Fisher Pricey

Sooooooooooooooooooooo I seem to be moving from an Oprah-Winfrey-macaroni-and-cheese funk into a haunt-the-thrift-stores-both-online-and-off funk. I count this as progress because the latter funk requires actually leaving my apartment.

Except, of course, for when I decide to shop the thrift stores online. GW has an online auction site that I was paid to write about awhile back. Well last week I paid them around 26 bucks including shipping for a plastic dollhouse from 1969. Or thereabouts. Said dollhouse came with some accessories, including plastic beds with some of the original green foam glued-on mattress (this was disintegrating upon arrival, unfortunately), and a truly modern family, with three kids, one dog, two mommies...

... and their sperm donor. I put him in the closet beneath the staircase because that's where Walnut and I had decided we'd keep our men when we grew up and lived together in best-friends-without-the-sexy-kind-of-benefits bliss. It seemed the perfect solution at the time because it allowed for both the sort of emotional attachment you can only have with someone of the same gender and the physical attachment you can only have with someone of the opposite gender because you are into that and not the other, not of course that there is anything wrong with the other.

Any-HOO. When McMumsy was here I'd put some bids in on other 70s-era toys, only to be outbid at the last minute. I was relieved to be outbid. As was McMumsy, who did not think it was a good idea in the first place. And now that I have the plastic dollhouse, which I cleaned thoroughly upon arrival, I don't feel the need to buy anything else.

Except of course for Bug World, Milky the Marvelous Milking Cow, and Gobbles the Garbage-Eating Goat.

I'm still standing...

...even if I'm not blogging. I just haven't been feeling it lately. McMumsy stayed with me for four nights last week, which was interesting. It was nice to have someone to take care of. I made her iced green tea to take with her to her workshop, and washed her dishes, and we walked together every morning because my gym's in the same building as her workshop.

She also introduced me to I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. And was quite pleased with herself for doing so. Why, you ask?

Here is your answer:


FYI, they do full-on gore to accompany the stories. And yes there are mannnnnny babies born in the loo. And the accompanying reenacted shots of slimy newborns in the bowl. And of disheveled ladies with umbilical cords a-swingin' between their legs.

Also, it turns out that McMumsy knows a lady who Didn't Know She Was Pregnant. Although said lady has not been on the show (yet) she did go to the hospital with stomach pains and come out with a baby.

Kidney pie

At yesterday's McFourth, with a small dash of Polack - Pp and I were the only Pole-blooded attendees - I learned that one of my cousin's kidneys shriveled up at some point between birth and age 50-something, like a raisin. This was only discovered when said cousin underwent surgery and had a bad reaction to medication. After that news set in, another cousin held up her foot so we could see her abnormally tiny toes. She's missing a joint in all of them, so they're short. The nails are tiny, too. Such weirdness!

I said I was tired of all the secrets and I wanted to know everything. At which point Pp told me my real mother was a sheep. And then as I was leaving I called out "Bye Dad" to Pp but my goat-farmin' Uncle D responded instead.