Sunday, December 11, 2005

ARE YOU ON STRIKE AGAINST YOUR NOSE? THEN WHY DO YOU PICKET?

A while back, I was trying to go to sleep but was kept awake by a long series of sneezes coming from downstairs. The strange thing about the sneezes was that they were separated by regular intervals of about six seconds. Finally I went downstairs to see what was going on, and I found Leo sitting at the computer (playing chess), tickling his nostrils with a toothpick because it "feels funny."

Other things Leo likes because they feel funny:
1) Rubbing Icy Hot under his eyes, then squirming around as they tear up;
2) Tweaking his tentacle-ish nose hairs (presumably for the same reason he puts toothpicks up there);
3) Staring at pictures of Dakota Fanning.

(No, not really number 3. Judging from the Hanson experience, I bet Haley Joel Osment is more his style.)

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

NERDVANA
OR
SMELLS LIKE TARD SPIRIT

Leo says that he looks like Kurt Cobain in this sweater. Enjoy.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

DOUCHED BY AN ANGEL

As you have probably heard, Rosa Parks died this week.

Two years ago, though--as you can probably surmise from the above sentence-- she was alive. I was flipping through the channels a couple years ago and paused momentarily on "Touched by an Angel" because Leo is a big fan of Della Reese.* The guest star was Rosa Parks, and the scene showed her stepping off of a bus, which helped as a contextualizing clue since she was pretty old at the time. Leo asked, "Hey, is that the ghost of Rosa Parks?"

*Leo is not really a fan of Della Reese. He does, however, rock out to this guy:

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

HE GRIPS CHALK WITH HIS ASSCHEEKS!
OR
WHY LEO'S TEACHING EVALUATIONS ARE SO HIGH

This just in from one of our Philosophy Department correspondents:

Leo was sitting at a table with a pencil and paper showing somebody a logic proof. A passerby said, "Leo, you should use the chalkboard." Leo replied, "No thanks, I'd rather use my hands to write."

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

LEG WORMS: NATURE'S NAIR
OR,
LUIGI! THAT'S A SPICY HAIRABALL!

Leo's legs are going bald from the ankles up. When I first met him he had Hobbit tufts on his toes, followed by satyr-like hair anklets, then a few inches of bald before the man-hair began again mid-calf. Now he's bald almost up to his knees. Seriously. Check it out the next time he wears his khaki shorts and grey gym socks.

Both of us are puzzled by the balding, though I am somewhat envious and overall don't care so long as it stops thigh high. Leo is growing increasingly concerned. This week he wondered aloud if he has "a worm that's eating his hair." I, in turn, wonder if he imagines the worm crawling out of Flatty at night, encircling his legs and grazing on his hair, or if he sees the worm as living inside his legs, sucking the hair back inside, spaghetti style.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

LET'S ALL MEET UP FOR OUR 110TH CLASS REUNION!
OR
WASN'T HE IN OUR DECOMPOSITION CLASS?

We got an alumni newsletter in the mail that included obituaries for recently deceased graduates. Anytime an alumnus was mentioned, his or her name was followed by something like "('84)."

Leo was reading it on the couch. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Oh! Duh! I'm so stupid." Intrigued, I asked why. "Some guy died, and they put '95' after his name. I thought they meant that was from the class of 1995, and I thought he would have died really young!"

I assumed Leo now believed the guy was 95 years old when he died. "So what do you think the '95' means?"

"Well, obviously," he said, "he was from the class of 1895, not 1995."

Friday, August 12, 2005

A PENIS IS A PENIS AND TESTICLES ARE TESTICLES, AND THERE IS A VAS DEFERENS BETWEEN THE TWO; OR, ANOTHER LEOTARDED ANATOMY LESSON.

Leo to me a couple days ago: "I am correct, right, that only men have prostates?"

Sunday, August 07, 2005

THEY'RE NOT DIRTY PILLOWS, THEY'RE BREASTS, MOTHER! OH, NO, THEY ARE DIRTY PILLOWS.

Leo has a little friend named Flatty. He has had this friend since he was eight years old, possibly earlier. "How nice," you might say. "Leo has kept in contact with a childhood friend all these years! But why does Flatty have such a strange name?"

