O-Ren-Ishi-I, and a general update

This is what we're calling Wren a lot lately. It has its origins in the frequent cry, "Oh Wren!" As in, "Oh Wren, you can't play with my knitting needles." "Oh Wren, not my cellphone." Or, "Oh Wren, these blueberries sure came out victorious in their fight against your digestive sytem." I hope it will be quite a while before Wren actually sees any Quentin Tarantino movies, but eventually hopefully the allusion will amuse her.

Lazlo is currently scouring our music collection for any songs featuring the banjo. He'd claim this is for some sort of theme mix cd, but we know better. He's procrastinating from doing his Hebrew homework. He just said to the dog, in a commanding and scornful voice, "Ramona, I know when you're lying." Poor Ramona has had an incredibly boring Sunday afternoon and is trying to convince us that she has to pee so we'll let her outside. We've been staying inside because our neighbors, we'll call them the Yellies, briefly took their screaming alcoholic fight into the front yard earlier. It scared us away from the outdoors.

Wren has been doing this reving up pre-crawl thing, where she gets on all fours and kind of sways forward and backward. She's getting increasingly frustrated at only being able to go backwards, and I don't blame her. I do, however, fear the future. A mobile Wren means a Wren in daily peril at our house. I need to get off my butt and latch some medicine cabinets.

Last night we hung out with some friends and ended up going to Fosters Freeze (where Lazlo claims a coworker once saw someone get capped) and had California's imitation of the Blizzard. It made me homesick for treats and eats, and for all of DQ country. But it also made me grateful for all the friends we've made out here, especially grateful after the total entertainment wasteland of North Carolina. For someone as socially slow-moving and private as myself, it's huge to have made these (hopefully) lasting friendships when I haven't hormonally been at my best since we moved here. And anyway I'll be going back to DQ country for a very brief Thanksgiving visit. My grandmother, we'll call her TBeffingGITWW, has never met Wren, and Wren has had to make do with a sad existence deprived of the "Where's my sugar" game that was the highlight of my life from 0-5.

That's all the news from us, except for a shout out to Stands With a Fist, who's landed a (horrible, she says) job at Kerby Lane. She'd be happy to show you to your seat. Be nice to her; she has a new puppy who's not house-breaking well.