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Let’s Hear It for The Boy!

Graphic Policy

Comic-Con International has announced this year’s Eisner nominees.  Congrats to everyone.

EISNER AWARD NOMINEES 2012

Best Short Story
“A Brief History of the Art Form Known as Hortisculpture,” by Adrian Tomine, in Optic Nerve #12 (Drawn & Quarterly)
“Harvest of Fear,” by Jim Woodring, in The Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror #17 (Bongo)
“The Phototaker,” by Guy Davis, in Metal Hurlant vol. 2 (Humanoids)
“The Seventh,” by Darwyn Cooke, in Richard Stark’s Parker: The Martini Edition (IDW)
“The Speaker,” by Brandon Graham, in Dark Horse Presents #7 (Dark Horse)

Best Single Issue (or One-Shot)
Daredevil #7, by Mark Waid, Paolo Rivera, and Joe Rivera (Marvel)
Ganges #4, by Kevin Huizenga (Fantagraphics)
Locke & Key: Guide to the Known Keys, by Joe Hill and Gabriel Rodriguez (IDW)
Princeless #3, by Jeremy Whitley and M. Goodwin (Action Lab)
The Unwritten #24: “Stairway to Heaven” by Mike Carey, Peter Gross, and Al Davison (Vertigo/DC)

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Shopping – Wife Style

The Boy is ill.

Poor thing.

He got a flu shot with the hopes of avoiding getting the flu.  Seeing as how we have a lil’ baby, this was a responsible move.  However, the flu shot gave him the flu.  Well, at least, it gave him “flu-like symptoms”.  Watery eyes, aching muscles, general sluggishness, lack of appetite.

He sounded so horrible when I called to check on him that I wasn’t sure I had the right number.  He felt so gross that he left work early on Thursday, and, by the time I arrived, the house was still dark and he still abed.  Not one sign of him working on the sly.  (He is known to do this – work while he’s supposed to be resting.)  So when he asked me to pick some food up for him, Thursday evening, I stopped by Wendy’s to grab a small chilli, a small fry, and a small frosty.  Something warm, something cold, something bland – perfect sickie food.

Today, before picking up the baby, I stopped off by the grocery store to pick up some sick-person supplies.  OTC meds, orange juice, canned soups (chicken noodle and tomato), and wine.  The last one was for me.  I also grabbed some bananas, an avocado, and salad greens.  I came home, tied a baby to my hips, and set to work making grilled egg-in-the-hole sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner.  The Boy informed me that he hadn’t been able to eat all day.

“I tried to get some food,” he rasped.  “But I just couldn’t eat it.”

I looked in the fridge to find a disposable Taco Bell container staring me in the face.  The Baja Blast Mountain Dew was sweating all over the coffee table in front of my sick husband.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Note: when I go sick people shopping, I pick up Vitamin C and soup.  When you go sick people shopping, you pick up an XXL Grilled Stuft – not “stuffed”, by the way, “stuft” – Burrito and a Mountain Dew.  I pick up chilli, and you pick up…food not intended for sick people.  See the difference?”

“It was a chalupa…” he said, indignantly.  “Cha-lu-pa.”

Panda Bears and Polar Bears

I’ve discovered that there are some of the ca-utest houses ever here in Capital City.  I often enjoy driving down the road and making The Boy look at them.  I point and declare “pretty” and he cranes his neck around to try to see what I’ve pointed out.  It’s a fun game.

Recently, whilst house-looking, we had the following conversation:

Me: Awe! (Pointing) That house looks so cute and cottagey…like bears live there.  But nice, sweet bears.  Bears that bake pies.  Not real, vicious, bears.
Jeremy: You mean, like Panda Bears?
Me: No, of course not.  Like Grizzly Bears.  And, What?! Panda Bears are so vicious!
Jeremy: Or koalas?
Me: Koalas are really mean! But let’s get back to Pandas.
Jeremy: But they’re big. And slow.
Me: Panda Bears?! Come on! You’ve seen the documentaries! The way they go after seals…and fish…and stuff! Let’s see you come up to one face to face on some arctic ice floe! (I shake my head at his stupidity and utter ignorance.)
Jeremy:….babe….are you thinking of PANDA bears?
Me: …. Oh…. Wait. “Polar” and “panda” are two different words, right?

Yeah…

On Letters

Me: I’m writing a letter to Zuzu.
The Boy: Is it an eviction notice?
Me: Umm… no…
The Boy: "You stay up late, you party too hard!  We can’t have this in our house!"

“That Pregnant”

The Boy’s parents came to visit for his birthday, and his mother remarked "Awe!  You said you were big, but you don’t look that big!  You don’t look 8 months pregnant!  Here’s a woman who looks eight months pregnant!" – and she proceeded to show me pictures of her friend’s pregnant daughter who did, in fact, look like a blueberry.  I felt like my complaints and aches and pains were for naught.  Here was a twiggy chick with a belly that looked like a giant punch-ball balloon, and I was complaining about my basketball.  (And my achy pelvis.  For which I had to buy a $60 harness…which only "alleviates" some pain, it doesn’t destroy it… and which was described to me as "skin" color by the White, Muslim lady behind the counter much to my annoyance.)
Pictures!