Well, Leo keeps in very close touch with this little friend. It is his pillow.

Yes. It is a flat, bedraggled feather pillow that Linus--I mean Leo--has been dragging around for at least, by his own conservative reckoning, 27 years.

Before Flatty was dragged by a little boy's sweaty palms (and later an adloscent's hairy ones, if you know what I mean) through three different continents, countless tear-filled, post-rejection late nights, and a couple different live-in girlfriends' beds, it was an attractive thing. My guess is that it was once white and had a delicate floral pattern covering its light, airy billows.

Flatty's relationship to that former self is a bunny's relationship to the bloody, fly-infested hair pancake that the Department of Transportation eventually scrapes off the interstate. Flatty is now a macabre, unctuous mass of sebum, skin cells, and, presumably, parasites.

Flatty stains pillowcases from the inside out. Every fine white linen that is pressed against Flatty by Leo's giant head emerges looking like a Jheri-curled short-order cook was using it as a hair net as he went bobbing for French fries.

When Millie was born, Leo and I switched sides of the bed so that I could be nearer her crib. We don't have a headboard-- the bed and pillows are just pushed up to the wall. Behind where Leo was lying, the circa 1920 wallpaper was darkened as if seasoned with Crisco. Within a few short months, Flatty leeched his oils into the other side to match, so that now, if you remove the pillows from the bed, two great, greasy fleurs du mal stare out over the room. Sleeping there is like sleeping in the bed in "A Rose for Emily."

I cannot bear to touch Flatty. Sometimes when I think about where Flatty's been, I wonder how many dust mites and crabs have hopped ship and taken up residence in my fresh, virginal pillow. Is it true that when your pillow sleeps next to a pillow it sleeps next to every pillow that pillow has slept next to?

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

ADDING MORE 'TARD TO THE GENE POOL
Or,
WHAT EVERY GIRL SHOULD KNOW BEFORE MARRIAGE

Well, folks, it's been a long time since I updated. I will try to be more regular from now on--once a week or so.

Leo and I had a baby, Millie, in October. Miraculously, she was born sans tail. One of the many leotarded things about the Millstone, though, is her messed up feet. She, like her father, is a genetic anomaly. On most people, the big toe--as its name may suggest--towers above its four stubby companions, which line up in descending order to its side. For a minority of people, the toe next to the big toe is longest. But on Leo and his daughter, the MIDDLE toe freakishly juts out, and on Leo it is actually the LONGEST of the five toes. (This has, at least temporarily, been toned down on the Millstone.)

A few weeks ago I took a picture of Leo's feet, but I promised not to show it to anyone. So today I took one of Millie's foot (note the freakishly elongated middle toe):



Now, through the magic of Photoshop, I added some skanky toenails and some simian hair, elongated the middle digit, and have rendered a perfect likeness of Leo's foot. Enjoy!

Monday, October 25, 2004

MIRROR, MIRROR, IN MY CROTCH

People say that parenthood really changes you, that you find yourself drawing on reserves that you never even knew you had. As the day of our child's birth approaches, I see Leo proving that constantly. He has plummeted to depths of Leotardism that even I never knew he could reach.

About a month ago we were making a list of things we still needed to buy. I mentioned a baby bathtub-- one of those things you fit in the sink. Leo thought this was really silly and completely unnecessary. I asked him how he thought we should give her a bath. He suggested filling up a "bucket with soapy water. Then you just take it upstairs and dunk her in it."

We were also debating whether to get disposable or cloth diapers. At some point during the conversation it became clear (as it often does) that Leo was laboring under some sort of weird delusion, and had no idea what it means to change diapers. Knowing that he has never in his life had to change a diaper, I asked him if he even knew how to do it. "Sure," he said. "You just lay them on the table face down and pull her up by the ankles."

"FACE DOWN?" I asked. Leo looked genuinely surprised. "Yeah. How else do you get access to the ass?"

That day we went to Barnes and Noble and got a book on the basic care of infants.

