Category Archives: Baby Eating

A txt msg convo

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Sad-Sigh fanbase – all 6 of you – Let me transcribe for you guys a text message conversation I had with my roommate, the illustrious J. Lopez this weekend.  Please note that I received the first message shortly after she arrived in West Palm Beach for vacation.

J: Fractured foot.  Have cast.  Spent my day in the hospital.  Woohoo

D: NO.

D: You in fla?

J: Yeah.  But Broke it in new York and sucked it up til I got here.

D: Omg!  How??  Your parents w you?

J: Stepping off the bus at lga.  Felt it pop and almost passed out.  I was alone but now am with my grandparents. Continue reading →

Only Allowed in Public if in a Bubble

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Soumeya and I took some time out of our busy day yesterday to see the Yves Saint Laurent collection at de Young museum and as I looked at the evening gowns and tuxedo suits without any attention to detail, I became very aware of a noxious odor drifting into my nostrils. I turned to Soumeya and demanded to know “Who wears baby powder to a museum!” baby powder being one of the things that will trigger my fragrance allergies. As Soumeya wondered if she was the smelly beast, I turned to see who the offending person might be so as to avoid standing next to him/her throughout the rest of the exhibition. A few feet away there was a baby strapped into a chest harness, completely oblivious to having caused my discomfort. I found this hilarious on two parts because I had prematurely judged the baby as being an asshole, and because what were the chances that it would be an actual baby reeking of baby powder, and not some jerk who put on a bit too much Secret deodorant or used a bit too much Dove bar soap?

Ahhh! Bugs!

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I’ve actively avoided going into the saga of my bedbug debacle here on Sad-Sigh, mainly because it would take up 300,000 posts, and has already been blogged to death.

However, I think it’s sad, and perfectly sigh-worthy, when, as soon as I’ve gotten rid of the bedbugs, I go to a project at East River Park, and get bit to shit by vicious bird-sized mosquitoes.  I now look like I’m covered in boils.

Boo.

Man or Fish? Um… possibly just gross.

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The New York Times is doing it.

Entertainment Weekly is jumping on the bandwagon.

Even the venerated elder statesman of the Blogeratti, Slate is sucking Michael Phelp’s dick.

I’m having a hard time with this.  I think a lot of it is based off of me not having really watched either of the last two Summer Games, and for thinking that breaking Olympic records isn’t something that should warrant the wholesale abandoning of the senses.  (It happens every year, people!)  But come on!  Everyone keeps calling the kid ‘Merman’, or ‘Part-Fish’, but I’m starting to believe that it’s all just a cover for the fact that when he switches from profile to head on, he completely disappears, which could easily explain why he’s so fast in the water.  My point being, a narrow pallete does not a pretty face make.

My mom – wise as she is – whenever the First Lady of California comes on TV, will say, without fail, ‘Maria Shriver is the ugliest woman on the planet!  Ugh!’  This is how I feel about Michael Phelps.  I almost want him to grow back that porn stache so I don’t have to look at his meth mouth ever again.

Does the porn stache help you filter the krill?

Too harsh?