banana or a cookie, and I know because he tells me. 

There's so much I don't know about this motherhood thing and every day I'm reminded that I've yet to really learn who Noah really is, as his own little person.

So much to learn. Together. What an amazing gift and a privilege.

Noah's second birthday from amalah on Vimeo.
Music: Together by William Shatner (featuring Lemon Jelly)

Happy Birthday to the coolest little boy I know. 

Posted at 10:56 AM in Noah, video | Permalink | Comments (173)

September 26, 2007

Updates On Things You Didn't Even Know You Cared About

(With more movie title format weirdness. I don't know why I'm having trouble letting it go. Possibly I think I am clever. Possibly tomorrow I will realize the  truth.)

Captain Corelli's Mandoline

Jason's thumb tip appears to be growing back. Or so he says, because I refuse to look at it. He keeps trying to make me look at it. I keep threatening to no longer help him with his shirt buttons.

By the way, this is what a mandoline looks like. This is also what a mandoline THAT IS BEING USED PROPERLY looks like. Take away the jolly little plastic vegetable hat and you'll see what went so very wrong for Jason. Laws of physics, people. Don't fuck with them.

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Cujo and the Chocolate Factory

Our dinner party guests brought dessert on Saturday...a deliciously decadent chocolate cake. So decadent, in fact, that we accidentally left about half of it sitting on the kitchen counter overnight, after we all slumped off to bed in a food coma.

The next morning, after determining that it was indeed too stale to eat, even as a toaster-breakfast-cake thing, we threw it in the trash. Which somehow ended up sitting by the back door because SOMEBODY WHO POSSIBLY IS DEFICIENT IN THE THUMB DEPARTMENT didn't feel like taking the 15 steps or so to the garbage can in the back yard.

I walked into the kitchen a little later and saw the bag ripped open...and Ceiba literally up to her beady little eyeballs in chocolate cake.

"CEIBA!" I screamed. "NO! STOP! IT'LL GO RIGHT TO YOUR THIGHS!"

We called the vet in a panic and tried to figure out how to describe exactly how much cake she'd eaten ("Well, there were about three or four slices left -- small slices, you know, girl slices -- and she ate about half of them, plus all the icing, although a lot of it is still on her ears") and also what kind of chocolate she'd eaten since we didn't have the ingredient list. They basically told us to sit around and watch her for a few hours, and that even if she wasn't poisoned, she'd probably be puking and having diarrhea a fair amount.

We sat.

We watched.

We Googled the best way to check a dog's pulse.

We had Noah's plastic splash mat all ready in case we were too far away from the back door.

Damn dog is FINE. Not even a single runny poop. Cast-iron stomach, I swear.

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This mean I can has chocolate chip waffles now?

Dork: The Movie

One really, really weird thing about parenthood that I was completely unprepared for is how your definition of "celebrity" changes. Anyone who makes your kid happy is totally your new rock star.

Suddenly you develop a little crush on your elderly pediatrician and you start trying to figure out which of the Wiggles is the cutest and honestly, I would drive two hours to take Noah to meet Joe from Blue's Clues because OMFG JOE FROM BLUE'S CLUES.

So with that said, I want you to just try to imagine the hysterical, Beatles-worthy scream that erupted from my mouth when I got the following attachment from an employee at Signing Time:

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I cannot even explain the full effect this photo has on me. It makes me want to be a better person.

P.S. My next post is up over at the Fall Shopping Guide thingie. If you are thinking, "Hmm, perhaps this Amy girl is a little weird," please check it out to have all your worst fears confirmed.

P.P.S Contractually obligated to link to it. Sorry. But not, because = whore.

P.P.P.S Also sorry for the dearth of Noah photos this week...I am selfishly hoarding them all until I've finalized my choices for his little birthday video/photo montage thing.

P.P.P.P.S My music choice for this year's video is William Shatner. I am officially the biggest weirdo I know.

Posted at 01:10 PM in Ceiba, internet, Jason, speech delays | Permalink | Comments (63)

September 24, 2007

Weekend: Horror Movie Edition

Molarball: The Return; or Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Eat SpaghettiOs Again

Also known as Friday, the day Noah had a coughing/choking/hacking-lung fit right after lunch and projectile vomited a plate of pasta, half a cheddar cheese stick and an entire sippy cup of juice. And if you think this stuff looks gross coming from the bottle, just wait until you see it come BACK UP. Exorcist remakes, take note.