One last Leotarded story. This morning while I got out of the shower, Leo said that UPS had delivered a package from his cousin.

"Oh really? What's in it?" I asked.
"Baby clothes and odds and ends."
"Like what?"
"Some diapers and a weird mirror for your vagina," he said.
"A what? Huh?" I asked, not willing to completely doubt him since his extended family is sometimes a little free-spirited in the nudity department.
"It's some kind of mirror that you prop up between your legs while you're practicing Lamaze so that you can see your vagina."
"What? What are you talking about? Who does Lamaze naked? And why would you want to see your vagina anyway?"
"Look, I don't know," he said. "I'm just telling you what it is."
I went into the living room and looked in the box. I could tell immediately what the alleged vagina mirror actually was. "So how do you think this works?" I asked him. He sat down, legs spread (clothed, thankfully), and positioned the mirror in between.
"Like that," he said.
So now I would like to show you a picture I found online of the "vagina mirror" that we got-- it is the same even down to the fabric.

I hope that family used some Lysol before they gave it to that kid.

Monday, September 27, 2004

BOY, GEORGE, WATCHA GOT UNDER THAT MUUMUU?





Readers, be appreciative of this entry. I had to fight long and hard to talk the Leotard out of a veto, which he has never pulled before.

What do all of the above people have in common?

Well, okay, except for the one on the bottom.

These are all people who Leo has at various times 1) believed to be women and 2) found sexually attractive.

Boy George stole Leo's heart when he was an adolescent. Since most adolescent boys have--let's say-- not very finicky standards in these matters, I guess I can see how such a thing could happen.

But HANSON? They weren't big until 1996. Leo was born in 1970-- do the math. NAMBLA.

Leo is not the most romantically complimentary person in the world. The most I get is a "You look cute" once every couple of months. Now I know I can't compete with the ideal woman he worships in his head.

Addendum: Leo points out that it was specifically "The Hanson on the right" and still believes "She looks like a chick."

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

A TAIL OF ONE TWITTY

My sincere apologies for being so slow to update this site. Believe me, it's not for lack of material. I'll try to stay on top of things, but if you want, just send me your email address (amanda_gailey@hotmail.com) and I will let you know when I update.

God, where to start.

This summer I went to San Francisco for a conference, and Leo's mother drove up to meet me for dinner. I have conflicting attitudes toward Leo's mom. On the one hand, if anyone's to blame for his 'tardisms, it's her. On the other hand, the poor woman has had to put up with him for 34 years now, so she's really paid for whatever contributions she made.

His mom, aunt, uncle and I met for dinner at a swanky place on the Embarcadero. Leo makes me photograph my food when I go on trips. Usually this is pretty embarassing, since I either have to explain to colleagues that my husband is just really into food and not a psychotic control freak, or, as happened on my last trip to Chicago, I have to photograph my hot dog (in this case) while I'm by myself, which makes me look like some sort of hardcore OCD patient. Anyway, I whipped out the camera when the hors d'oeuvres arrived, and Leo's aunt asked me why. I said "It's for Leo--" and before I even started the usual explanation, they all casually said "Oh" and continued eating. No explanation necessary.

As we were eating, I told Leo's mom that Leo thought babies were sometimes born with little horns. She did not seem to think this was strange. In fact, she one-upped me with an even more horrifying Leotard story. "Did Leo ever tell you what he had when he was born?" she asked. I vaguely remembered something about a full head of hair and teeth. "Well, yes, but that's not all," she said. "When he was born"-- and here her voice got a little higher as if she were describing a puppy-- "he had a curly tuft of hair right at the base of his spine. A little tail!"

Please take a moment to let this sink in. The Leotard was born with a tail. Now, in fairness, this has been the subject of some debate. No one is denying that Leo made his earthly debut sporting a plume of fur, a luxuriant, frilly tussock of hair just above his ass. The question is whether this constitutes a tail. Leo-- who, by the way, is quite unashamed of his pompon-- insists that a tail must have a fleshy appendage upon which hair may or may not sprout. He does not believe that hair alone comprises a tail. I have found dictionaries ambiguous on this point, but I think that most of us would unquestioningly view his tuft as a tail.

