This Post Was Previously Published On Twitter For Governmental Convenience

So, I heard this report on NPR while driving around yesterday, and, granted I only heard like 9.35% of it because Ellie was in the backseat, and she had some very pressing questions about power lines. *See sound bite below. Basically, (and I'm using basically to mean 9.35%, obviously) the report said that the government is listening in on our conversations on Twitter. Which, duh. There's a reason aluminum foil was invented.  But. It got me to thinking. Maybe that's why airport security hasn't had a complete overhaul yet! I mean, dude, President Obama, it's been at least two years since my post! What are you doing over there in the White House? Besides being kissed on the collar by an auntie, that is.  Which, really, you used the word auntie? I mean, who calls people that? Then again, I call my bowel movements tut-tut, so touche Mr. President. Touche.

Anywho....

My open letter to the government:

Dear Governmental People Lurking Around Twitter,

It's been at least five months since I've flown in an airplane. However, when I did, I noticed that while you may have made a few changes, such as no longer requiring me to fight with my two year old over the removal and subsequent disappearance of her shoes (But, Mommy! Where does the moving black counter take them!?! I WANT MY SHOES!!) you still have quite a few scanners installed in the security lanes.  You know, the GMO-pesticide-ridden-nicotine-spewing-supersized-saccharine-fountain-drink-possibly-lard-oozing-ones-and-I-don't-mean-the-non-vegetarian-Mexican-re-fried-bean-lard-I-mean-the-glop-of-lard-on-your-morning-toast-kind-of-oozing-lard-body-scanners. Or, as you probably refer to them, the naked-picture-taking-cancer-causing-body-scanners.  This. Is. Silly. Puppy bomb sniffers are cuter, cheaper, and, truthfully, are better behaved.  Plus, if you catch someone sneaking through more than the one allowed quart sized bag of travel snacks for a two year old through security, TSA totally has backup. Four whole paws worth of backup. Just sayin'.

Signed,
Goldtoe

P.S. Goldtoe is supposed to be an oblique reference to the James Bond movie, Goldfinger. Because it sounded cool.  Which, truthfully, I've never seen. BUT, I did go to Idaho and it did this to my feet:

So, obviously, reference: Nailed.



*Sound Bite:
Ellie: What are those?
Me: Power lines. They bring electricity to houses and businesses. 
Ellie: Why are they black?
Me: I think they wrap them in a black plastic or something to insulate the wires from the cold.
Ellie: No, Mommy, they're painted.  Why are they black?
Me: They wrap them in plastic to keep the electricity from getting cold when it rains.
Ellie: No, Mommy, they're painted.  Why are they black?

Etcetera....

 P.S. Power lines are black so the birds can see them better as they land on them.  Also, I don't know as much about electricity as I thought.

Some Weeks You Wonder If You Are Raising A Superhero or Supervillain

My two year old has lost the ability to comprehend the meaning of "No." and "Don't do that" and "Please, stop." and "Why are you spitting that back out!" among other idioms.  She has, however, perfected this conversation that she likes to have daily:

Ellie: Mommy! Where are you?
Me: In the bathroom.
Ellie: Mommy!! Where are YOU?
Me: Ellie, I'm on the toilet, give Mommy a few-
Ellie: MOMMY!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?!
Me: I am on the toilet going tut tut, give Mommy a few min-
Ellie: MOMMY!!!! WHERE! ARE! YOU!?!?!?!!!
Me: GOING TUT TUT*!

She also likes to have this conversation while sitting on the other side of the bathroom door.

So, instead of complaining about these precious years that I should hold onto tightly, because before you know it they'll be gone in a whisper of a butterfly's wing, which, let's be honest, right now I'd rather dip my hands in a vat of liquefied coconut oil and juggle them while walking over hot coals, because then I'd get to tut-tut in peace, I'm writing a post with personificated cows.

Because the internet has a shocking deficit of personificated cows.

Seriously.

Like zero "personificated cows" hits on Google.

Plus, when I pulled the hot pan of pumpkin nut bread out of the oven and placed it on the counter next to the open bottle of rubbing alcohol, that someone carelessly left out, nothing exploded. So, you know, slow blog content week.

A Conversation Between Two Personificated Cows In A Field In The Middle Of Idaho

Cowmund: Dude!

Moorice: What?

Cowmund: See that short person over there?

Moorice: Yeah. So?

Cowmund: I dare you to go lick it.
Moorice: Dude.  That's gross. No way, man! I don't lick kids.

Cowmund: Come on. Don't be a chicken.  I double triple quadruple dare you!

Moorice: And if I do?

Cowmund: I'll step in my own fresh cow tut-tut.

Moorice: (raises eyebrow) You did that this morning.

Cowmund: While it's steaming.

Moorice:  (rolls eyes) And if I don't?

Cowmund: Dude! I don't know! Just go lick it!

Moorice: No.

Cowmund: Come on, Dude! I'm bored! Look! It's even holding out some grass! She wants to be licked!

Moorice: No.

Cowmund: Seriously?

Moorice: Serious as your Aunt Betsy with an udder infection.

Cowmund: You need to shut up about my Aunt Betsy.