We've got incoming molars, people. And we are just fucking THRILLED about it.

Birthday Party: Part Two: The Planninging; or Take Your Fucking Theme And Shove It Up Your Fucking Ass

Also known as Saturday, the day it occurred to me that Noah's birthday party was exactly one week away and my extremely laid-back, jebus-lord-he's-only-two approach to planning the stupid thing meant that THERE HAS BEEN NO STUPID PLANNING.  Half the guests are vegetarian, the other half are extremely picker eaters and/or children, yet another half (shut up, the math works in my head at least) are Jason's gourmet foodie friends and when I suggested burgers on the grill and a couple boxes of veggie burgers Jason's show-offy dinner-party-loving head exploded, sort of like when I told a friend that no, Noah's birthday party doesn't have a theme. Am I supposed to have a theme?

I did break down and order a cake. I was planning to make one myself, but in this world-gone-mad-for-televised-fondant-competitions, I started to get a little stressed out over how I would decorate the cake, knowing that my nerves would get the better of me at the exact wrong second and I would end up with a cake that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAOH!

So I went to a bakery -- the kind of bakery that sells cakes shaped like handbags and baby carriages and my God, did I want to go in and request some boobs -- and ordered a damn cake.

"What's your theme?"

"GAH!"

I finally remembered that the eVite I sent out had monkeys on it, so...monkeys! Our theme is monkeys. Everybody will get a banana when they leave, and this way I don't have to worry about all the dog poop in the backyard.

BLOOD OMFG BLOOD

(This portion of our entry is dedicated to mah betches over at MamaPopTalk, who helped me ruthlessly ridicule Big Gay Top Chef Dale for being unable to operate a mandoline. The irony, it buuuurns. And has stubby thumbs.)

We had friends over for dinner Saturday night, so I decided to try out a new potato recipe. I was having issues with our mandoline, to say it nicely, and managed to nick the hell out of my finger. Jason sighed the sigh of the martyred saints and offered to take over the slicing duties.

I told him I also needed some onion slices.

Our onions were too big for the safety holder part. I told him I would just use a knife.

He started slicing the onion on the mandoline anyway.

I watched.

My brain twitched.

I shrieked.

STOP SLOW DOWN STOP STOP STOP FINGER FINGER

Anyway. That's how part of Jason's thumb ended up on our kitchen counter and why we spent the rest of afternoon at the emergency room. On the drive there (which seemed to take FOREVER, what with all the old people driving 15 mph and OMFG THIS IS A HOSPITAL ROUTE ASSHOLES, SOMEONE COULD BE IN LABOR) I tried to brainstorm other, dumber injuries (anything that involves a toilet, nudity, or something stuck up your ass) to make Jason feel better, or at least distract everybody from the Monty-Python-like fountain of blood gushing from his hand.

I did not put his thumbtip on ice or anything (I actually just stood there and screamed at it until Jason tossed it down the garbage disposal), and eventually I left him at the hospital so I could go home and finish my potato and onion gratin (it needed to bake for an hour!).

They gave him a tetanus shot and he took a cab home. Our dinner guests enjoyed the gratin.

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My personal mandoline injury, made infinitely less cool by a Dora the Explorer Band-Aid.

Posted at 09:00 AM in Jason, Noah, stories | Permalink | Comments (85)

September 20, 2007

A Little Off the Top

I've been dragging my feet all week over this post, but y'all are so lovely and sweet and caring that I just cannot lie to you anymore. I simply must confess.

We cut Noah's hair this weekend.

Wait! Don't cry! It's okay!

We actually cut Noah's hair once already, way back in February, at one of those kiddie salons. I asked the...stylist? barber? person who cuts hair with the same finesse as a toddler cuts construction paper with some safety scissors?...to leave his hair longish. "Just trim the bangs," I said. "Maybe clean up the back a little bit."

Of course, her internal cutting computer defaulted to BOY = SHORT = DWEEB and she practically shaved his head.

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WEEP. DO NOT WANT AGAIN, ALTHOUGH I DO MISS THOSE CHUBBY KNUCKLES.

But there was no doubt that his hair has been getting a little ridiculous lately. I found myself contemplating a spray bottle at the drugstore so I could spritz and scrunch his curls back into shape during the day.

(Okay, so maybe I was the one who was getting a little ridiculous. But clearly, I had to be stopped.)

