The land of misfit toys

I was playing with that adorable baby boy of mine when I realized that some of the toys he has are pretty amusing. or disturbing.
Take a look at this farm toy, which he loves:

Pretty standard farm toy fare, yes? But wait...take a look at this cow.

I am udderly (nyuk nyuk!) confused by this animal. What are those ears? What in the HECK is that nose? And that humongous smile? Not to mention the curlicue, deformed looking fetlock (that's ankle, for you non critter peeps) hair. I think a beef crop and a elephant seal had a baby together.

Also, Adam thinks this creature, which the toy calls a sheep, is actually a fluffy puppy. I think he may be right. He looks like he might lick your face and beg for a treat!

Moving along, please note the following wooden puzzle, which my baby Shrimp also loves. Notice anything strange?? No?? You're probably not as bizarre and disturbed as I am. Let me enlighten you.

This deer has boobs. Vertically stacked boobs. I've never seen a deer like that.

This elephant, as my dad would say, "likes his momma's spaghetti."
Have you ever seen a double chinned, pink elephant?

I would like you to note that these toy creators obviously know what they're doing. They must have done research to show that vertically be-boobed deer and spaghetti-loving elephants are babies' favorites. Notice the first two puzzle pieces missing once my baby saw I was "playing" with the puzzle and realized that he "must have his part in the conversation."

Here is the snake. I wasn't quite sure what exact face this snake was making, but my hubby nailed it: "He looks like he just pooped in his pants." I don't know any pants-wearings snakes, but I guess if he had filled his snake tube-pants, he might make a pop-eyed, squiggly grimace. Oh, and the toy creators are at it again. Look how this "oops I crapped my pants" snake attracts my baby like a magnet.

And now, for the most frightening of all my baby's toys....the dreaded Googly-Eyed Chicken washcloth.
Why would you put a face like that on a baby toy? It seriously reminds me of the poultry version of the Chucky doll.

I know where you live!!

Because, you know, every mother wants to see a maniacal, bibbed chicken looming over her baby's head.

Oh, and here's a refreshingly cute toy. A little baby dinosaur, ready to face the new, scary world! I wonder what he'll be when he grows up??

There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of men for this treachery

I have just witnessed a grisly and horrific torture and murder. I think maybe I should call 911.
See, this morning after I got off my bus and began walking to the library, I walked past the construction zone where CU is expanding their student Rec Center. I saw bodies littering the site. And then, I was unfortunate enough to see several men in hard hats torturing and taunting a big, green, beautiful silver maple tree.
One man hacked away at the broadleaf tree with a chain saw. I saw the gashes in its beautiful silver trunk, and I felt pain. Another man used a bobcat tractor to shake and hit the tree's branches. The tree stood resolute, soaking up the sun's rays and providing shade, even in the midst of its torment. But finally all the taunting and pain became too much, and with a push of the bobcat, the great tree relented. A loud crack, like a gun shot, rang through the air, and with a great heave, the silver maple hurtled to the ground. It lay there, green leaves trembling. And then it was still.
Not long after, the men in hard hats desecrated the tree's lifeless body, dismembering it one branch at a time. They threw its body parts into a heap with the limbs of a massive pine they had just killed.
It took me a while, standing there with a heavy heart, to make myself rip my eyes off the crime scene. The men had shown such calloused hearts. It was really a shocking thing to see.

And if you think I am being overly dramatic, you obviously don't know me. I feel like I might be part Ent. As the great treebeard said:
Many of these trees were my friends. Creatures I had known from nut or acorn. They had voices of their own. Saruman! A wizard should know better! 