Moorice: (raises eyebrow)

Cowmund: Dude. Fine. Whatever.  I'll lick it. (Trots over. Closes eyes. Licks Ellie. Runs away spitting and drooling and snorting.)

Moorice: (laughing) What'd I tell you man! What did it taste like?

Cowmund: (cringing) Like peanut butter.  (grimacing) And Nutella. (shutters) Sandwiches.

The End

Of A Conversation Between Personificated Cows

Or, Alternately

Ellie Went To Idaho And Got Licked By A Cow Who Is Not Personified In Real Life

Hopefully something will explode next week.



*Everybody Poops. It's a book. For children.  Meaning while it's an appropriate topic of conversation to have with my two year old, it's still an annoying one. 

Hello 20 Minutes My Old Friend, The Last Time We Met We Talked Of Kraken*

So, for my birthday, I went to see Face Punch.  True. Story.

And, I know, you thought that with the last and final installment of the Stephanie Meyer's saga of love, sparkles, angst, painful facial expressions and mythological creatures stuck in the perpetual hell that is high school giving painful births to teenage love babies who they later have to defend by tearing off other mythological creatures heads last November, I was done with all the Twilight references. But, awesome oblique references never get old.  Especially since I haven't filled my guilty, cheesy, candy book made into an awkward movie void yet. Related: I hope someone brings Northanger Abbey to the big screen sometime, because:

"She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without color, dark lank hair, and strong features-so much for her person; and not less unpropitious for heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boy's plays, and greatly preferred cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary bird, or watering a rose bush."

And:

"Such were her propensities-her abilities were quite as extraordinary. She never could learn or understand anything before she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often inattentive, and occasionally stupid."

And, obviously, because of this exchange when the heroine, Catherine, finally makes it to Bath:

"How uncomfortable it is," whispered Catherine, "not to have a single acquaintance here!"

"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, with perfect serenity, "it is very uncomfortable indeed."

"What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladies at this table look as if they wondered why we came here-we seem forcing ourselves into their party."

"Aye, so we do.  That is very disagreeable. I wish we had a large acquaintance here."

"I wish we had any-it would be somebody to go to."

"Very true, my dear; and if we knew anybody we would join them directly. The Skinners were here last year-I wish they were here now."

Because, dude, not only is Jane Austen's parody of the Gothic novel hilarious I'd totally watch that movie over Face Punch.  Even if Morgan Freeman is in it.

OK, true story back story: Here it was, my birthday, and I was dressed up in my birthday finery:

Meaning, Katie helped pick out my outfit, which someday she will want final say on, because, "Mommy, it would be fancier with purple leggings!"

and Jon and I were off to do things grown ups do out on the town without kids! On a Wednesday night.  So, yeah. We went to the movies.  But, the movie we wanted to see didn't start until 9:30! 9:30 people!! What kind of crazy people go to see a movie that starts at 9:30 on a Wednesday? Exactly. Not this kind of crazy person.  Which meant our other choices were:

1. GI Joe in 3-D, which, eh, never a big GI Joe action figurine type of girl, My Little Ponies on the other hand....
2. Some horrifically scary movie that I will never see because while my threshold for stupid is off the charts my ability to handle scary situations is teeny teeny tiny (I'm holding my thumb and my first finger all close together here. There is no space between them.) 
3. The Host. Which as you all know, because you got the Twilight reference above, is a movie adapted from a Stephanie Meyer book.  
4. Or Face Punch, which the directer cleverly disguised by naming it Olympus Has Fallen.  

And without reading a single plot summary, or review, we chose Face Punch.

Because we're stupid. Or, because I'm a nice wife who decided not to make Jon go see a Stephanie Meyer movie. But mostly the first one.

Dude.  Soooo many people shot in the head.  Sooo many times.  In a row. Which, OK, fine, we've got to get through the carnage to get to the main intense plot line**, so, sure, let's keep  the Secret Service people streaming out the doors of the White House, each and every single one of them getting shot in the head, but then? Then they killed a dog. A dog people. Dude. In my book that is game over.  GAME OVER! But, still, we didn't walk out. Because? We're stupid.  I already covered that.

And, as I sat there nerves literally vibrating with adrenaline or fear or don't-shoot-anyone-else-in-the-head-don't-shoot-anyone-else-in-the-AHHHHH-THEY-JUST-SHOT-SOMEONE-ELSE-IN-THE-HEAD-itis I made up a new rule for my birthday: The Stephanie Meyer Movie Will Be Chosen. Always.

Unless The Absent Minded Professor is playing In 3-D.

Or Herbie The Love Bug.

Or State Fair. (Because of the pig, who doesn't get near enough screen time. Obviously).

Or Swiss Family Robinson.

But not Benji, because I can't take that kind of cute puppy stress anymore.




*Dude. If my last name was Garfunkel I'd rhyme better too.

**Plot line spoiler alert: It was stupid. And completely unbelievable and not in a silly "I just invented Flubber!" kind of way.  In a more, I will shoot more people in the head of you don't give me what I want! No! I will shove my knife into your brain when I find you! type of way. Second plot line spoiler alert: At the end of the movie someone had a knife in their head.