This time I took him to my stylist, and let me tell you, there are few things better than watching a flamboyant gay man with a bleached mohawk gently fuss over your child's hair. Especially when the whole affair is so pleasingly color-coordinated.

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"Please don't make him look dweeby," I said. "Or Republican."

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"I know not to cut the curls," he said. "Trust me, I KNOW."

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I don't know who this man is or what he's doing to me, but if anyone messes with mah juice I will set this whole place on fire.

So. We still have curls and hippie hair. It's just a little less tempting to pull his hair into ponytails tied up with little bows now. He still looks pretty adorable while wearing my headbands, not that I would allow that sort of thing, or put them on him deliberately, and anyway, we call them hats.

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We're getting professional photos taken on Tuesday. So we just need to make it through the next four days without any new face bruises, cuts, fat lips or black eyes. I should probably just pad the entire house with a layer of bubble wrap.

Posted at 12:57 PM in Noah | Permalink | Comments (115)

September 19, 2007

The Absolutely Everything I Have Learned About Speech Delays Entry

This one is going to be all boring gritty speech delay details, y'all, with assvice and requests for further assvice and probably a minimum of I-got-drunk-and-fell-down-ness, even though I DID fall down this weekend and still have gravel in my palm. I wasn't drunk, I was just running late for a showing of the latest Harry Potter movie (and of course by "latest" I mean "the one that came out months ago") and I tripped and fell off my so-last-season shoes.

(Request for Non-Speech-Delay Assvice: How do you get teeny little specks of gravel out of your palm, especially after the skin seems to have healed right over them? And if there is no way to get it out short of re-slicing your hand open, is there any harm in leaving it there, i.e. setting off metal detectors at the airport?)

ANYWAY. Most of you can probably skip this entry, and just let us speech-delay-type people talk amongst ourselves. (There is a really lame joke somewhere in that sentence, but I AM NOT HERE FOR JOKES TODAY PEOPLE. I AM NOT YOUR MONKEY.)

(I AM SO YOUR MONKEY.)

Part the First: Fish Oil? Le Fuck?

This is something we researched on our own and decided to try. (Translation: neither our pediatrician nor the Early Intervention folks mentioned it.) Not that it's some kind of crazy New Age moonshine quackery, or anything. It's good ole' cod liver oil.

The book The Late Talker (which is excellent, by the way, and echoes most of what our speech therapy has taught us) has a ton of info on the benefits for speech-delayed children. Fish oil is high in essential fatty acids -- omega-3s, DHA, all that jazz. If you formula-fed, you probably remember seeing DHA stamped all over the packaging. Breast milk has it too, although I doubt your boobs were similarly labeled. DHA is good for the nervous system, and thus, fish oil is suggested for children with neurological problems -- SPD, autism, apraxia, etc. Since we suspected Noah's speech delay was, in part, neurologically based, we opted to add more fatty acids to his diet. These are naturally found in oily fishy fish, but of course: 1) mercury is also found in oily fish, and 2) not many two-year-olds really dig sardines.

Luckily, thanks to Whole Foods and other vitamin/health-food-type places, you can easily find flavored versions that 1) are independently purity tested for mercury, and 2) taste like candy! Sort of. We've tried Spectrum's lemon-flavored Cod Liver Oil and Coromega's orange-flavored version. Both can be easily hidden in juice, although the thicker and tangier the juice, the better. Once again, Trader Joe's Green Plant Sludge Juice Product to the rescue. You can hide ANYTHING in that shit, people. For real. I've also mixed it into jars of tart-flavored baby food (mango, banana, etc.) and then added that to regular juices. (The oil tends to separate from watery juices unless you thicken them up.)

We give Noah one teaspoon daily. You can also try flaxseed oil if your child is allergic to fish or rejects the flavored versions. Talk to your doctor. All warranties on Amalah-branded advice are void where prohibited, which is to say everywhere.

Part the Second: Sippy Cups With Straws? Le Fuckity Fuck?

A lot of smart smart commenters with experience in speech delays and Early Intervention mentioned this one to me early on: get rid of sippy cups with spouts and switch to straws. This was also the first piece of advice we got from the speech pathologist who evaluated Noah.

