I don't know these people. . . .

Let's cut to the chase. I've been saying my sibling's names wrong.

At eight o'clock, which is pretty late, I came downstairs and lay on the couch. Peter was already downstairs and he jumped on me. "PETER," I yelled, "GET OFF." Except that, instead of saying "Peter" I said "Peder".

Me: Peder.
My mother: No, Peter.
Peter: Yes. Peter.
Me: PEE-ter.
Peter: PeterPeterPeterPeterPeter!!!
Me: Pete-er.
My mother: Good.
Peter: Goodgoodgoodgood!!!
Me: Pete-er. Pete-er.
Peter: Or you could call me Pete.
Me: I refuse.
Me: (time has elapsed, during which I practice saying Pete-er.) What about Laura? (Except that I pronounced it Lorra.)
My mother: Emma! You can't pronounce Laura's name!
Me: I can so too pronounce it! Lorra!
My mother: No, it's Lahruh.
Peter: Lahruh!
Me: (long painful time has passed, with un-typeabale pronunciations) I'm going to go ask Lahruh.
My mother and Peter: Good!
Me: *runs upstairs* Say your name!
Laura: Lorra. . . .
Me: Uh-oh. . . . Say Peter.
Laura: Peder. . . .
Me: Why don't you come downstairs. . . .
Laura: Uh. . .okay.
Laura: (after briefing) I'VE BEEN SAYING MY NAME WRONG!?!?!?!?! And Peter's?
My mother: I think you learned it from Emma.
Me: But what about Peter?
My mother: You were at school, not teaching him.
Me: Bah.

People. This will take practice. (And we have to correct all of our friends, whom we taught to say their names wrong.)

Peanut Butter Mousse Chocolate Cake. . . .

May have had a moment last night. . . .

Me: *sways back and forth* *eating cake* *euphoric*
Laura: Emma.
Me: *la la la la la dee lah*
Laura: Eh-muuhhhhhh.
Me: Mm?
Laura: We're about to go.
Me: *Stops eating cake, of which about half is left, and commences scraping chocolate syrup off the plate*
My Darling Mother: Here, Emma, put the rest of the cake in this. *hands me a leftover box*
Me: *laughs like a maniac, with syrup and mousse on nose* *flips cake into box*
My Darling Mother: Why don't we put the rest of my cake in there too, for later. *puts 1" by 1" square of chocolate cake into box*
Me: * laughing crazily* Yeah, for later. . . . *finger air quotes around later*
My Darling Family: *exits restaurant*
Me: *walks into door*

I love peanut butter mousse chocolate cake. . . too bad I only get it every other year or so.

Poll results and the Great Oil Spill

It occurs to me that it wasn't really smart of me to have so many options.

So, here are some more:

• I cancel out the options no one voted for and have a new poll.
• You all comment below telling me why I should use your specific idea.
• I have a poll for what to do about a poll.
• We pretend this never happened and do nothing.

So. . . what should I do?

In the meantime of me trying to write this post, we had an Incident.

Like most families do, we have a bottle of Canola oil in our kitchen (Yes, with a serving suggestion. Ick.) and it is made of plastic. When I see plastic, I think oh, plastic. When Perry sees plastic, he thinks CHEWABLE. I'll let you guess what happened at 11 p.m. two nights ago. We're still getting it out of stuff.

Paparazzi: Daisy

This works best if you have some Lady Gaga in the background. The song starts at 2:00 or so, so the whole first two minutes will NOT be a fitting background. (And yes, I have finally accepted Lady Gaga, even though she runs on the principle that people should wear less clothes and I run on the principle that people should wear MORE clothes. Sigh. . . .)
If we had some motivational quotes from the model, we could send this to a magazine.

Daisy Looks at Shoes

I don't know when Pet Day will be, but here's a Daisy story I hope you won't find tedious.

This may be utterly shocking to you, but someone likes my shoes. And by someone, I mean Daisy. And by likes, I mean "views as prey". The rest is pretty much literal.

Saturday morning, at approximately 5:14 AM, I awakened to a very irritating sound. [You must understand that with loads of homework and an overzealous Perry who wished to eat my carpet, I had had little sleep last week. So much that sometimes I slept in (gasp) ten minutes and thus couldn't edit my blog.] Hearing this, I turned over to see Daisy nuzzling my boots.

Me: Dai-syyyyyyyyy. Nooooooooooooooooo. (obviously tired)
Daisy: *jumps backwards and crouches behind scratching post*
Me: *falls back onto mattress, groaning*
Daisy: *leaps at my ballet flats*
Me: *sigh* Daiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisy.
Daisy: *treadles ballet flat*
Me: Go awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Daisy: *gets bored and commences eating boot*
Me: *buries self in comforters*

How many cats like shoes? (Probably a lot more than we need to know.)

Bon Anniversaire à Scout. . . .

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day is Scout's birthday, and he is a big six-year-old!Noble-ness!!! Hahaha. . . .

Dog food with peanut butter slathered over a cheese rind, covered in Chicken and Rice baby food and more grated cheese on top. Delicious, right? Much better than Gastrointestinal Health Food.

I need more brownies, stat!

AGAIN I have forgotten the anniversary of this blog. The six-month one, I think.

Sob, sob, etc.

Let's have some points of interest.

1. You all know (hopefully) how I love love love the etiquette/food/English language/fashion area at the library. You also know (probably much more so) that I am a bad conversationalist. This has led me to read two conversation books, which were interesting but told me that at least 80% of what I say isn't worth a thing. Joy.
2. This book also informed me that people do not like hearing cat stories 24/7. I already knew this, but with a lot of people all we have in common is that they think my cats are cute. . .
   
3. . . . so I think that there should be a designated day of the week for me to monologue about the week's adventures involving Daisy and Perry. See Poll.
   
4. I think the only reason "Je t'aime, l'ete" is the most viewed page is because I can never remember what it is about. I assume that this happens to you all as well.
5. I made Ghirardelli brownies. Nom.
   
6. MY SIMS GAME IS BROKEN!!! (More on this later.)