According to Leo's mother, the tail eventually fell out on its own accord. I find this fishy on two points. First, who wouldn't just shave the tail off? If our daughter inherits the tuft, I'll have a safety razor handy that Leo can use on her right before cutting the cord but after getting enough pictures of it to use as future blackmail material. Second, I've noticed recently that Leo does not like me to come into the bathroom while he's shaving. This morning I knocked on the door, and over the hum of the razor he frantically shouted "Wait! Wait!" and scuffled around before letting me in. I have a suspicion he's still sprouting plumage.

In other Leotarded news, I came across this picture online a few nights ago:



I was laughing at it and showed Leo. For roughly two minutes, he was amazed at how pointy this woman's ears are and by the fact that he has never seen anyone with ears like that-- in fact, they even looked like "elf ears," he said, before finally considering that they may not be real.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

WHICH COSTS LESS TO REMOVE-- A FORESKIN OR A HORN?

Oh, dear Jesus. The L-Tard and I have been discussing whether or not to get the Mini-Leo circumcised if it's a boy. (We have decided not to if it's a girl!) I decided to let him choose since he knows what it's like to have a penis. Last night we had a conversation about this.

Me: So, have you given any thought to whether or not we should circumcise the kid if it's a boy?
Leo: Do you think it costs extra?
Me: What? Well, of course it would cost extra, but I really don't think that should be the deciding--
Leo: Why not? All other things being equal, it's cheaper to leave it on, so that's what we should do.

This morning I was telling him about all the nasty shit that a baby can have when it's first born, such as engorged breasts that leak "witch's milk" because the kid was flooded with the mother's hormones.

Me: Yeah, with our luck, the kid will leak witch's milk and have lanugo--
Leo: Eww, I hope not![Something about his reaction made me think he had no idea what lanugo was.]
Me: Do you even know what lanugo is?
Leo: Yeah, it's a little horn.

I finally asked him where he thought the horn would be, and he indicated that it would grow straight out of the top of the Mini-Leo's head, perhaps functioning as a sort of battering ram during the birthing process. (Later he called the horn "vestigial.") I couldn't imagine where he got this idea, but then I realized that he must've seen his baby pictures.

Thursday, May 13, 2004

MMMM.... BATTERIES!

A quick update--Yesterday the Leotard wanted to use the electric pencil sharpener, but there were no batteries in it:

Leo: God damn it!
Me: What?
Leo: Why does this thing use weird batteries? I've never even heard of M batteries before.
Me: Are you sure it doesn't say double A and it just looks like an M?
Leo: No! It says '4 M batteries'-- Oh. I see what you mean.

Friday, May 07, 2004

I HEAR THE SECRETS THAT YOU KEEP...WHEN YOU'RE LEOTARDING IN YOUR SLEEP.

The Leotard is spazzing out over the last post, claiming that the whole mouse teeth story is a bunch of "lies." For those of you who doubt me, see the post from 4/23/04.

A few nights ago I had a hard time sleeping because Leo was snoring. Allow me to take a moment to describe exactly what his snoring is like. He has a vast repertoire of snorts, grunts, wheezes, groans, whistles, and hisses. He sounds like he's messing around with an old radio show's sound effects cabinet. Sometimes when I'm jarred awake in the morning I turn to find him lying face up, with his lips cemented together except for a round hole in the middle where his breath whistles out like a tea kettle.

So a few nights ago I went to bed after him and he was already at it full force. I tried for quite a while to fall asleep, but it was no use. I'm not allowed to nudge him awake or turn him over because he'll bolt up, yelling "Why are you mean to me?" So I have to wake him gently and verbally. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Leo. Leo. Leo.
Leo: What what! What!
Me: You were snoring really loud.
Leo: It wasn't me.
Me: Yes, it was.
Leo: No. It was somebody else.
Me: No, it wasn't. You're the only other person in the room.
Leo: Oooooh! What are you? Some kind of freaky--some kind of freaky EXPERT?
Me: Well, I'm an expert on how many people are in the room.
Leo: Ooooh! Are you?
Me: Will you just prop yourself up?
Leo: (Shocked.) WHAT?
Me: Will you just put some pillows under you and prop yourself up?
Leo: You expect me to--You actually think I'm going to-- I'm not going to POSE for you!
Me: What?
Leo: I am NOT going to POSE for you!
Me: What do you think you're posing for?
Leo: You're going to put me on LEOTARDED!
Me: You got that right!