I don't know when I became so emotionally wrapped up in the fate of trees. I honestly feel like chopping down a tree that is not a safety hazard should be a crime. A hate crime, even. Trees are beautiful, and in a city, full-grown trees are a rarity. I had the great privilege of growing up in a yard chock full of trees. Fruit trees, pine trees, shade trees, ornamental trees...all KINDS of trees. And perhaps the two greatest tree tragedies I have seen took place in that yard. The first tragedy was the death of the yard's biggest shade tree: a humongous cottonwood. I felt heartbroken when that tree was gone. The second tragedy was the murder of a weeping willow crabapple tree, the likes of which no one had seen before. It's pink blossoms swayed in the breeze and created a kind of curtain around our picnic table. Then, after decades of ignoring it, a heartless mole decided it's bark was delicious and starved the tree to death by eating a ring around it's trunk.
I have realized that many of my great memories in that yard revolve around trees. I remember laying under the treehouse tree and staring at the blue sky...for HOURS. I remember admiring the bottle brush pine, another rare breed of tree, and feeling a sense of pride that I had a kind of tree that no one else had. I remember scaling the wild plum trees and shaking the limbs like a monkey, dislodging ripe plums to make jam with. I remember mowing around those trees hundreds, maybe thousands of times, always making sure to get as close as possible without harming the trunk.
I am lucky to have married someone who treasures trees as much as I do. A little crapapple poo on the sidewalk for a brief season is not a big deal to me. Neither is cottonwood snow. Or Maple branches. Or Pine sap. I'll just clean them up and enjoy the year round benefits of a great tree! And I've realized that tree haters are a breed of person I'll never understand. What's not to like? And when they reply that trees make a mess, it makes me want to go all Incredible Hulk on them. Is there anything in life worth enjoying that doesn't take some work?

Adventures of Bug Boy

This afternoon my Mr. joined me for lunch, and brought Shrimp along, too. And after we noshed on turkey wraps and played peekaboo, I decided to take Shrimp out for a little walk around the loading dock. I am queen of the loading dock. It is my domain, and I am responsible for its well being.
So we strolled out into the sunshine and enjoyed the breeze. Shrimp saw a pine tree and wanted to feel its needles. I felt a random raindrop splash on my face.
About two minutes later, my Mr. emerged from the building and joined us in the great outdoors. Just as we were traversing from one parking spot to another, a big delivery truck drove up the street and let us know, via blinker, that it was headed our way.
To avoid being squished, we headed back in the direction of the dock door. And that's when my Mr. said:

What is that guy doing there??

I looked over at the doorway and saw a man-child sitting cross-legged directly in front of the dock door. He had a zippie bag full of dirt 'n twigs and was dumping it out onto the dock. We sat and watched him for a moment.

Where in the heck did he come from??

I dunno!!

He didn't seem to realize that we were speaking about him, even though he was a mere 7 feet away. And truly, he appeared out of nowhere. The window of time where we weren't watching the dock entrance was very short...possibly 2 minutes. But we WERE watching all but the sneakiest angles of approach!

I handed Shrimp to my Mr.

Here, take Shrimp. I'm gonna go talk to that guy.

Excuse me. Can I help you??

I'm just looking at samples.

he dumps the dirt 'n twigs on the pavement and starts scratching at it with a stick. A plethora of bugs scatter in all directions.

Can I ask you to move? This is a very busy, operational loading dock and we have a delivery in just a few minutes.

Bug boy looks at me, then flicks something off his stick.

May I ask what possessed you to go through samples right here, in front of the dock door, instead of, say, over there?

I point to the other side of the dock, away from the door. (see, I'm trying to be reasonable)

I need to go through my samples, and I wanted a place that wasn't near people.

Uh huh.....well, there is a delivery happening here, and now there's dirt and a lot of bugs right in front of my door.

Bug boy scowls.

They won't hurt you. But I'll move in a minute. I just need to finish this. He points at his pile of dirt.

Well, I need you to move quickly.

I step away from bug boy and head back to Shrimp and my Mr. After a few more minutes, we decide to go back inside. As we approach the door, we see bug boy, deeply engrossed in his pile of dirt 'n twigs. He has a long hose with a spray nozzle on the end. He is blowing air into the hose and puffing it onto his pile of dirt 'n twigs.

Hey. I told you to move. Do I need to call Security?

I snap my fingers at him to convey the urgency.

I SAID I would move in a minute.

Yes, and you said that three minutes ago. Come on, move. I've got a broom, and I'm going to use it in a few seconds!

We step inside and start gathering Shrimp belongings. It's time for little boys to go home.

I look outside the dock and the bug boy is gone. I sweep up the bugs 'n twigs. It was time for the man-child to go home, too.

I need a can of pepper spray for my morning commute!

