My apologies if I offend any Spanish speakers (esp. Peruvians) with my title. I think it means Man Penis! but my co-worker who taught me the word carajo (pron. Ca-RA-ho! with a heavy, throat clearing on the “RA” – I don’t even know if that’s the right spelling) won’t tell me what it means because her mother will find her and beat her butt. Mothers are like that. However, it is my favourite exclamation of late, replacing even “Stephen Joseph Harper” because sometimes, there’s just that much more poop and you’re just that tired.
Ahh, yeah, so I’m not dead or quitting writing this blog or anything. I can hear you all releasing those breaths you were holding. Dudes, you’re all blue! But Trombone and I have been holing up chez grandparents and I’ve actually been reading a book instead of the Internet. What? I know. Before there was the Internet, there was books. There were books. I’m reading Pattern Recognition by William Gibson and I have never read a Gibson book before and also I hate sci fi as a genre, but I am loving this book. Take that, preconceived notions. Pow! Right in the kisser.
For more interesting bloggity woo, check out Saint Aarvark, who is documenting his trip to the great, wooly Washington, DC. And I’ll be back here when I’m back in my own living room with tales of new, perfect doctors, fat babies and dumb catts.
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