Based on yesterday’s reaction to Siblings or Couple? (which is still open, by the way), it’s clear that what really gets people excited is animal identification. This is the obvious next step.
As always, an unbelievable prize to be won by the winner. Probably a safari, but possibly a picture of a penguin drawn by me.
Number one:
Number two:
Number three:
And NO CHEATING by looking at other pictures of penguins.
Due to the overwhelming success of Part I (I am still reeling from the unprecedented FIVE guesses, FOUR of which were from people who do not live in my home with me), here comes the infinitely more challenging Part II. The prize is larger than a breadbox. OK, the prize is an unusually large breadbox.
Number one:
Number two:
Number three:
Number four:
On one of these pictures I have typed in “Little Brother and Sister” in an old-fashioned font, but that is meant only as a trick.
This is unreal: Beloved and beleaguered former NFL quarterback Drew Bledsoe, latest of the Dallas Cowboys and notably of the New England Patriots, went swimming in a lake for a while and then was able to stand up—with a two-foot-long Grand Eel attached to his neck. The Grand Eel is a relative of the pirhana, with needlelike teeth that it sank into the side of Bledsoe’s neck, narrowly missing his carotid artery.
At least this is what I planned to write after “reading” an article online about how a Grand Eel bit Drew Bledsoe’s neck while he was swimming (accompanied by a picture of the actual eel—which they killed—and a close-up of its gnarled, forky teeth), but then I woke up and it was a dream. There isn’t even such a thing as a Grand Eel. I also have no idea where the carotid artery is, or if a Grand Eel’s teeth are long enough to puncture it.
I think I’m going to rename this Edith’s Animal Blog About Animals She Never Actually Sees or That Don’t Exist.
PS sorry to post about a dream.
PPS I’m sorry I have dreams.
The worst thing I can think of, without giving myself an extra one-and-a-half seconds to think of something worse, is waking up with a cockroach on my face.
And I don’t mean a man in a cockroach costume, I mean an actual cockroach.
Not featured in these photos is the unicorn I rode up the stairs on and the straw I spun into gold.
Here, a man gives birth to a dog out of his chest, and a mysterious wizard greets us with his benevolent deer.
And then the chickens in the chicken coop TURNED INTO PRINCES!!!!
And then it got a little bit chilly so we went inside.
I went to dinner with my dad and his girlfriend (as seen in Siblings or Couple? Part I), who are in town for some fancy chiropractice. After dinner we went back to the girlfriend’s apartment for birthday cake (belated because my dad forgot my actual birthday, which, of course, happened recently and has touched all of our hearts) and then after cake they started reading the phone book.
I’m not even sure how to make a joke about this. It started because the girlfriend mentioned she hadn’t been able to find her name when she had been reading the phone book earlier in the day. (?) So they broke it out and started reading it, sometimes out loud, sometimes silently.
I kept talking about other stuff, thinking that eventually they would stop reading the phone book, but they just kept reading it.
“Ian Zimmerman. Isaac Zimmerman. Ivan Zimmerman! I know someone named Ivan. Tara Zimmerman! Ezekiel Zimmerman. I’m jumping around here. GABRIELLE Zimmerman. Five Stuart Zimmermans. I wonder why there’re so many? MARVIN Zimmerman!”
And then I went home. I’m not sure what to make of this.
I’ll be honest—at first, no, I didn’t remember him. He was standing outside a sports bar with an empty beer in his hand when he pinched my arm and asked me if, girl, I remembered him and “[his] nuts,” aka his testicles. I was hesitant, wanting to confirm but not wanting to misrepresent myself. Before I had time to answer, however, he followed with—as an addendum to the first question—“We smoked weed that day?”
At this point it felt like someone punched me in the stomach because clearly he had mistaken me for someone else. “Would that it were me you are remembering,” I wanted to tell him, as it was clear that whoever had smoked weed with him that day was a lucky lady indeed. Instead I continued on wordlessly, not trusting my ability to adhere to the truth. I was afraid I’d be compelled to lie and say it WAS me who smoked weed with him that day, thereby denying whoever it was who actually did smoke weed with him on that day the sweet, sweet pleasure of standing near this rough gem of a man whose tender pinch was matched only by the mature sincerity with which he informed me as I walked away that I had “no ass.”
In case you were like, is Edith cool? HERE IS YOUR ANSWER
I experienced a crushing disappointment this afternoon when I got out of my car to see how loud the radio sounded from the sidewalk and discovered that you can’t hear it AT ALL. I had been under the impression that when I blasted amazing songs like “I Want You” by Savage Garden, people would think to themselves, “Wow, WHO is playing this amazing song?” and then they would see me and be stunned by how amazing I was. But nope, this has never happened. F this. Everything sucks.
Two completely straight-faced young men were sitting motionless on the train today, and each of them was listening to one of those ringtone songs on his cell phone/electronic device on repeat. Both songs were played with equally terrible quality, like those commercials where “a real song” is playing, but then someone picks up the phone and you realize that the awesome jam is really just someone’s phone ringing. Anyway these guys were sitting 10 feet away from each other, each slouched in his seat, and I was (almost) the only other person on the train. There was no acknowledgment of the situation from either of them whatsoever. They just sat there playing “Where Brooklyn At? Where Brooklyn At? Where Brooklyn At? Where Brooklyn At?” and “Can I Buy U a Drank, Shawty? [Let’s talk money, I talk back, crunk juice bottle, Oakley shades]” on their respective machines over and over and over for (almost) 10 stops.
There was (basically) one other person on the train, an old Asian man, and I tried to make eye contact with him so I could make an expression like “this is funny!” but he wouldn’t look at me.