I missed my bus on Tuesday.
I left my little apartment with plenty of time to make it to the bus stop. Then, as I weaved between the sidewalks and courtyards of the apartment complex, I heard a dreadful sound behind me and turned around...
And there, chasing me like a lion chases an ibex, was a vicious and terrible animal. It was aggressive and mean. It squawked at me and steadfastly pursued me. It had a nasty look in its eye.
With some surprise, I chortled at it and stomped my foot. I hoped this would make the wild animal realize that I was big and frightening and territorial. The creature stopped for a moment, but then picked up the pursuit, this time with a faster pace.
And so the walk that normally takes me one minute took five, as I continually stopped to attempt to intimidate the wild animal.
Boulder is known for its wild animals. Mountain lions, bears, raccoons, deer, marmots, and even a bobcat have been known to come into town and mingle with people.
But you know what mingled with me??

It wants to kill you.

That's right. A dangerous squirrelkin. It chased me ALLLLLL the way off the apartment property, and just when I was beginning to picture myself doing a squirrel-avoiding dance at the bus stop until the bus rescued me, the squirrelkin abandoned its chase. It's good, too, because I think my ankles were *this* close to being shredded, leaving me disabled and crippled for life.
This experience kind of reminded me of my pet banty rooster, Mr. Gilda. He was tiny, miniature even, but when he fluffed his feathers and chased your ankles, it was pure terror.

I was ill

This week I suffered the most horrible, embarrassing illness. Perhaps you are familiar with it:

Verbal Diarrrhea.

It's debilitating. It's humiliating. It's hard to treat and cure.

A co-worker came into my office and asked me the relatively simple question of "what are you doing this weekend?"
And, OH MY the things that poured forth. I felt like I was having one of those out of body experiences, like the people who die and watch themselves from the corner of the room. As my answer turned from office courtesy to baring my soul, a little part of me floated to the ceiling and watched in disbelief. What in the world was I doing? "Shut up, Shut UP!!!!" I tried to tell myself.  But it didn't work. And for a good ten minutes I rambled on about compLETEly unrelated stuff.
My co-worker is very gracious and wonderful. I love her, and I think she rather likes me, also. She did, however, begin to assume the defensive "oh my JOHNSON, how am I going to escape??" stance. Her eyes looked panicked, and yet I yakked. And yet I yakked and felt embarrassed.
She finally fled my office, grabbed her book cart and said goodbye, while I followed in hot pursuit, throwing the remnants of a conversation at her. After she was gone, and the dust had settled, I realized what had transpired, and I was in awe. The disturbing kind of awe, not the blissful kind awe. How did this happen? Who possessed my body for ten minutes and forced me to say a plethora of stupid things? That's not really like me at work.
So, on my to-do list for today: see if they sell Pepto-Bismol for verbal ailments. I don't want that to happen again. Ever.

the smell of ......... in the morning

Okay, forgive me if this is too...um, delicate, but it has to be said. Why, oh why do people think French Vanilla air freshener is acceptable in a bathroom? The users of my restroom at work have decided this is an optimum and desirable scent for covering up bathroom smells. Tell me, do you know the horror that is bowel movement and french vanilla?? It is gag inducing. It is almost vomit inducing. Cookies and poop. Ice cream parlor and poop. Rotten ice cream. Outhouse in a bakery. Vanilla bean diapers. I have been very tempted to spray the WHOLE can away in secret and hope they buy a new scent next.

Sparkle & Fade??

Look what I found in my mailbox! The Urban Outfitters catalog. I've never understood why this company, which actually has some cute clothes, markets their clothes the way they do! Most of the pictures are out of focus, so far away you can't see the clothes, or my favorite...the models have such a mishmash of clothes on, you'd think they were homeless or orphans, or both!

I always flip through for a laugh, but this catalog gave me the BEST laugh I've had in a while. Check out the grannie panties in the above pic. I'm sure you can't read the description for them on my scan so I'll supply it below:

"Sparkle & Fade High-Shine Boyshort"

BWAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

I suppose next they'll be trying to market mom jeans and mr. rogers' neighborhood sweaters.
wAit, I think they already did! hehehehehehhe

My grey hairs are showing

It's very interesting the correlation between the number and density of young whippersnappers and the number of sightings of my inner grannie.

All the college kiddos (and now that I am eleven years older than them, I no longer feel bad about calling them kiddos) have been back on campus for two weeks now, and I find myself tsking much more often now than I did over the summer.

