Wow. Really? I didn’t see that one coming.

Did you know?! Sour cream….

…contains milk products.

SERIOUSLY?! Okay, you know what? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say the world started going to sh*t when people stopped taking responsibility for their own actions, which was around the same time you could sue for anything, which was promptly followed by stupid labels like this one.

If you buy sour cream and eat it even though you’re allergic to milk, you deserve whatever reaction is coming to you.

And I can say this without malice because I have a deathly allergy to nuts.

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Merry Christmas

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Stage Fright

Best. Sound. Ever.

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Shake Your Money Maker

Shake your money maker from Aleksandra Podbereski on Vimeo.

 

When Mysterio predicts, you listen.

Sure, we had hopes of him becoming a doctor or a world famous inventor or even a super famous soccer player, but when Mysterio lays down a prediction, you can’t really argue.

(Thanks, Uncle Nishitoba.)

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Polaroid.

2 shots left. Then that’s it ’till 2010.

 

 

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Get. Their. Attention.

Samson’s almost 6 weeks old, and because of a combination of reflux/colic, me not paying enough attention to what I’ve been eating, a growth spurt, and just plain learning what he likes and wanting only that, we’ve been hearing quite a bit of the fussiness/crankiness/BLOODCURDLING SCREAMS this past week. Samson doesn’t immediately *look* like our offspring, but we’ve found something we have in common. He enjoys channeling David Brent as much as we do. Though even in that, we can’t seem to agree on which part of the episode to draw from.

We’re all: Some complaints will be false.

Him: I think you’ll care when I tell you what the complaint is……

Us: There is no room 362, Samson.

Him: I THINK THERE’S BEEN A RAPE UP THERE!

 

Tummy Time

Mr. Pants is now 5 weeks, 11lbs 2oz, and strong like bull.

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À la mode

I bought a bumbleberry pie at Whittamore’s Farm Market today, and asked Hubby to buy some vanilla ice cream on the way home from work. Later, as I’m carrying it up from our freezer downstairs, I notice it doesn’t have plastic wrap around the edge of the lid as I would expect, but as this is a funny story we’ve already experienced*, I figure it must just have plastic lining the ice cream under the lid. I lift the lid.

Who does that?! An obvious fork mark!

I’ll let you guess whether we had pie à la mode or not.

 

 

 

* A longer story that I don’t think I can do justice. Involves my brother-in-law and his girlfriend (I can call her my sister-in-law, right? I normally do.) and a tub of ice cream that had obviously been snacked on, presumably in the store, because it had time to go all freezer-burned, but brother-in-law was convinced she had made a snack but didn’t remember doing so. After he went to exchange it at the store, he mysteriously found plastic in the garbage that she didn’t remember removing from the ice cream.

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À la mode

I bought a bumbleberry pie at Whittamore’s Farm Market today, and asked Hubby to buy some vanilla ice cream on the way home from work. Later, as I’m carrying it up from our freezer downstairs, I notice it doesn’t have plastic wrap around the edge of the lid as I would expect, but as this is a funny story we’ve already experienced*, I figure it must just have plastic lining the ice cream under the lid. I lift the lid.

Who does that?! An obvious fork mark!

I’ll let you guess whether we had pie à la mode or not.

 

 

 

* A longer story that I don’t think I can do justice. Involves my brother-in-law and his girlfriend (I can call her my sister-in-law, right? I normally do.) and a tub of ice cream that had obviously been snacked on, presumably in the store, because it had time to go all freezer-burned, but brother-in-law was convinced she had made a snack but didn’t remember doing so. After he went to exchange it at the store, he mysteriously found plastic in the garbage that she didn’t remember removing from the ice cream.

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