Rock Bottom

Well, I've got the unfortunate news that I, too, know that I've hit rock bottom. Of course, I haven't woken up with my face in a urinal, but it's just as bad. Gather round, internets, and listen, for never was such a tale of woe. As any reader of this blog could surmise, Diet Coke/Pepsi is a fundamental aspect of my persona. I can easily down the fabled 96 oz. "Bladder Busters" of Utah fame in the same time that it takes a mere mortal to drink 32 oz. Of course this super power does come with a severe side effect: caffeine addiction. I've tried weaning myself off it time and again, but Diet Coke is a cruel mistress who demands obeisance several times a day... and preferably in at least 32 oz. amounts. Well, Margaret and I have been talking about getting off the stuff, particularly since I've been experiencing some heart issues that may or may not be related to consuming the equivalent of 12 cups of coffee a day. I was convinced of it on an intellectual level, but every caffeinated fiber of my being wouldn't let me.

Okay, fast forward to this weekend, where we were driving home from a trip on a Sunday. We stopped at McDonald's for a wholesome breakfast, including a Diet Coke. Well, after getting back home and having to rush to church, and then not leaving the house after getting back, that turned out to be the ONLY Diet Coke I had all day. The Olympics closing ceremony distracted me from the slight twinge beginning to form in my brain, and I thought that if I slept it off, I'd have gotten a LITTLE closer to falling away from the path of caffeination. Well, around 1 or 2 in the morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. The caffeine level in my system had reached critical levels, like down to 0.08% or something. I went to the kitchen, but alas, no pop to be found. I went to the medicine cabinet to get some Tylenol, to at least help with the headache. Then, sitting innocently on the shelf, sat the solution I craved, despite the fact that it would truly be making me hit rock bottom. I saw the magic words on a pill bottle: acetaminophen and caffeine... on a bottle of, wait for it... wait for it... MIDOL! I didn't hesitate for a second, I just took one then and there. Of course as I was swallowing the bitter little pill, the picture at the top of this post was emblazoned in my mind. There I was, knowing that I'd hit rock bottom. But on a more positive note, I wasn't bloated, either, so I guess it wasn't ALL bad.

No pictures!

As you can see, Lucy absolutely HATES the paparazzi that are constantly following her around.

New magazine

Have you heard about this new magazine? I know several people who are going to be getting gift subscriptions from me this Christmas. And you know who you are, don't you Jeff, Dave, Jack, Bonna, Will, Sonya, Margaret, Dan, Ginny, Jim, Kelli, Jennifer, and David? Don't worry, as one of their first subscribers, I get a discount on gift subscriptions.



Actually, it came from a hilarious blog that all my Mormon (and Mormonish) readers should go check out called "Bishop Higgins 3rd Ward-News for Mormons" here. (And if you have no experience, don't bother, because you definitely won't get the humor.)

Feeding time

Seldom am I more jealous of Margaret's skills as a parent as when it comes to feeding. When she feeds her,Lucy is instantly at attention and eats quite well. So well, in fact, that she was at the 97th percentile in weight when she had her two-month check-up. Well, on our Wednesdays together while Margaret is at work, it turns out Lucy isn't so cooperative with a bottle as with breastfeeding. Unless the conditions are EXACTLY right, she seem to prefer starving. And through trial and error, I've discovered the optimum, or more correctly, MANDATORY conditions are thus: the milk must be 98.6º±0.5º, delivered in a ridiculously expensive bottle that mimics a human breast, be bounced on an exercise ball at the rate of 106 beats per minute, with the bottle being squeezed at 689.47 pascals at a rate of every other bounce, and the light in her room has to be on, to give her something to look at. And even then, unless she is REALLY hungry, she still won't eat. Hopefully this is a phase, as I doubt we'll get any babysitter to follow all these steps. The temperature, bouncy ball, and light are one thing, but getting the pressure that exact takes a practiced hand. And if she's this picky with being fed milk, I'm not looking forward to introducing her to duck confit!

This NEVER happened in Norway!

Did you read about the recent story of the woman who cloned her dog and it was revealed that she was the woman who kidnapped a Mormon missionary and used him as her sex slave? Check out some of the details from an article about the incident:

The story of Joyce McKinney is the stuff of pulp fiction: a North Carolina-born beauty queen who moved west, won the title Miss Wyoming USA, converted to Mormonism and went on to college at Brigham Young University, where she became obsessed with a fellow student.

When that young man went on a mission to England, authorities say McKinney hired a private detective so she could locate and follow him.

She and a male accomplice were accused of abducting the 21-year-old missionary as he went door to door, taking him to a rented 17th-century "honeymoon cottage" in Devon and chaining him spread-eagled to a bed with several pairs of mink-lined handcuffs.

There, investigators say, he was repeatedly forced to have sex with McKinney before he was able to escape and notify police.

I added the bold. Can you believe that?! Talk about the missionary position! If she only waited a few years, she could have gotten her missionary fix from that calendar of shirtless Mormon missionaries. And I'm sure that calendar would have been much cheaper than mink-lined handcuffs. Although I'm sure you'd want only the best for your kidnapped sex slave chained spread-eagle in your honeymoon cottage. No faux-fur for HER!

Man, the worst crime committed against us in Norway was being exposed to soul-crushing guilt for not putting in all of our hours proselytizing. Of course it wasn't soul-crushing enough for us to actually put in all our hours, just soul-crushing enough that it took several beers and a joint or two to lift the burden... I KID, I KID!

Wall-E

Last night, Margaret and went to see the new Pixar movie Wall-E. It was AWESOME, albeit a little over-the-top. I mean, the humans in it, having grown completely dependent on machines, were all portrayed as fat and lazy, they would rather communicate via electronic means than face-to-face, and were completely unaware at the real world around them. That's why my grandmother hates science fiction. It's completely unrealistic. I mean, humans are NOTHING like this. Especially AMERICAN humans. And most particularly especially not SUV-driving-while-talking-on-a-cell-phone-while-drinking-a-double-big-gulp-and-DVD-playing-for-the-kids-in-the-back-seat American humans.