"He'll sit there and go, Dipsy... Po... Dipsy... Po. I honestly don't think he knows colors. Just Teletubbies."


Rented Mario Kart, so don't be surprised if I'm drowned in my obsession and don't post for the next five days.

I've decided to hold a Oscar party amongst my family in revenge for the Fake Sick's Super Bowl party, which so unceremoniously involved the Naked Boob Halftime Show. Therefore, I'm working on finding Entertainment Weekly's printable Oscar ballot things as I've purloined the one my mother printed out to make copies from. Mutti and Vati have gone out to see Fifty First Dates, much to my mother's chagrin.

Me: What are you doing?
Mom: Looking for an alternative to 50 First Dates.
Me: Oh, how about 21 Grams?
Mom: Imagine your father in that. He'd probably leave early, like in 12 Monkeys. He wouldn't get it.
Me: Like British humor.
Mom: Exactly. (Long pause, more mindess mother-daughter chatter.) Maybe Welcome to Mooseport? Maybe over my dead, bitter body. Along Came Polly? Hm. No.
Me: You're not allowed to see Miracle without me. You already saw The Station Agent without me.
Mom: He didn't like that.
Me: Oh, why not?
Mom: Midgets.

I love my mom for making a single noun explain everything. Someone should write a Mother's Day card about that so I can give it to her.


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