I've mentioned that Noah's pronunciation is odd, and his mouth positions are not quite right -- even when he says words he's "mastered." He says Mama very clearly, but it's nasal, and his top teeth jut over his bottom lip. This is not the proper (or easiest!) way to produce the M sound. (Say it yourself to see what I mean.) He doesn't want to put his lips together, which makes saying a whole lot of words a whole lot harder.

The idea behind the straws is to flex those mouth muscles and get his tongue out of the way. The speech pathologist even did a doodle for us about the position of the mouth and tongue when drinking from a spout sippy cup and how it's all wrong for speech. (Although let me interject that your choice of sippy cup is SO NOT A BIG DEAL if your child is not speech delayed. Don't freak out and panic because your 13-month-old can't use a straw yet. Don't go filing a class-action lawsuit against the Playtex Insulator. This is one of those "if you suspect a problem, give this a shot" sort of things.)

Other activities we do for Noah's mouth muscles include: blowing bubbles, whistles and kazoos, applying Chapstick and making an exaggerated mmmmmmmwa-lipsmack kind of sound, and the whole facial-expressions-in-the-mirror thing.

Part the Third: Have You Tried Talking To Your Kid, Dumbass?

Obviously, we've always talked to Noah. We read books, we sing songs, we use words and gestures and ask questions and all that good stuff. But it clearly wasn't working.

My friend Julie can literally teach her son Max new words in about five minutes. She repeats the word a few times and then asks him to say it. And without fail, he parrots it back and within a day or two is using it correctly and spontaneously on his own. And my heart would HURT, y'all, because I would try the same thing with Noah for hours and days on end with no results. I didn't understand what I was doing wrong, or even worse: I didn't understand what was wrong with Noah.

The short answer is that I was not approaching language in a way that worked for Noah, and duh, there was NOTHING wrong with Noah except that he is Noah and not Max. Noah needs repetition of sounds, not words. He is hesitant to try new sounds, and without mastering new sounds there is simply no way he can attempt new words. Max has a natural knack for mimicry, while Noah is fighting those underdeveloped mouth muscles, so we were frustrating him with our constant requests to "say plane! can you say plane?" He couldn't say plane because he couldn't make the P sound, and why should he work so hard on the P sound when he can just call a plane a "na" and get his point across?

So life in our home is now life with that guy from Police Academy who did all the sound effects. Everything makes a sound. Whoosh! Crash! Zip! Pop! Everything is BIG and EXAGGERATED. When we blow bubbles we jump on them and run after them and yell POP at the top of our lungs. Noah thinks this is HILARIOUS, and I swear to God, 15 minutes after his first therapy session I managed to get him to say POP along with me. We'd gone through probably 17 bottles of bubbles in his little life and yet it never occurred to me to focus on POP instead of BUBBLE.

(He says bubble now too. *headsmack*)

We also hold words back from him. Everything is a fill-in-the-blank quiz, and instead of rushing to give him the word (provided it's something we know he knows already), we stay silent and wait for him to say or sign it. If he can't, we wait for him to look at us before we say it. The best time to do this is when we're reading a familiar book or singing a familiar song.

For example: Noah knows Goodnight Moon by heart, but we used to hold him on our lap, facing away from us. We would say the word ("Goodnight...light") and he would point to the correct object on the page. Great for cognition, but it's a lousy approach for communication.

Now we read it facing each other. We say, "Goodnight...." and wait for him to volunteer the next word. If he doesn't, we wait until he's looking at our face. "Light." That way he's watching our lips form the word. Sure, there's something not so cozy about reading books standing up while Noah sits on the changing table, but hey, kids love thinking they know something you don't, so if pretending that I have no damn clue whether the little house or the young mouse comes next gets Noah to talk, so be it.

Part the Fourth: Sign Language & Me & My Mea Culpa

Yes, we probably all remember me and the Bilingual Sign Language Genius Child at Gymboree and how her pushy, over-achieving mother bugged me. Yes, we all know that I was very wrong and mean and yes, of course I have wondered if pursuing baby sign language early on might have saved us from a lot of stress and frustration. I feel terrible that I let my own prejudices against the type-A supermoms keep me from trying out something that Noah clearly connects with and benefits from.

It's another example of how having any type of parenting "belief" is often a one-way ticket to parenting folly. If you wholeheartedly subscribe to a particular approach -- be it co-sleeping, CIO, extended breastfeeding, spanking, whatever -- I can pretty much guaran-goddamn-tee that you will birth a child who will end up benefiting from the polar opposite of what you believe is the "right" way to do things.

