Helmets, Knee Pads, Ankle Pads?

June 17th, 2005

So I just cut my ankle on my desk-chair. Yes, on my desk-chair. Is nowhere safe?

I often joke with Steve about how when we have a kid s/he’s not going to be allowed to do this or that dangerous thing (e.g. monkey bars, sports). This weekend during one such discussion, Steve said, “You can tell the kid not to do it, but he’ll just do it when you’re not with him.” Of course, I immediately pointed out the faulty logic in his argument. Since I will always be with the kid, at all times, including during school and in the bathroom and while playing with friends, such a dangerous ocassion will never occur. Thank goodness.

Ew. Why is Mia wet on top of her back, and why is she stinky? Mia, where have you been? Get off my lap. And leave the fucking empty-pudding-cup trash alone! Obsessed!

Last night we had our monthly homeowners’ association (HOA) meeting. I am the secretary of the Villa Monica HOA, which means I type up the minutes and keep track of the key to the fire alarm box and participate shamelessly in neighborhood gossip. Last night’s meeting included a long discussion about where the gardener parks, a cussing-out of the former do-it-yourselfer unit owners of two units, and a delving into the wheres and hows of large-item trash removal. If I had known politics was this exciting years ago … how different my life might be.

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