I'd like to introduce you to a friend I've never met: Hippy Dave. He's one of the crew over at www.brendoman.com. I've added him to my link list (I should be adding the others soon.) I was just looking at his site and he and I have a lot of interests in common. If you like me, you may just like Dave. (If you don't like me, maybe this site will be more to your taste.)

Danny and I own a 1992 Honda Accord, which is a great car because (1) It rarely breaks down and (2) It was a gift, so we don't have to make payments. That said, it is a virtual anthology of oddities. Here are the top 5 quirks (we don't like to call them 'problems').

1. The windows
First, the back windows: One does not roll down at all, due to the fact that it costs over $200 to get it fixed and we already did that once. This window has the amusing habit of falling down as you are speeding down the highway, blasting either very cold or very hot air on your backseat passengers (usually our 2-year-old, Emma). The other does roll down, but refuses to go all the way up when you would like it to. These problems result in either Danny or myself putting our hands on both sides of the window and pulling up until there is almost no space between the window and the seal. Nothing's perfect. The front windows are okay, except in the winter-the driver's side window makes a horrible sound when you roll it down (a cross between a Ringwraith and one of the monkeys on the Wizard of Oz). This is also bearable, except at drive-thrus. Sorry McDonald's employees.

2. The sunroof
When we first got this car, I was so excited that it had an electric sunroof. Until a few months later, when the sunroof cover went into its home and mysteriously never came out. Yes, that's right, we get to see the sun in all its glory (or lack thereof) through our open and our closed sunroof.

3. Soda in the backseat
The car's previous owner apparently dueled with a can (or 2-Liter, possibly an entire soda fountain) of Coke, and lost. Three years and numerous cleanings later, we still find traces of the sticky stuff.

4. The cigarette lighter
Since our car was made before CD players were standard, we own the only other option-a portable CD player that is powered by the cigarette lighter. (That, and our extensive collection of mixed tapes.) At some point, Danny thought he would 'enhance' the quality of our cigarette lighter-it now hangs out of the socket at a weird angle and you must be very careful to not bump it with your knees, or bye-bye CD.

5. The door handle
A major inconvenience to our passengers, the plastic piece of our inside door handle has repeatedly broken, so that you have to carefully pull it just the right way to exit the car. A mistake leaves you with the handle in your hand, separate from the car itself (and a trip for the driver to open your door from the outside).

One of the cool features of my new Movable Type blog is that I can add Sara as a blog author. She's looking forward to posting some top 5 lists (a la High Fidelity). It is my pleasure to introduce to you the lovely and talented Sara.

Emma is always saying silly things that make me laugh, but I noticed that one of them actually makes a lot of sense. When she wants you to repeat what someone said, she'll say "What does he said?" It sounds very strange, but it's actually pretty smart and shows that her language aquisition is advancing admirably. Consider the process that she must have gone through to reach this point. First, she would phrase it this way:

What he say? Then she added the past tense inflection
What he said? Then she picked up the strange aspect of English wherein we add the helping verb 'do'
What does he said? But she is placing the past tense inflection on the verb instead of the helping verb. So she is only one step away from the correct SAE usage:
What did he say? To me that seems pretty smart.

Now if only she could stop pooping her pants.

My new blog is ready. The answer to the poetry quiz question will be posted there. Here it is:www.brendoman.com/dbcChange your bookmarks, because this will be one of my last posts on the livejournal site.

i'm working on an all new blog in my top secret web headquarters. It will be bigger, better and in every way cooler. I'll reveal the location once it's ready for public consumption.

I'll give $5 to the first one to tell me the name of the person who wrote this poem.AngelBeams of the dawn at the angelwith a calm, silent seawith a hundred times we write,with a chance we can open upa steady rhythm in his facesilent roomdesolate beach,Scattering remains of love.

I was in the post office today picking up some mail and there was an older genthleman looking through his mail at the counter. He was sporting the time-tested "crazy old coot" look, complete with ball cap, flannel shirt and 50 o'clock shadow. While looking through his mail he exclaimed, "I got some free pantyhose!" Sure enough, I looked over and he was holding up a free sample. Not knowing what else to say I came back with, "Enjoy those!" What would you have said?

Happy Birthday, Emma!

So I just watched my (I'm ashamed to admit) less-than-one-hundredth, more than fiftieth, teen movie. On New Year's Eve. Now, that might be an acceptable celebratory experience for the intended audience, say, a twelve-year-old (although, most twelve-year- olds have decidedly less lame lives than me). But I am twenty-four and married. And where is my husband? Playing in a PlayStation2 tournament with said highschoolers. At least its football and not one of those role-playing games, right?
When did this become the norm? Have I settled for something less than what I set out to attain? What exactly did I want from this union? These are all questions fit for pondering at a time other than 12:44 a.m. on the first day of the new year…then again, perhaps it is the best time. Let's travel back in time to some of my finer New Year's experiences (cue Wayne's World reference)
The first I can remember was spent replacing monthly specials on signs at an outdoor eatery. At midnight, because, of course, changing the signs too soon might mean a customer could order a special too early and interrupt the space-time continuum. (And just when did that phrase become a cliché, I'd like to know.) I believe that night included some kissing, but it was the confused, lovesick, uncomfortable kind. Between a girl and two guys…one of which was seven years older. But we won't stay here too long because number two is on its way.
My parents had the bright idea of getting my wisdom teeth out (all four of them, a major ordeal) over Christmas break from college. On New Year's Eve, I might add. At midnight, I saw Dick Clark's magic ball drop, then promptly made a beeline for the bathroom where I proceeded to lose what little lunch and dinner I managed to hold down. All the consequences of a New Year's hangover without any benefit from the party.
Here is the bright star night (cut the sarcasm, this is the real deal): my fiancée cooked me dinner while I prepared myself by listening to the soundtrack from Rent. We listened to Elvis Costello, watched the obligatory cheesy movie starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, then laughed at all the crazy kooks on the news who just realized that the year 2000 had come without major cause for alarm, and that their bathtub full of distilled water was completely unnecessary.
How did the romantic man I married become such a fuddy-duddy? This question is not even worth asking, because it is based on false assumptions (some of which were, and still are, being made by me). False Assumption # 1. My husband has some sort of fascination with teen life, indicated by his choice of New Year's activity. Fact: His job involves molding and shaping the young minds of our community into something other than the thrill-seeking slobs they might otherwise be. Harsh, I know—but, I was a teenager once, and not so very long ago. # 2. I have some sort of fascination with teen life, indicated by my choice of New Year's activity. Fact: Yes, I do enjoy the occasional teen movie, because it demonstrates how much we think we would like romance to permeate life…then causes you to kick yourself for being sucked into the fantasy. No one looks like that when they wake up. People have bad breath. Arguments are not the end of the world, or the relationship. And couples cannot, I repeat, cannot be that cute in every aspect of their existence. It’s just not possible.
Am I crazy to think that one of the most romantic things he has ever done is to come home in the middle of this videogame fest and kiss me? Or to be anticipating his return as he slides into bed and we form our routine pattern of arms and legs and pillows in blissful slumber (minus the snoring, but we can't have it all, can we)? Romanticize New Year's all you want; I'll take a mildly romantic, but steady and attentive guy over what I thought I always wanted any day. If there's one piece of advice I think every girl should hear, it’s this, "Just keep looking for your 'Lloyd Dobbler'." If you want a perfect New Year, ring one in with him.