“Why is New Mexico at the bottom?” people ask. Short answer: this guy.

Don’t ask me to choose. I can’t choose.

This is one time where the “facial hair signifies the evil twin” trope isn’t helping to clarify the situation, because it’s crashing into the “the thinner the facial hair, the more evil the character” trope.

Kid Electron is very impatient to turn seven so she can start lessons with the local club. She has 2+ years to go.

I fenced on an intramural team in college! I was pretty bad, but it was so much fun that I didn’t care.

Once again for the cheap seats in the back: Gary Johnson originally won his seat as governor by a split in the progressive vote, and proceeded to tank the state with his “policies.” His policies were basically vetoing every piece of legislation that crossed his desk.

Are you also looking at the Trump campaign screaming, “AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO REMEMBERS THE FUCKING COLD WAR?!”

We were the generation that was supposed to stop fucking! We were slackers! We had the AIDS crisis! We were strung out on heroin and listening to the Screaming Trees. There wasn’t any of this namby-pamby smart phone nonsense with the swiping lefts and Facebooks. We did it better, which is to say that we didn’t do it…

We call this the “Gift of the White Penis” genre at our house.

No cable here, but somehow Kid Electron’s already obsessed with the new Disney princess show and it’s only been out for what, a week? Hasn’t even seen it, still wants the merch. God help us all.

That sounds tasty.

Tacos is always the answer.

Kid Electron looked over my shoulder and said, “I think those dolls look scary,” in a tone of voice conveying that mixture of hyperbole and earnestness that only a four-year-old can pull off.

Clover, no. Trust me. We did this twenty-five years ago and it was a mistake. Somewhere, there is photographic evidence of me wearing overalls sans shirt underneath, but an ugly ass flannel over the top (it was cold and ~*Troy*~ loaned it to me because I was shivering). The overalls were hideous, getting smashed on…

HAN! *cries bitter, bitter tears*

For a small speaker’s fee, I could come and give my testimony as a woman who suffered horrendous PPD and then got stuck with the world’s neediest baby just to really make them feel secure in their choices.

Kid Electron latched onto a seriously depressing Colin Hay song (Waiting For My Real Life to Begin) when she was about 17 months old, and I’m still singing it to her before bed three years later. She also adores U2's One and Eleanor Rigby. Bedtime can be super depressing sometimes.

We call that the Ron Swanson Mustache Fluff of Joy at our house.

Since I was a teenager, I’ve been telling myself the same story almost every night. It’s stupid elaborate, a touchy fan fiction-y, and I absolutely must tell it to myself from the beginning if I want it to work. I’m usually out within minutes.

I had to bring in a printed obituary “from a paper of record” with my name listed if I wanted time off for my grandmother’s funeral. I ended up splitting the cost with a cousin who was working under similar constraints. That was fun.