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Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix Countdown: 138 days
Right. movie. Tonight. Preferably Frida, or maybe The Magdalene Sisters. Are you listening, self?
Despite the fact that I really hate being stuck in French class for two hours, and going home an hour later than usual, I think my active knowledge of French is coming back. I was actually quite pleased with myself. I still have a horrible lack of (active) vocabulary, but my grammar is fairly good. this pleases me.
I just managed to walk into a door. You'd think that after more than twenty-two years of living in this body, I'd have gotten used to this whole "moving around" thing. I've been walking for twenty-one years, one month and eleven days (I walked alone for the first time on my firth birthday. Always did have a sense of dramatic timing, I did.) After more than two decades of practice, you'd think I could succesfully master this earth thing called "walking" without injuring myself, other people, or innocent furniture. Apparently not. Apparently, the Motion Centre in my brain still thinks that a) I'm twelve, not twenty-two; b) I'm 5'3" tall, not (nearly) 5'9"; c) I weigh 94 pounds, not 150; and d) I'm shaped like a pencil (or a super model, which apparently means the same thing these days), and this voluptuous, hips-breasts-and-waist hourglass figure I have going is just a figment of my imagination. So I continue to navigate the world as if half my body wasn't there, something which obviously results in my knocking the pseudo-nonexistant half of my body into various sharp (furniture corners) and blunt (doors) objects.
And people wonder why I refuse to drive? I can't even safely handle my own body, what am I going to do with a few tons of mobile steel?
And in less rant-y news, if you have a child, are planning to have a child, or are planning to absolutely never have a child, go read Irony Central. Follow the adventures of a new father throughout the first year of his daughter's life, in weekly instalments. No, trust me, you'll love this. This guy is hilarious, and has a very level-headed view of his kid. Some choice quotes (more to come when I finish reading through the site myself):
This does, however, give me an idea for my own book. I'll call it "Secrets of the Baby Mutterer: Decoding Your Babies Utterances So That You Can Understand It Perfectly and Realize How Smart the Little Sprog Is." It will be full of shit I make up, which will put it on the intellectual level of most parenting books.
A sample of translations:
[...]
"Ahhh. Ah. Ahhhhh." - "I have absolutely no moral sense. If I was bigger and stronger, I would have no qualms about cracking your skull open to see if there's candy inside."
"Oi. Oi." - "I want to be a British soccer hooligan."I have three [baby] pictures that I showed. One of them was of Cordelia lying on a broiling pan, smiling obliviously, surrounded by bunches of fresh herbs. Best baby picture, ever.