Some examples:

1) Last week, after hobbiting in my gollumtastic cave office (hope you like Lord of the Rings!!) for several days, living in denial that the whippersnappers were back, I was finally forced to venture out into the throngs. What forced me to this desperate, unwise act?? Hormonal hungriness. I had no lunch, and one certain Cricky Jr. wouldn't let me get away with it. So, I begrudgingly trudged up to University Hill (the most concentrated area of whippersnapperness) during student rush hour (the most concentrated time for whippersnapperness-class change) to get Qdoba. It didn't take long for me to notice the new trend for young ladies this fall: shorts so short you don't know they exist. And here it comes: the first tsk of the year. And the tsking continued all the way to Qdoba and back, until I was safely holed away in my hermit nest again. But really, they deserve it. It looks like they are all wearing peasant blouses with no bottoms. I saw more thighs, thighs, cellulite, jiggling, and thighs than I have seen in a LOOOOOOOOONG time. I said a silent prayer that the arrival of winter would be swift. But then I remembered that winter= UGG boots. And then I just felt like a grumpy grannie.

2) Young whippersnappers seem to be addicted to two things: iPods and cellphones. They love, love, love to combine the two simultaneously, with the unfortunate addition of wheels. They bike while texting and with earphones in. tsk. They skateboard with the above combination. tsk tsk. One whippersnapper almost became roadkill when my hubby/chauffeur came to drive me home from work the other day. We decided these instincts aren't necessarily bad. They do, after all, encourage "survival of the fittest" or natural selection. If you aren't smart enough to listen and look for cars while you skateboard down the middle of the street, well then, perhaps you ought to be pancaked on the road and removed from the gene pool, whippersnapper!!

3) During lunch today, I took 15 minutes to go outside, sit under a tree and knit. When I happened upon my tree, there was a whippersnapper under it. Tsk. Look here, whippersnapper: that tree and I have a long-established relationship that transcends the academic school year. So, you just skeedaddle. I was finally forced to find another tree to sit under, so I unfolded my blanket, pulled out my knitting and took a deep breath of fresh air. Then I heard it...the constant drone of whippersnapper conversations. Why is it that whippersnappers can't sit under a tree, breathe the air in, enjoy the breeze on their cheek, watch the clouds in the sky, and listen to the birds?? I swear the second they get out of class they are glued to their phones. tsk. I heard "like", "dude", "man", "sweet", and other such california-girl speak. And I heard more than my grannie ears could take. tsk tsk tsk. Then, to make matters more grouchy, I began to hear the tree talk. And just when I was beginning to wonder if my inner grannie is becoming real, dementia-causing grannie, I realized there were students up in the tree. About 20 feet up in the tree. tsk. Then one climbed down with flip flops on and I was reminded of the survival of the fittest again. tsk tsk.

Why is this all making me realize that it's going to be a long, long, long semester??

Lemonade

I'm learning something about myself:

I'm not good at taking lemons and making lemonade.

And when I say that, I'm not talking about the beverage. I actually make a decent lemonade! I'm talking about life's lemons.

This isn't the first time I've learned this lesson, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I guess some lessons take you all your life to learn. Or maybe I'm the goldfish: every time I go 'round the bowl, it's all new to me! I've already forgotten my last lemon episode.
And I suppose that in itself is a pretty good indicator of how good my lemons are! If I've already forgotten my lemon lesson from last time, and I'm having to relearn it, my lemons must not be that bad.

Has anyone else encountered this citrusy issue before? Tell me I'm not alone!

Anyone have a free condo in Boulder?

When we moved to Boulder, we didn't house/apartment hunt. We simply chose family housing, knowing it would be affordable and convenient, and moved right in.
Now, four years later, as we tire of handwashing the dishes and line drying our clothes, and as we search for a kitty-approved 2-bedroom, we're seeing what we missed out on four years ago!
And, I've made a conclusion:

Searching for housing in Boulder could be used as form of torture. Torture of the cruelest sort.

Just imagine the following scene:

setting: a dark, dingy, hot, steamy room with no windows. there's one yellow bulb hanging down from the ceiling. two men are standing around a chair, where a scruffy man is bound.

