An update on the midget crisis

Last night my boyfriend and I were discussing the difference between midgets and dwarves. It's his contention that there is no difference...with the glaring exception that dwarves have magical powers. This may be due to the fact that he just purchased "Willow", and bless his heart, the dwarves *did* have magical powers in the movie. But the only ones with magical powers were the sorcerer and sorcerer's apprentice dwarves. So I think he's only 1/3 correct, if my math serves me correctly.

And can we talk about "Willow" for a minute, here? This fellow has a heart of gold, no doubt, but has anyone noticed how big his hands are?* I thought maybe I mistakenly overestimated how gargantuan his hands were, but nay. I paid close attention to all of the other little peoples' hands, and they were tiny, much as you may expect tiny peoples' hands to be. Willow's hands are huge. I can only assume this is advantageous for him and boosts his super-power strength and agility. It certainly helped when he had to perilously grasp at the horse reigns in that one scene, that if you've seen the movie, you would know to what I was referring. Did that last sentence make sense? Probably not. All I'm saying is, if I had to trek through middle earth on a long day, I'd want Mr. Willow on my team.


*I have no room to talk about large hands, I'm aware. But my large hands are at least proportional to my body. They, too, boost my super-human strength and agility. They were also directly responsible for me winning a sponge-squeezing contest in 5th grade. They don't just give those trophies away, you know.  Booyah.

Ghosts: Not Just a Metaphor

One night I awakened to find a man at the end of my bed, looking down at me. I had half a heart attack, and accidentally elbowed my sleeping boyfriend in the face while I was trying to sit up. It turns out there was nothing there. It’s not the first time I think I’ve seen someone (uninvited, mind you) in my apartment. It’s always happened at night, though sometimes it’s a man and sometimes it’s a woman. I’m always awakened by something and see them, but they vanish or go away almost immediately. I guess in all fairness, the people I’m seeing have never really done anything, so maybe I shouldn’t be too concerned. And I’m one of those people that always looks for a logical explanation, so I do think it’s quite possible I’m deliriously tired and hallucinating. Even so, I’m not taking any chances, so I blessed the shit out of my place with some holy water. This is in addition to the crucifix I have hanging above my front door, and the fact that I half believe that you have to invite demons into your home in order for them to enter. I think I heard that last part on an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or something. So at this point my beliefs about ghosts and spirits are a mixture of skepticism, religion, and cheesy 90’s sitcom admonitions. In any case, this doesn’t weigh too heavily on me on a day-to-day basis. However, yesterday my boyfriend told me a little secret. He said that one day, when he’d been at my place while I was at work, he was sleeping and awoke to see the man I’d described from a previous encounter. He said the man was in the same place as when I’d seen him, peering down at where I would have been. After several “Are you serious?” pleadings from me, he assured me he wasn’t joking and wasn’t just trying to scare me. So I guess we have ghosts. Fantastic.

The gang solves the midget crisis.

There’s a midget that lives in my apartment complex.* I saw him, as I was returning from my walk-jog, which was actually more of “just a walk” if we’re going to be technical about it, you nit-picking asshole. He had parked his car and was carrying a pack of about 30 water bottles. I thought he must be pretty strong because I’m full grown and that’s pretty heavy for me. His legs looked like they may snap, but you know what? They didn’t. Then I thought that the stairs must be awfully hard to maneuver because they’re a bit steep, but that was a silly thought because he obviously lives on the first floor. Then I thought about what kind of furniture he has. I wonder if they make midget-furniture? Because there’s clearly no need for full-size furniture, unless he’s dating or married to a full-grown, or entertains full-growns a lot. I mean, we probably don’t give a second thought to it, but if I were two feet shorter, my couch would feel massive. Like on those old Gallagher comedy sessions, where he’d have a giant chair he’d sit on, before he started smashing watermelons.** And in what kind of bed does he sleep? My double-sized bed feels a wee bit snug on many occasions, but if I had no legs, I probably wouldn’t notice. In fact, I’d probably think my room was modeled inefficiently because I had such a large piece of furniture that was used so little, yet was taking up so much space. I guess if he rotates the bed, front to back, and side to side, then that’s probably not such a waste. But wouldn’t that be tricky for him? It’s tricky for me to flip the mattress. I’m just saying. These thoughts floated in my head for a good ten minutes, then periodically throughout the rest of the day. I’ve been very tempted to look into his car to see how the pedals are rigged. But I haven’t yet, because I am both a scholar and a gentlewoman. Also, I’d be afraid he’d see me and get mad and give chase. Or he’d think I was going to break into his car, or was harassing him, and those might make him feel bad, and that’s not what I’m trying to accomplish. If anything, I’m trying to increase my knowledge about and sensitivity towards the plight of the midget. I probably deserve some kind of commendation. I’m not saying I deserve the Nobel prize, but an honorary degree from Columbia would be nice for the old mantel. I’d put it right next to the picture of my family, the Valentine’s Day card from my boyfriend, and that white ceramic peach I bought at that garage sale.


* He may be a dwarf. I’m not really sure how that works.


** Classic fragment. But I made up for it in the next sentence, where I prominently displayed my awareness that sentences are not to be ended in a preposition. Except for the last sentence just now, where I actually ended with the word “preposition” which was a bit ironic. And now we’re back to bad grammar. This exposition has been a colossal waste of time.

Still not melting popsicles.

Day 10,000 of the Battle of the Bulging Thigh: not stellar. Still skimming perilously high numbers on the scale.

Recent accomplishments: Kept a food-journal for a half day. Had a sixty year old man honk at me while I was out walking.

Recent setbacks: Had ice cream yesterday. Twice. Well, once was frozen yogurt, if we must be technical about it.

Prognosis: Far from goal of looking like Eva Mendes. Will need to adopt a more dedicated healthful food and exercise regiment and may need race-transplant surgery. Will also need to inquire about where to purchase some nude Christian Louboutin pumps within my budget, so somewhere in the neighborhood of under $20.00.

Mood: Cautiously optimistic. Will plan on following through on walk-jog plans for later. So, I’m planning to execute a plan to sort-of exercise. Feeling prett-y good about this.

You're welcome.

On a whim, I've decided to start a blog.  Further updates as events warrant.