Wednesday, May 25, 2011

So True.

The following is a poem(?) from Tina Fey that I read on a friend's blog and couldn't help but share here. It's pretty perfect. I tried to comment this on their blog but blogger wouldn't let me, so I'll just say thanks here.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.


P.S. Just realized this is our 500th post. Weird.


About two minutes ago Sergio opened a kitchen drawer filled with hand towels to find a baby opossum. We put the whole drawer outside and the little guy crawled back in after a few minutes. So now what? And furthermore, where is the mother?

Tuesday, May 24, 2011


Just so you are aware. If a tornado hits this area tonight and we live through it, I will be moving back to Oregon or another suitably non-tornadic/volcanic/hurricanic location in two weeks when school lets out. That is all.

Monday, May 16, 2011

It's Stuff Like This That Makes Being Broke Sort Of Okay.

Sergio is thinking of transitioning from his position at Legal Aid to something new over the coming months. Today he received this article in the mail, which is a lovely example of the good work that he has been a part of during his time there. And though Sergio is very hesitant about me posting this because he is afraid it could be considered self-congratulatory, I can't help it. He is one of the three attorneys being discussed here, in fact, the supervisor, and I for one am proud.

If you click into it I think you should be able to read it.

This is Her 'I Have Rubbed Liquorice Everywhere' Face