Man#1 : Tell us where you hid it.
Man in chair: NO!!! You'll never know!!
Man #2: Tell us, or you'll regret it!
Man in chair: NO!!
Man #1: Alright have it your way. But now you get to look for a 2-bedroom apartment, with cats allowed. It must have a washer/dryer, dishwasher, and easy bus access. It must be under $1000.
Man in chair: looking unfased, even curious.
Man# 2: And.....it must be....in......BOULDER!!!!!!!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
Man in chair: NO!! ANYTHING BUT THAT!!! I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW!!!

je suis nerdy

I had a childhood fear of miller moths. I've discussed it here before. Oh, I would shriek, scream, stay awake all night and all the other things that accompany irrational childhood fears.

Only now I have a rational reason to fear them: my fiber stash. Every day I check my yarn cabinet, my stored fleece, and my spinning area for moths. I've seen them around, and I know that a yarn cabinet is tantamount to a chocolate store for miller moths. And, if you'd like to hear shrieking and screaming, then imagine me finding my whole stash (aka...investment) has been eaten through by Freds (aka...miller moths)!!! It would be the shriek heard 'round the world!!!

A Proverb

I have Proverbs 20:24 above my sink. That way, when I'm doing dishes (and since I have no dishwasher, one of us pretty much always is) I can think about this. And I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. And I've decided something:

I need to write a new translation of the Bible. In NIV, this verse says, "A man's steps are directed by the Lord, how then can anyone understand his own way?"
In my translation, this verse would read,

"A man's steps are directed by the Lord, and he loves obstacle courses..."

Vroom Vroom

I'm constantly amazed that being a student supervisor basically means being their mom. I'm a mom to anywhere from 6 to 8 college students! That means I was 10 when they were born!! =)
I have to call them and wake them up for their shift (easily my most frustrating, donald-duck-inducing task), advise them on resume writing skills, offer counsel when they are having roommate issues, listen to their worries about class and grades, listen (and inwardly smirk) to them romanticize about life after college (they all think life magically "happens" after college, and don't realize it usually just means some kind of 9to5!! They'll learn in time!)...and on and on and on.
I suppose that must have been me when I was a college student, but I sure don't remember it that way. For one thing, my boss never once had to call and wake me up to come to work. I was completely reliable and self-supervised.


Today a student (not mine-he's has a different supervisor/parental unit) came to me after borrowing the departmental vehicle (I am the manager and "boss" of the departmental vehicle). He looked very upset and said he had to "speak to me."

"I scraped the van."
"Okay, why don't you show me?"

And you know what the first thing that came to my mind was??? It was the response my own Daddy gave me when I:

1) popped two tires on his Ford Explorer the night before my driver's license test, and the night before an epic business trip for my dad;
2) popped a tire on my beloved, cherished, treasured, dream car, "my" (read: their) 1985 Suburban; and
3) completely totaled the little Honda my parents had JUST bought for my baby sister.

My daddy didn't act even remotely upset or irritated. He told me that these things happen. He told me that they happen to everyone at some point, and had happened to him. He assured me it would be okay, and was not a big deal. He offered to help, or in example #2, when he was out of town, I called him and he talked me through how I could fix the situation.

So you know what I did when I got out to the departmental van and saw not a scrape, but a crunched dent??

I didn't act even remotely upset or irritated. I told the little student that these things happen. I told him that they happen to everyone at some point, and had happened to me. I assured him it would be okay, and was not a big deal. I offered to help.

Even though this kid is not my own child, I must say it felt very good to "repay" the favor my daddy gave me each time I messed up! The poor kid was obviously near tears, and had a quaking voice. I felt so bad for him, and I remembered the knot in my stomach each time I had to report these kinds of things to my parents. And I remembered the paralyzing tears and sadness when I totaled their car.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: I have the best Dad ever. And I hope I can "repay" many other people with the daddy-favors he showed me!!

yummy

This image reminds me of my little sister. Possibly for two reasons:

1) one of her nickname strains is Lizzerd.

2) She had a love affair with a rooster. She especially loved the bottoms of his baggy, warm feet. Especially when they perched on her finger.

icky icky icky

I may or may not have looked like this today as I walked to the bus:

Why, you ask???

