When I first became pregnant with T a few years back, I swore up and down that I’d try never to judge other parents’ child-rearing decisions. And for the most part, really, with the exception of my feelings towards every single adult who participates in Toddlers & Tiaras (Click on picture 7. You won’t be sorry!) I think I’ve been pretty good about that. But dude. DUUUUUDE. Everyone has their limits. Earlier today on Twitter, I mentioned my ever-growing wrath with the fact that I keep seeing babies all over the damn city with fruit punch in their bottles. Today was no different, as I watched a father pour a juice box of punch directly into a baby bottle and hand it to his adorable baby, who couldn't have been older than a year. This is like, the seventh time, people. Inevitably, I witness this on the subway, so I'm already insufferable, and--depending upon the crowding situation/whether or not it is a Drunken Merriment Day such as Cinco de Mayo—possibly being inappropriately groped. These joint factors conspire to make me kind of easily irked.
Though really, I’ve seen a lot of icky parenting on the subway. I’ve seen a baby, possibly born ten minutes earlier, riding the subway with his mom IN THE DEAD OF WINTER WHEN EVERYONE IS HORKING UP SNOTTY GERMS AND GERMY SNOT ALL OVER THE TRAIN CAR. I’ve seen another kid telling her mom that she's hungry as said mom calls her a “little piggy” and plows through a bag of fries herself. I’ve witnessed a baby with a mom who, while busy making out with her boyfriend, let go of the stroller as it sloooowly proceeded to drift across the subway car as we sped along. (Don’t worry, someone stopped it with their foot.) I’ve even seen a mom let her kid pee on the train. And when I say on the train, I do in fact mean ON THE TRAIN. But for some reason, the fruit punch thing enrages me like nothing else. And you guys were telling me that you’ve seen moms give their babies other awful shit, like Diet Coke, regular Coke, Frappuccinos, Sprite, Diet Dr. Pepper, and orange soda. Sweet lord. Why, parents? I mean, I will cop to occasionally giving my almost three-year-old a TASTE of juice or soda, but pouring it into a baby bottle is another thing entirely. I mean, my god. I judge them; I can’t help it, nor do I feel particularly guilty about it. But while we’re talking about punch (I am the segue queeeeeen!)...
...I must admit that I myself actually partook of some earlier this week. You see, the lovely Kristin was in town, and we went out for drinks at one of my favorite spots on Monday night. And hey, you know what sucks? Getting to spend an all-too-brief bit of time with someone who, until quite recently LIVED IN YOUR CITY, and realizing that you love her to bits and would totally have hung out a lot, if only she hadn’t subsequently moved across the country. I adore her, and here we are after having enjoyed alarmingly large glasses of Prohibition Punch.
Do you like her pimp hat? In my tipsy haze, I recalled her saying, “I look shiny in this picture!” So I took the liberty of crafting a jaunty, shine-concealing cap for her, lest her alleged shininess bother her when she sees this (otherwise perfect) shot. Because you know what? Sometimes, friendship means drawing jaunty hats on someone's head.
Finally, and apropos of nothing, I am a recent (within the past year or so) convert to the Temple of How I Met Your Mother, and OH MY GOD, I couldn’t stop laughing at this week’s episode. Notably, this scene:
To the surprise of exactly no one, I’ve subsequently devoted my life to coming up with my own Venn diagram that rivals the brilliance of Marshall’s “Cecilia” one:
I discussed it with Bearca (who you might recall from our iPhone rap, “Duck This Shot”), who then came up with this awesomeness right here…
Her husband got into the game, as well:
And Nicole jumped in with this brilliance:
Whereupon Holly got into the action:
And now I REALLY can’t stop, and need an intervention of my own.
No, seriously. Send help.
Or, you know, more Venn diagram ideas.