If I Told You...

That Ripley had cut the inside of her nose with her toenail, would you be scared or impressed?

How Do You Tell Them Apart?

Well, Ripley is the one with the big scratch on her forehead. No, that's more of a gash than a scratch, and it's more on the nose than the forehead, so that one must be Nixon. You can also look at the thighs. Ripley's lacerations tend to run parallel to the bone while Nixon's thighs are shredded in a more perpendicular manner. Also, Ripley has taken off two toes while Nixon is missing her left ear. What? Their fingernails, I guess. No, I think we just use a regular washcloth. I don't even think they even make loofahs out of barbed wire. Knife fights? I don't know. It's not like I watch them every second of the day.

Lava Alligators

Hello internet. Sorry it's been a while. I was told you moved. My mistake.

Let me catch you up.

Where to start... oh, this may be of interest to you. Did I mention that I have a solution for all the world's problems? Well I do, internet. You're not the only one with an answer for everything.

The solution is oversized furniture. Really, really big furniture. We've taken to placing the babies on and in possession of human sized things: on the couch, in the middle of our bed, holding a telephone, etc., and I defy anyone to look at a small person sitting on or holding a comically oversized thing and not feel like the world is made of cottom candy. We pretty much just walk around the house saying 'oh, make it look like she's turning on that lamp. Hilarious! Now stand her up in front of the refrigerator!' It's as pure a formula for comedy as someone getting hit in the crotch. Of course, having world leaders hitting each other in the crotch would be of limited utility. But we could totally put them in huge furniture. The president, sitting at a monster desk, talking on a ginormous phone? Can you see it? How are you going to be mad at that guy? And the UN, we just make all the chairs really huge, and instead of all the bickering and world domination talk you get them giggling and taking pictures of each other and saying things like, 'oh, look at Israel, he looks sooo cute!'. We can make this happen, internet. This is my message of hope.

In addition to sitting on giant furniture, the babies are now sleeping for 12 hours a night. It's like they've moved out and just show up every day to trash our house and fill some diapers. It's sort of like living with a rock band.

Unfortunately, I can no longer sleep. I wake up at 3 and watch the weather channel and work out plans for world peace via big furniture. And then I hit the wall right about the time the babies clock in for work. Days start with me changing, dressing, feeding them, and then saying, 'who's ready for a nap?'.

Finally, internet, I know I promised you, or some small part of you, a work update. It's complicated. The phrase is 'high class problems to have' but I suppose they're problems all the same. Maybe not problems so much as hurdles we have to jump over. Maybe not hurdles so much as feiry pits of molten lava filled with alligators. Lava alligators, which as you know are the worst kind. Anway, nothing a couple meetings on 40ft tall couches can't work out, and hopefully we'll have some details we can discuss next week. If you have questions, my office hours are 3-5 am, seven days a week.

How the other half eats nachos

I went to one of those luxury suites for the football game on Saturday. One of those places where all the people drive helicopters to work and then get to work and realize that working is for people who don't own helicopters.

They had free food.

Me: Is this food really free?
My friend who is no stranger to helicopters: Yes.
Me: Really?
Friend begins to pretend she doesn't know me.
I make nachos. Chips. Salsa. Sour cream.
For some reason the cheese is not next to the chips. It's over here. And it's cold.
I think to myself 'huh, rich people cheese.'

I'm about halfway through my plate when the friend sits down.
Friend: How are the nachos?
Me: Good I guess. I'm not sure I'm into this rich people cheese.
Friend: Rich people cheese?
Me: It's kind of gross.
Friend takes a bite. Friend collapses on the floor. At first I think this is a reaction to rich people cheese and give myself credit for holding it together better than her. Then it becomes clear she's laughing.
Ten minutes pass.
Friend, still teary eyed: That's not cheese. It's yogurt cream for the strawberries.
Ten more minutes.
Friend, calm now, curious: I can almost understand how you made the mistake. What I don't get is why you kept eating.
Me: I really wanted to get invited back.