11:27 a.m. - 2007-07-25
That's what little boys are made of...
Oh my...now that I�ve got Diaryland firmly lodged in my short term memory again, I can�t get it out. So I sit here at my desk, trying desperately to work on a paper due at the end of the week � and I spew ramblings into a little white box.
So it�s been something over a year since I posted here. You�d think I would have SOMETHING that merited acknowledgment in my life, wouldn�t you? Perhaps some fun dating stories, or tales of my rise to fame?
Perhaps you are a fool.
I dunno, if things had been a bit more exciting I�d probably have written them here. I DID start pursuing my Master�s Degree.
Titillated yet? I know I wasn�t. Until I typed the word �titillated�. Now I�ve got the tingly feeling that Diaryland always used to bring me in my belly. I�m a big fan of titillation.
One of my current classes is Human Development. Not riveting stuff, but not terribly snore-worthy, either. Until last week. Last week we watched: the movie.
Everyone I�ve ever talked to (fourteen people at last count) has recounted seeing the movie in High School Health Class. You know the one � the one where you follow the progress of a pregnancy from conception (not QUITE conception � there�d be a lot fewer hall passes out of health class if it was) to delivery. Well I somehow missed that movie in high school. After hearing the stories of the actual delivery, I somehow didn�t feel like I�d missed out.
I have missed out no longer.
And strangely enough, the worst part of the film wasn�t the squirty, messy bits � it was the way these English doctors handled the baby afterwards.
Did you know that in the first three weeks of our life that our neck bones are made out of silly putty? It�s true! These docs threw this poor little person around like a bean bag, his head bouncing back and forth, to and fro. It was horrific. Half of my class practically cried out at this behavior.
Damn you, English Doctors from the early 70s when they only had that crappy film that jumps and sparks in the projector! Treat our children well! Maybe this is why the royal family has....issues. They were delivered by English Doctors who moonlight as short order cooks and get flapjacks and young �uns confused.
Wow. This has been a seriously weak entry. I�ll get better. I promise.
Mush & Gush,
Northrup
