Who needs Alan Thicke anyway?

As I was saying. I really didn't intend to take a break from writing, but it just sort of happened that way. Two months probably gave even the most infrequent of visitors to this site a chance to memorize key lines and phrases of the Flat Stanley post. Which is not to say that tale did not deserve the spotlight, but even Cats eventually closed. Please note, I'm not comparing myself to Andrew Lloyd Webber's whiskered meisterwerk. Personally, I'd like to think I'm somewhat more entertaining, but admittedly, Sir Lloyd Webber set that bar set pretty low. Which is why he's been knighted and I'm posting drivel to a disinterested world. Of course, Roger Waters has never gleefully pined for my death either, unlike SLW. I guess we really were all equal in the end.

In the interim there was a fair bit of news on this particular home front. The EPJ became the EMJ (Magistrate) and the workload of this office increased somewhat. I saw dozens of flicks, some of which were actually decent. There were a couple of big holidays scattered about. I must be honest; those were nice to see come and go. There were some quiet sad times that will not be mentioned. There were also some much happier moments. None of which involved any sort of proposal/ring concerning the lovely Marisol and me. This was much to the disappointment of far too many folks without dogs in that fight. So to speak.

Instead, she gifted me a camera whilst I gave a coat that was pretty snazzy if I do say so myself and will do a much better job of keeping her whole body warm rather than just one little area of one tiny finger. All the hens around here seemed to be blown away that I was able to purchase such an elegant gift all by myself. I believe this is what's known in the biz as a "back-handed compliment." While it's a relief to know that they are quite certain of my raging heterosexuality and masculinity, sad they thought me some sort of cro-magnon man whose idea of a thoughtful gift was a Hooters calendar and gift certificate combo. Obviously, that's more a Valentine's type gift.

I suppose the happiest and bestest news to come out of those missing months was that the new year will bring new life to my inner circle. Much to all our delight, my close, personal friend, MB, managed to get herself knocked up by dear hubby, Gustav. Well done, sir. An addition is always a joyous occasion if for no other reason than the chance for me to name yet another character in this saga. World, please welcome Baby EZ, who, barring a terrible ultrasound picture, will be a girl.

I was initially worried about the matronly MB, but she seems to be adjusting to being in the family way quite nicely. Updating me on the situation last night, she had decided that she didn't want Baby EZ to be a "pink tutu girl" though quickly adding, "Unless she wants to." I thought that seemed very motherly. Of course, I tried to act like I knew what a "pink tutu girl" and offered solidarity because tutus are clearly part of the communist plot and must be stopped.

Realizing that today's toys, devices, etc. can quickly become tomorrow's clutter, MB admitted that they were trying not to buy too much stuff for Baby EZ. Good thinking, that. But not content she continued, denouncing strollers "prams, carriages or whatever you call them" pretentious. She further declared that said contraptions were too big, ergo she'll forgo one for a sling. Personally, I'm holding out for a papoose, but I digress.

She'll not get much argument from me on the size point, though I assured her that for all their size, strollers are really rather portable since all the space-age polymers and such used therein are quite foldable. Childless that I may be, I do keep up with those advancements that make modern life easier, especially any that transport wee ones. I also strongly advised her to reconsider purchasing, making a mental note that MB's gift subscription to Parents probably should be fast-tracked. I keed.

But as for the pretentious bit, this is unique to MB. And by unique I mean, she's the first person in the history of the world to ever offer hold such a position. Of that I am quite certain and was therefore quite intrigued; I couldn't help but ask for clarification. It seems that after test-driving (test-pushing?) several models she couldn't shake the notion that she was just a little girl playing Mommy with her doll and couldn't get comfortable. It seemed a bit late in the day to point out that this was sort of the not-so-subtle point of all that childhood preconditioning with dolls, etc. that she skipped by dressing in black and reading Camus from age 3, but whatever.

Also, MB finds the multiple cup-holders, all-terrain traction and wi-fi capabilities a bit unnecessary. At this distance, that seems a fair point. Hopefully, she'll won't decide otherwise when she's bogged down in the mud, three miles from home with Baby EZ, her bottle of soy milk and her cup of whole wheat, organic cheerios desperately trying to find out what happened on last night's Grey's Anatomy. But that's probably a ridiculous notion. No one cares what happened on Grey's Anatomy anymore.