The horror, the horror

Gaseous Anomalies

You would not BELIEVE the gas around here lately. Yeeass, the baby has gas. Wee little baby farts are a thing of great hilarity. Even funnier are the massive ones that sound way too mature to emerge from such a tiny dude still in diapers. If you have never experienced them, go borrow someone’s baby. I promise you will not regret it.  BUT. This post is not about baby farts, but true adult gas. It is horrific. The question is what to blame? We can’t figure it out. There has been pizza and fried chicken and this excellent sausage-potato-spinach soup from smitten kitchen, yes. All previous meals without resulting intestinal comment. Can the intestine be calm and accepting for a meal one day, as if to say, Okay, so that wasn’t the best, but I’ll deal, I’m a big girl. And after the next, give protest? Fool me once, etc.

I decided that the best course for combating such noxiousness was the extinction burst. (That’s right. I’m going to make it work for me. Genius!) So I bought this/these:

CRUNCH'D by flickr user Mike Mozart
By flickr user Mike Mozart

Yes, Cheez-its CRUNCH’D. You could also call them Cheez-its Squared (excuse me, “SQUAR’D”?) or Cheez-its PUFF’D, but Cheez-its are already square, so. Maybe there’s no good name for these Cheez-its. Mostly I just want to keep typing “Cheez-it” or insert the phrase more frequently into my daily usage. As in “It’s the cops! Cheese it!/Cheez-it!” Which is probably NOT proper usage. And the cops would catch me anyway — they’d just follow the trail of bright orange crumbs.

Anyway. My god, but these are some awful snacks. They have a sweetness to them that is cloying, though how something puffy and crunchy can be cloying, I do not know. It makes me wish that I’d been honest and bought a bag of Cheetos instead. Why mess with perfection?


What better segue to the excellent books I’ve been reading lately? (Don’t answer that. There is no answer.)

The Freedom Maze, by Delia Sherman

I’ve been wanting to read this for a while and finally got it through ILL at the local library. Still mulling it over and I have it in my “to review” pile, to give it a more thorough praising, but bottom line: I highly recommend it. Excellent premise and storytelling, excellent writing, excellent book.

– Hild, Nicola Griffith

This one is slow going but I’m enjoying it. I keep picking it up before bed, which is unwise since I’m so tired these days that the mere weight of a book on my belly is enough to send me drifting off.


OMG we have PBS again in our household. (It’s because we don’t have cable, and I moved the TV. Seriously bad reception here unless you have a rooftop antenna, but that’s life in hilly regions, isn’t it?) I’ve probably jinxed the reception just typing that. Anyway. I’m watching a bazillion things on PBS again, instead of terrible Quincy, M.E. reruns. Apparently PBS3 is made up of one show that consists of a guy held hostage in a horse corral and made to cook a variety of food (pizza, barbecue, salt-covered chicken) all in brick ovens. It’s fantastic.

Also still watching Poirot. I cannot look away from the brilliant BFFery of Hastings and Poirot. MON AMI. No, I will NOT be checking out the AO3 on this one, folks. I am enjoying my chaste love affair.

A. and I are rewatching Breaking BadI find it much more difficult to sympathize with Walt the second time around.

Hey, ever seen Dear ZacharyHere’s a tip: don’t watch it while nursing your baby. YOU WILL CRY ON YOUR BABY. Also, don’t watch it while you are not holding your baby. You will never finish it, because you will continually pause it to go check on your (hopefully peacefully sleeping) baby. When can you watch this movie? I don’t know. Maybe watch it before you have a child. Okay, that is D-U-M dumb, I know. You can be moved by this film without having procreated. Maybe having a child screwed up my hormones. I’m not crying at yogurt commercials or anything. But babies. Oh, babies. Shit. I don’t know. I wasn’t a fan of the editing, it was too rapid-fire for me, but the story was mesmerizing.

Finally, I watched the BBC House of Cards series with Ian Richardson. I think I liked the first season best, but overall? Goddamn. Tell me, Internet folk, is it worth it to watch the American version? I love me some Robin Wright, but what I liked most about this show was the political system, and the differences in how stuff gets done — or doesn’t. It reminded me of my honeymoon with A. We went to Prince Edward Island during the off season, and spent one rainy evening hanging out in our B&B and watching some raucous parliamentary proceedings. Everyone could speak two languages (at least) and there was a ton of podium smacking and cheering and booing. Very exciting! As opposed to:

Okay, that’s cherry-picking, but STILL.


2 thoughts on “The horror, the horror

  1. God, yes, crying over baby things. The clickbaity articles about dead/sick babies/kids/parents are obvious, but I’ll cry over completely stupid things, too. Like we have this board book called “Baby Born” that follows a winter-born baby’s first year with the changing season. It is totally not sad in the slightest–a sample verse is “Baby turns to lift his head/so do seedlings in their bed”–but I cannot get through it without sniffling because, wah, my baby’s growing up, too, and someday she will be A WHOLE YEAR OLD, and not my tiny little babylump anymore. Wah.


    1. I have to admit, I’m starting to feel this way — originally I was all, hurry up and talk, baby, so I can understand why the heck you’re crying! But the increase of (Blessedly! Quiet!) snuggling time is accompanied by an increase in sniffly someday-this-babe-will-be-too-big-to-hold. Wah, indeed!


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