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

THIS CARTILAGE BUD'S FOR YOU.

It's been a busy week, so I haven't updated as much as I should have. You could help me out by sending me your favorite leotardisms.

I realized something about the Leotard. He does, indeed, say strikingly leotarded things, but on a daily basis he is more a source of constant minileotardisms. I keep thinking, "That needs to go on Leotarded," but then in the midst of the influx of minileotardisms, I forget any particular one. Danielle and Dave were over on Sunday night, and I think they got a taste for what I mean.

I do remember a couple from the past week. First, I was saying that I told an annoying woman I work with that I was pregnant in order to avoid a surprise ambush if she found out on her own. Leo interjected, "PLACENTA IS TASTY!" I assume that he was imitating her, but it wasn't really clear. And, frankly, given his eating habits, I'm worried. The Leotard is the most carnivorous man I have ever met. He is fond of, as he puts it, "the mixing of the meats." This means that left to his own devices, his dinner plate is Noah's ark. I have seen him eat a meal of roast beef, fried chicken, a pork chop, a fish filet, and meatloaf.

One of the most fun things to do with the Leotard is take advantage of his extreme gullibility. It is very easy to deceive and confuse him, and it's a lot of fun to watch him get confused and disoriented. (This is why he called it "a trick!" when I told him about lungs replenishing blood with oxygen.) This weekend The Princess Bride was on, and I was trying to convince him that Andre the Giant was Arnold Schwarzenegger. It didn't work, but it was funny to watch him emphatically argue with me about it.

I did get him later, though. On the news, they were talking about how scientists have grown teeth using stem cells, though it has only been done with mice. I said, "It's weird that they would use mice, since mice don't even have actual teeth." Leo got really confused and said, "What? What do you mean?" I said, "They don't have real teeth. They have cartilage buds." Leo started getting disoriented and was stammering, "No they don't! Is this some kind of a trick? You're trying to trick me! Mice have teeth!" "No," I said, "they're like lizards or fish." "Really?" he asked, "No... no! They have teeth, don't they? Are you tricking me?" He would have bought it hook, line and sinker if I hadn't started laughing.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

FRANKINCENSE, MYRRH, AND MAN-SEED

Well, it seems Leotarded is making the Leotard watch his tardness a little more, so I don't have much to report from these last few days, but here's a scant update.

Leslee reminded me that Leo thought the reason his pillow was so much dingier than mine was that his hair is brown. There is still a heated debate about whether he was joking when he said this. I firmly believe he was not, but he insists he was, so take from it what you will.

That reminds me of one of Leo's habits. Whenever he says something leotarded he tries to deflect attention (either mine or his own) by suddenly talking to the dog. A typical conversation goes like this:

Leo: "I can't believe they didn't have any lamb at Super Saver. What kind of self-respecting grocery store doesn't carry lamb? Of course, they had adult lamb, but no actual lamb."
Me: "I didn't even see that they had mutton."
Leo: "No, not mutton. Goat."
Me: "GOAT? You think goats are adult lambs?"
Leo: "Yeah. Male ones. The female ones are sheep and the male ones are goats."
Me: "Are you kidding me? You have to be kidding."
Leo: (Softly this time.) "No.... Lambs are baby boy goats..."
Me: "Then where do you think goat cheese comes from?"
Leo: "Aww, Arthur's a good dog. Aren't you? Aren't you? Yes. Yes you are! Yes you are!"
Finally, here's the wittier, evil side of the Leotard. For the past few weeks he keeps saying things like "I like Godiva truffles, in case you ever want to get me anything" and "I like Le Creuset saucepans, in case you ever wonder what to get me." Finally I said, "Christmas is 8 months off and your birthday is 10. Why are you telling me this?" He said, "In case you ever want to get me an I-love-you present." I thought long and hard for several minutes, and said, "Besides the time you bought me a 'welcome home' flower, when have you ever given me an I-love-you present?" And he said, "Well, I knocked you up didn't I?"