But what's done is done. The important thing is that Noah is picking up more and more signs every day and all I have to do is ask him if it's signing time (move your index fingers in a circle, point at invisible watch) and he jumps up and down and runs to the TV and starts flapping his hands and fingers all over the place. It's like the ASL equivalent of jabberwocky.

Some assvice about Signing Time:

1) If your child is over 12 months, skip the Baby Signing Time DVDs and go directly to My First Signs. Noah was beyond underwhelmed by Baby Signs, which is very tinkly and quiet and features babies doing the signs, but was instantly hooked on the regular series, which has catchier music and bigger kids. Noah LOVES bigger kids. Bigger kids are worth imitating. (I'm giving the Baby Signs DVDs to a friend with a newborn, and I'm sorry to every woman who will ever have a baby within my social circle: You are getting Signing Time DVDs and a panty, wild-eyed sermon from me.)

2) Watch the DVDs with your kid, brainiac. Don't put a new DVD on and walk away, because your child will later start signing something that he learned from that DVD and you'll be all...uhhhh... Not that this...happened...to me...or anything.

3) It takes Noah about three viewings before I start seeing new signs. He'd certainly be happy just watching My First Signs over and over and over again, but since we have the whole set I feel obligated to switch it up. Plus I might shoot myself if I have to listen to the Silly Pizza song again. We watch one DVD a day, right after his nap. I always do the signs, and then I tap his chest to indicate "Noah's turn" and give him the chance to try. Like his speech, he generally doesn't try new signs until he feel he can do them perfectly (I've caught him practicing alone in his room, using his picture books) (*bites knuckle from the adorableness*). The signs he picks up the fastest are the ones I use the most, so be ready to use signs whenever possible and to nag your significant other about using them too, because COME ON, DON'T MAKE ME THE ONLY IDIOT OVER HERE.

Now I have a question for...hmmm...well, for the four people who have probably made it this far without falling asleep. Noah wants more signs. We haven't made it through the entire DVD collection since I don't want to overwhelm him, but in just day-to-day life he is constantly gesturing that he wants to know the sign for things that I label for him. Like, now that he knows the sign for milk, cheese, apple, banana and cracker, he wants the sign for pasta. And tomato. And rice. He knows the sign for car, but what about bike? That's a bike, Mama, not a car. We're definitely not at finger-spelling yet, and I am clueless. Is there a good book or online resource where I can look signs up that aren't on the DVDs? And quickly? And possibly on an iPhone?

Posted at 03:24 PM in Noah, SPD, speech delays | Permalink | Comments (95)

September 18, 2007

Busy

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I've decided to start taking Tuesdays off. Officially. No writing. No email. No nothing. (It's going super well today, obviously.)

It's really more for Noah's benefit than mine -- so I can get him OUT OF THE HOUSE and expose him to VARIOUS ENRICHING ACTIVITIES, or like this morning's playdate at the National Building Museum (with Vickie and Teo), the chance to play with aballs that were slightly different than any of the 14,200,003 aballs we have at home.

Oh, and then he started going up to random adults in the room and signing for milk, because his asshole mother left his cup on the kitchen counter at home, and was generally just not paying very much attention to him at all, because DUDE THEY HAD GIANT FOAMY LEGOS. I WAS VERY BUSY.

Anyway. The point of all these words is to say that I am not writing any more words today, but am instead going to put Noah down for an nap and then eat some bon-bons on my diamond-studded sofa (so pleasingly bumpy!), sewn and stuffed with my millions of Internet dollars.**

Some of those dollars will be coming from JCPenney this month, because I wrote some words for them over heah, for this Fall Shopping Guide. Except that I kind of forgot to write about shopping. They told me the topic was "the home," so I figured I'd write more about the Beige Paint That Ate My Soul or just make fun of my husband a little bit. Now I'm feeling kind of dumb because all the other bloggers are writing USEFUL posts about decorating the home and shopping for the home, and I'm all, "my coffee tables are crooked! oh noes!"

God, I'm an ass. And just wait until everybody reads my next post, which you KNOW will be about my improperly-hung toilet paper.

**I'm kidding! There are no bon-bons, only chips and salsa.

Posted at 02:13 PM in internet, Noah | Permalink | Comments (35)

September 17, 2007

Speechless

Noah's vocabulary, two months ago: aball, adada, ababy, sort-of star, sort-of banana, sort-of car.

