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


Cate at Newspaper: April 21, 2004

Anyway, since I promised, I'm going to explain Poop the dog and calling strangers "fool." And it occurs to me that my newspaper article is two months old. Good god. I hope no one who's part of this ever grows up to be in journalism.

Poop the Dog

Our neighbors have decided to name their dog "Poop." It's short for some offensively long Polish name, but Poop? That's just mean. Mean. MEAN. Poor dog.

"I'm Coming, Fool!"

We were at ShopKo the other night, poking around in the makeup section because Vati has a cold and he sent Mutti and I to go get his prescription. So, some lady who sounds exactly like my madre, shouts "Let's go!" and I shout right back, "I'm coming, fool!" (Mutti and I use "fool" as a term of affection. Really.) Except it wasn't Madre. Madre, rather, is laughing her ass off one aisle over.

I really am a fool.


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