Friday, April 23, 2004

ALL HE REMEMBERS FROM SCIENCE CLASS IS THAT BLACKE BYLE IS THE MELANCHOLICK HUMOUR

My Dad works with some people who unironically read the Weekly World News, home of Bat Boy among other things. One day they had a copy at work, and the cover announced that a woman had given birth to a litter of puppies. One of the guys my dad works with said, "That is just wrong." My Dad assumed momentarily that he was referring to the stupidity of the doctored photo until the guy clarified, "Why would a woman make love to a dog?"

We can all laugh at this guy and think of such people as somewhat removed from our daily lives, but I am here to remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that the Leotard is among us.

Leo has roughly the same beliefs about the human body and science in general that a fouteenth-century physick would have held. To wit:

1. He believes that snot is phlegm that the lungs push up into the head. This is corroborated for him by the fact that whenever he has a runny nose he usually has chest congestion. I have given up on this one. We even talked to a medical student (which was ridiculously unnecessary) who laughed at him, but he is still not convinced.

2. A couple of days ago he was looking at his wrists and turned to me and asked, "Why are my veins blue?" I told him that it was because blood in the veins is oxygen-deprived and becomes bluish, while arterial blood is red. Now, in fairness, I have since learned that this is only part of the reason-- it also has to do with how Caucasian skin filters that bluish color. But, anyway, Leo seemed to think this concept-- blood getting its oxygen used up and returning to the heart for replenishment from the lungs-- was completely far-fetched. He over and over said, "You're trying to trick me!" and "This is a trick!"

3. A few months ago we were making fun of people who take fertility pills and give birth to seven babies. I made a joke about how if you think twins are hot, you should take a look at those septuplets in Iowa (or wherever they are). Inexplicably, Leo said, "Yeah, I get really turned on by septuplets who range in age from seven to fifteen." It took him a moment to realize that septuplets are typically closer in age than that. I still don't know what he was getting at in the first place.

In other news, the Leotard has become frightened of this blog. Every time he says something leotarded he either sneers, "Ooooh, what, are you going to put that on LEOTARDED?" or says, "Please don't put that on Leotarded!"

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

YOU CAN PEE ON HIS LEG AND TELL HIM IT'S RAINING

Here are some leotarded moments from the past couple of days that you might appreciate.

What Leo said yesterday while we were in the car and I squirted the windshield with fluid: "It's raining!"

A conversation from earlier today:

Leo: "So, can I tell you what I want to make for dinner?"
Me: "No. I don't want to talk about food."
Leo: [Groan.] "This morning sickness thing isn't fun for me anymore."
Me: "Fine, what are you going to make?"
Leo: "I'm going to put some gnocchi in a gratin [pronounced grauTAN] pan and--"
Me: "A what?"
Leo: "A gratin pan." Me: [Glare.]
Leo: "A baking pan."
Me: "So what are you putting it in?"
Leo: "A baking pan."
Me: "What are you not putting it in?"
Leo: "A gratin pan."

And here is a classic L-tard moment from a couple of years ago.

Leo and I were sitting on the porch one night, and my chair was blocking the few steps leading up to the porch. Leo was looking toward the stairs, cooing, and saying, "Aww, look at the kitty. What a cute little kitty. Here, kitty kitty kitty! [smooch smooch smooch]"

I looked down and right at my feet was a large, pink-tailed, teeth-baring opossum.

Friday, April 16, 2004

HOW TO TALK LEOTARDED

Okay, I understand that this blog is new, and maybe you guys don't quite get it yet, so let me make something perfectly clear. This s NOT a pro-Leo blog. It is not acceptable to sympathize with or defend the Leotard in my comments section. Howard obviously needs to keep his child-birthing comments to himself, since he was raised by a right-wing militia of Florida swamp people who probably think the women folk should go squat under a mangrove tree and squirt out the youngun' without hollerin' so loud as to interrupt the cock fighting, and if she is so weak as to die in childbirth she better make sure she floats downstream so as not to attract gators to the hut.

