Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber

Not much going on in the Attila house this week---Little Guy's hands are healing up, and he's getting a kick out of having Mom tie his shoes just like when he was a toddler. If I'm not available, he's been pulling on a pair of Hubby's ancient Moon Boots (circa 1984) and tramping around in the yard. Looks pretty hysterical with his shorts!

We've gone 4 days without Big Kid (or his other dad) calling and begging us to let him come home early (knock on wood), so I'm operating under the assumption that no news is good news. I'd like to blog about all that, but I'm feeling kind of on the fence with that one, so I'm reserving the right to blog about it later. Be more than happy to fill anyone in if they want to email me.

Soooooo, I've been feeling pretty lazy and unmotivated to do much but read. I know my last post was about stupid in the news, but I seem to be having a lot of stupid in my life lately (like I said, email me), and I've been noticing it everywhere. Humor me, please!

Was this last week a slow news week or what?

Nicole Richie Will Only Boink Circumcised Men.

Oookay. And I should care...why?

Who exactly is Nicole Richie when she isn't riding on that other skanky celebutante's thongstrings? Is she trying to top her former BGF's media coup---jail with the little people and all---with this confession?

Her parents must be so proud.

Hubby's comment (we've been spending so much quality time together that I actually ran this by him), "At least she has one standard."

Snerk.

For months I've been reading about Posh and Becks' big plan to take the U.S. by storm.

"Who are Posh and Becks?" you might ask. Good question.

Victoria "Posh" Beckham used to be part of that wildly-popular-especially-amongst-the-tweens girl group called the Spice Girls. Some years ago, she married the UK's premier footballer (soccer to us philistines) named David Beckham.

If the Brit newspapers are to be believed, they're more newsworthy than Camilla and her newest saddle blanket.

Bend it Like Beckham is one of my absolute favorite movies of all time. USian Bourgeoisie that I am, it was the first time I've ever even heard of "Becks". Unfortunately, in the movie, all you see of him is his name in the title, a few seconds of a game on the telly, some shadow in an airport entourage, and a yummy-looking poster on the protagonist's wall.

Now that they've hit the states, Posh is gearing up for a reunion with the Spice Girls, but in my opinion, she might think about changing her name to "Old Spice". She's so dried out and emaciated that it looks like she's got at least 10 years on the rest of them.

Yes, yes, I know. Meow.

But I must admit that Becks is hot. He's hot with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. With chocolately sprinkles.

Fortunately for the rest of you guys, God is good and sometimes fair when He hands out gifts. Becks might be good to look at, but this boy is about as articulate as a sack of hair.

In their first big "Stormin' the States" photo and article spread in the magazine W, he talks about his relationship with Posh.

"When she tells me something doesn't look good, I believe her. We have a connection that way."

Huh?

Honey, when I tell my dog to get the hell off the couch, she believes me. We have a connection that way.

When I tell the UPS guy he delivered the wrong package to my house, he takes it away with him. We have a connection that way.

When I've had a difficult day, my Hubby knows exactly how to help. He might offer a shoulder rub. Or take the guys out for a burger so I can have a couple of hours to breathe.

Sometimes he sweeps me off my feet with flowers, or makes dinner for the horde. Or wakes up in the middle of the night to tell me he loves me.

Now he's a guy who's connected.

At this point, the "storm" is leaving me pretty underwhelmed so far.