Noah's vocabulary, today and right now: aball, adada, amama, ababy, star, banana, car, truck, choo choo, boo boo, bye bye, bubble, pop, singing, bib, eat, ruff ruff, TV, yum, cat, bike, box, bag, hot.

He knows the signs for eat, more, shoes, cracker, cold, ball, star, banana, bread, play, hurt and cry.

He hardly ever tantrums anymore and walks flat-footed most of the time. He invents games and makes jokes and follows directions. He uses his imagination and knows most of the alphabet. His favorite book is Olivia and he likes to pretend to eat her spaghetti and meatballs. He actually eats spaghetti and meatballs. He likes to holler BYE BYE PEE PEE at the toilet. He thinks farting is hilarious. He thinks Dada is a god but when he is hurt or sad he only wants Mama. He wants you to chase him, to catch him, to tickle him and make him dizzy and then when the game gets to be a little much he wants to cuddle and listen to your heartbeat for awhile. He would like some yums. He would like a banana, Mama. Banana. More.

We've only had three sessions of speech therapy so far. We've worked hard; we've changed our entire way of talking and playing; we put fish oil in his juice and I teach Jason signs after Noah goes to bed. People have rolled their eyes at us in public, probably because of our exaggerated repetition and bottomless supply of signs. I imagine they think we're being pushy.  I imagine they don't understand Noah's odd pronunciation like we do, and I'm sure they definitely don't understand why each new consonant sound or sign that Noah imitates makes me clap my hands over my mouth with joy, or why I am so proud of a two-year-old who may have just possibly buzzed like a bee for the very first time.

It's all happening faster than any of us expected -- his therapist can't even believe it.  His progress is amazing.

I find myself at a loss when I try to describe the changes we see. I just don't have the words.

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Luckily, I think he'll have them soon.

Posted at 02:38 PM in Noah, SPD, speech delays | Permalink | Comments (139)

September 14, 2007

What We Do When We're Not Making Fun of the Dog

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The distant future, the year 2000...

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No more agriculture. No more war. No more racism.

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No more fighting, squabbling, or rumbling.

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No more...yogurt.

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Robot 1: The humans are dead.
(Robot 2: Yes they are dead.)
Robot 1: The humans are dead.
(Robot 2: I confirm they are dead.)
Robot 1: It had to be done.
(Robot 2: They look like they’re dead.)
Robot 1: So that we could have fun.
(Robot 2: I poked one, it was dead.)

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0000001! 00000011!

(Try this at home tonight! Supplies needed: wine box, scissors, toddler, and humansaredead.mp3)

Posted at 11:33 AM in Noah, wine | Permalink | Comments (50)

September 12, 2007

Lard Dog Responds

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I are not fat.

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I are victim of sensashunalistic tabloid society and unrealistic body image ideels.

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Also bad camera angles. Feel v. exployted.

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Gained two pounds mebbe. Small one says I can has waffles. Look at face and say I cannot has waffles.

Go on. I dare.

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Snausage is teh new hourglass anyways. Read it n Vogue.

Dsc00391

Would open VMAs next year and look wicked hott but are boycottin with my boy Kanye.

Love, but u cannot has be under my umbrella becuz u called me fat,

Ceiba!

Posted at 12:01 PM in Ceiba | Permalink | Comments (75)

September 10, 2007

Like Tears of a Clown: The Fat Rolls of a Pursedog

Since her last public appearance on this blog, Ceiba has porked up a little. A tad. A few pounds and ounces. A mere 25% of her body weight. Or so.

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Where mah spangly bra and hotpants be at, bitches?

The scientific community is baffled, as her kibble -- her healthy, low-fat, high-protein, crazy-expensive for the preshus-shookie-ookie-kums kibble -- remains largely untouched. And yet there's something about the neck rolls and rotund torso that suggest WAFFLES. LOTS AND LOTS OF WAFFLES.

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I can has chili cheez fries?

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OMFG SMALL ONE HAS COOKIE COOKIE COOKIE

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Eh. Fuckkit. zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Max is also overweight, but that's nothing new. He's been overeating to fill a nutsack-shaped void for YEARS now.

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I eat kibble while Lard Dog sleep. Is win-win.

 

Posted at 08:41 PM in Ceiba, Maximillian Thunderdome | Permalink | Comments (82)

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