And, Eric, I must admit that "work" and "live" are not transitive verbs except in phrases like "work your milkshake" or "living la vida loca," which are not what I was going for with "live, work, and chauffer Leo I." However, I must remind you that the purpose of this site is not to nitpick my grammar. You are distracting my readers from the object of the blog. So, focus, please. To help, I am posting below a list of linguistic leotardisms, all of which are available for further discussion here.

Type 1: Cutesy, seventh-grade girl vocabulary terms

DIFF = difference: "What's the diff whether I say 'paper towel' or 'paper towels'?" CAZH (as in 'Zsa-Zsa') = casual: "There's nothing wrong with 'diff,' it's more cazh." DISS = dissertation: "I can't be so cash when working on my diss." ZA = pizza: "Did you hear Clayton say that he wants some 'za'? That guy needs to stop being so cazh with the slang. There's a bif diff between 'pizza' and 'za.'"

Type 2: Problems with plurals

PAPER TOWEL = paper towels: "Please pass me some paper towel." MILK BONE = Milk Bones brand dog treats: "Arthur is getting low on Milk Bone."

Type 3: Tut tut, Guvner! Mum said to ring for a lorry! Or, Pretensious Britishisms

PRAM = baby buggy TAKE THE PISS OUT OF = to deflate someone's ego [ There are many more of these. I will update later.]

Type 4 = Alex Trebek's Wet Dream of Pronunciations

EHHCHKKLAIR = eclair KKKKKKORDO BLUH = cordon bleu HOT OFF THE PRESS! The Leotard was offended by this last entry because I did not enough emphasize the French pronunciation of the 'N' in "cordon."

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

INAUGURAL

Welcome to Leotarded. I hope that this site will become a comfort to those of us who live, work, and chauffeur Leo I. I encourage you to send me your thoughts, inspirational ideas, or even ventings regarding Leo. I truly believe that if we all come together we will find strength in each other and can handle our emotions more effectively.

While I've toyed with the idea for this site for quite some time, I was finally prompted to take action by the fact that I recently learned I am carrying a Mini-Leo. As you can imagine, this has been a troubling time for me.

I think I'll get the ball rolling by reminding you of a few things:

1) Leo is a 34-year old man with no diagnosed mental or physical deficiencies, yet he only got his driver's license a few months ago. I was so happy when, on the third attempt, Leo finally passed his exam, and I proudly watched him beam as he stood in line among the 10th grade girls waiting to have his picture taken. However, in the months since, he has altogether stopped driving, and has wondered whether the hospital is close enough that I can get myself there when I go into labor.

2) Speaking of 10th grade girls, he watches high school romance movies at every available opportunity. He also made me rent and watch Bridget Jones's Diary, and spent the night of Valentine's Day watching Kangaroo Jack.

3) And, speaking of labor, he has several times "wondered aloud" about the necessity of his coming with me to the hospital at all, and thinks he would be out of the way and not "creeped out" if he spent the time at a neaby bar, which I would presumably have to drive him to on my way to the emergency room.

4) He plays chess between 30 minutes and nine hours a day-- I'd estimate about four hours on average. While playing, he sits at the edge of his seat and writhes around, occassionally grunting, and once in a while yelling out chess shit-talk, which is sort of like machismo at a Star Trek convention.

5) He sincerely, unironically loves the song "One Night in Bankok."

6) He thought until recently that lambs grew up to be sheep if they were female and goats if they were male. He did not know, when asked, where goat's milk came from.

7) In colder weather, he snores like a bullhorn. Sometimes the snores are rapid and rhythmic; sometimes they are infrequent, spasmodic explosions. He does not appreciate being turned over or nudged when snoring, claiming that such activities "wake him up" and are "mean." Occassionally, the snores are replaced with convulsive yells, such as "THAT WOULD BE A GOOD JOB!" When pressed, he clarified that the job he was thinking of was forensic scientist.

Well, I hope these will get you started.

Monday, March 29, 2004

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