there's no place like home

from an e-mail from my niece, who is nearing the end of a "year abroad" in argentina:

I am ready to come home. It is winter here, I am writing finals, I just ran out of Lake Champlain Chocolate, peanut butter and am about to finish my maple syrup. Time's up.

viva la revolucion!

i know i am forever posting tidbits from mimismartypants, but shit man, that woman can write. she makes me laugh out loud in the middle of the day at work.

witness the latest object of my snorting laughter:

Nora: Can you write down MISO SOUP on this piece of paper?
Me: Sure. Why?
Nora: I'm going to cut the words out, put them in my pocket, and give them to the waitress tonight [at our planned sushi outing].
Me: Well, okay---but I'm sure they will have a menu there with the words MISO SOUP on it. Plus, you know, we can speak. We can just tell the waitress about miso soup.
Nora: What if we tell her and she forgets?
Me: The waitress will write MISO SOUP down on her own piece of paper when we say it to her.
Nora: But here it is on my piece of paper!
Me: Right, but the restaurant has a piece of paper for writing down all the food words we will say.
Nora: Well, MISO SOUP is already done. What else are we going to eat? Write down what else we are going to eat and I will cut those words out with my scissors.

Fuck it, I give up! Watch out, restaurant industry, because a revolution in order-taking is brewing. Henceforth patrons will arrive with pockets full of tiny slips of
construction paper with FILET MIGNON or TWO EGGS OVER EASY or SKATE WING WITH BLACK BUTTER, GARLIC, AND ARUGULA crayoned on them in advance.

the teenaged years

from the yarn harlot:

There is a secondary question here, one about how it is possible that any children raised on oatmeal and homemade yoghurt by a braless woman could possibly care about sparkle body lotion enough to fight over it, but that's likely just the fates laughing at me again.