Well, because the sidewalk to my bus may or may not have looked like this:

If there's one thing I can't stand (besides feet, poo poo curry, sitting next to screaming babies on airplanes, ugg boots, feet, and feet) it's walking on a worm-covered sidewalk after a rainstorm. I know that this veritable birdie buffet must be delightful for all things avian, but to me...it's disCUSTing!!!
Why they have to drag their ugly pink bodies out and beach themselves on my walking surface, instead of dying in the grass, I'll never know.
Oh, and one more thing....worms are gross because you don't know which side is the head. Did you just squish worm brains, or worm buttocks on the bottom of your shoe?? You could spend all morning worrying about that!
So, as I carefully dodge worm carcasses, look over my shoulder for the rapidly approaching bus, then skip to the side to avoid another pink blubber spot...I see...I see...a young mother and her toddler boy at the bus stop. And the mom...she starts...PICKING UP THE BEACHED WORMS!!! and throwing them in the grass. Ewwwwwww Ewwwwwwwww Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Did I ever mention that in elementary school my class dissected worms two or three times. I never touched the worm. I'm not sure how I managed. but I did. I didn't care what grade I got. if A+ equals touching the worm, well then...I'll take a C, please!
Then, My Dr Mr told me that he...just a second....he ATE a fried worm when his class dissected them. i contemplated never smooching him again. for a short while.

icky doo doo

I want you to imagine something:

Imagine biting into a juicy red tomato. Then imagine taking a bite of canned peach while there's still tomato in your mouth. Not such a pleasant thought, huh?

Now imagine dousing the above ingredients first in mayonnaise, then in ketchup.

BLECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I introduce you to Arethra Franklin's Summer Salad, as printed in people magazine.

She claims to have lost 85 lbs by eating salad. I can see why. I would lose weight if this salad was served to me, too! I wouldn't touch it. I'm sorry, but that dressing really does me in!

Mannerisms

Today I realized I truly married the best person on earth for me. I realize this fairly frequently, because I know I'm a Donald Duck, Jr., and I know it takes a special person to be patient with me. But today I realized it for a different reason.

As I was riding the bus home today, I saw a young man sitting at the front of the bus. He was on one of the sideways seats, so I could see his profile. He reached in his backpack and grabbed a bag of Doritos. And then he began...assaulting them. I say"assault" because his action could hardly be called "chewing." It was very disturbing to watch, and within 3 seconds, I knew I could never spend my life with that man. I don't care if he is the sweetest thing ever created, I could never forgive his potato chip chewing.

Then I remembered a co-worker down the hall from me. When this person types, you could honestly believe a thunderstorm is approaching. I've noticed that all the people that sit around this clacker wear earphones, listen to music, or look oppressed. I've never heard typing that deafening. It's really something. And it didn't take long for me to know that not only could I not spend my life with this person, I couldn't even manage sitting next to them for eight hours a day. Maybe not even one. There would be rage. brewing rage.

And finally I remembered Larry the Cereal Slurper. You've never heard such graphic slurping. It was gag-inducing. It was toe-curling. It was pain. I imagine it's the kind of soundtrack they have on loop in hell. Suffice it to say I could not spend one more minute of my life listening to that slurping without going ballistic.

After considering all these things on my five minute bus ride (while talking to my Mr. and such-girls are great multi-taskers) I realized that my Mr. luckily doesn't have these kinds of mannerisms that drive me bonkers. Not one. In fact, I find most of his mannerisms cute and alluring. I guess you might call that twitterpation.

Yogi

Did you know that I was a yoga expert before I even knew what yoga was??? Take the pic above, from a yoga/fitness catalog I get. See that impressive yoga pose?? Well, my baby seester and I used to do this ALL the time. We mastered it. It was easy. We called it "Airplane".






And how about this pose?? I could also do this pose, too.




(ps. flirt, flirt, rinny!)

boidy

photo found in March 2011 issue of Missouri Conservationist.

I just found out that the scientific name for an American Robin is Turdus migratorius.
Do you suppose this has to do with unlucky car windshields and even unluckier heads???

And now my hubby is concerned you will think he's brain dead. So, two points:

1) did you know my hubby used to be an engineering student, loves calculus and physics, and thinks analytically. Thus, Thanx 4 could logically look like a math equation. Isn't he brilliant?

2) You can't have him. He's mine. And I happen to adore the fact that he's a little behind the times with technology. I love that he doesn't have facebook, twitter, myspace, or a blog. I dunno...he likes more boy-y things like sports, and running, and he doesn't have time for those newfangled trendy things. And therefore I kinda get him to myself. And there is much rejoicing about that!