tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6356894582284712882024-03-12T17:09:37.354-07:00Zoe vs. the UniverseTales of an Evil Mastermind in Training <br>by E. R. Catalanoercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.comBlogger196125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-39579628256776243012020-02-09T02:30:00.000-08:002020-02-09T09:24:32.166-08:00Zoe vs. the Oscars 2020<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
The Academy Awards are tonight, so that means it's time for my <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2019/02/zoe-vs-oscars-2019.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">annual roundup of all the movies nominated for Best Picture</a>. As always, and in the interests of full transparency, I report my movies-seen to movies-nominated ratio, and this year I saw two of the nine movies, which is my "Oscars par" since I've been doing this, and which makes me eminently qualified to predict how the show will end: with me asleep on the couch.</div>
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So now it's time to sum up this year's movies and how they reflect life with Zoe.<br />
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<b>Joker</b>: Let's say you know a person who seems harmless but also puts out serious ticking time bomb vibes. Let's say they also think they're funnier than they are. And if they are confronted with reality, there may be an eruption of violence at worst, or, at best, the performance of a weird dance that makes all observers uncomfortable. Would this be their mother's fault? I think not.<br />
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<b>Ford v Ferrari</b>: A cutthroat competition. Fast-paced action. Testing the limits of physics. A strong chance of catastrophe. The observer's just along for the ride. This checks all the boxes of spending a day with Zoe. So let's just ignore the fact that we live in Brooklyn and we don't own a car.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 out of 10 scientists find their combined handsomeness boring.</td></tr>
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<b>1917</b>: Wartime: There are impossible orders to follow and it's a race against time or there will be terrible consequences for many. One camera tracks the action.<br />
2020: Dinnertime: There are impossible orders to follow, the consequences if I fail will be listening to complaints followed by a refusal to eat a perfectly healthy meal. It's a race against time, bedtime, after which I can finally rest. One long tracking shot, viewed from my sad face.<br />
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<b>Once Upon a Time in Hollywood</b>: Described by one reviewer as "bold, beautiful, and brutal," conjuring nostalgia for the past, where things seemed better, but in reality featured a main character prone to epic tantrums. Add in a lot of purposeless hanging out which eventually ends in violence. Still, I would like to have a stunt double.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2 out of 10 scientists get 2 other handsome actors confused with these 2.</td></tr>
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<b>The Irishman</b>: The similarities astound! First of all, this movie spent some years in development hell---an apt description for pregnancy! Zoe's early years were characterized by an incipient criminal enterprise, alternately pointing the finger at others or refusing to incriminate herself, and an aborted attempt to bring down the Cuban government. Among her set, I suspect finger-painting is a euphemism for murder. And at the end of a day, I could use some de-aging software, cause three hours sometimes feels like forever.<br />
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<b>Parasite</b>: Do I even need to say anything?<br />
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<b>Marriage Story</b>: This is a deep dive into the slow painful dissolution of a marriage with complicated emotions and no easy answers. Supposed to be brilliant, but also, y'know: BUMMER. I think the point is how having a child can destroy a marriage. But I disagree. I think anyone who has a child knows the opposite is true. Children keep you together because nothing unites people like having a common enemy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9 out of 10 scientists came up with an equation:<br />
unusual looks + good actor = handsome?</td></tr>
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<b>Jojo Rabbit</b>: If, when Zoe was smaller, she had an imaginary friend, is it out of the question it would've been Hitler? Would she have been capable of butchering a tiny cute rabbit without any remorse? One thing I know is, she's not above spreading propaganda when it suits her.<br />
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<b>Little Women</b>: Along with <i>Joker</i>, this was one of the ones I saw. I took Zoe, in fact. I thought Zoe might be upset by the death of Beth (spoiler alert! but not really, because everyone should know that), because her death bothered me as a kid. When Beth died I thought that meant only the good died young, as in, that was why she died, so it was maybe better to not be so nice, like conceited Amy. As a Catholic child, I felt conflicted. Anyway, I shouldn't have worried. Zoe took Beth's death in stride, not having related to her gentle kindness at all. She did relate to Jo, which was nice, except Zoe didn't understand why Jo broke things off with Laurie. Laurie was funny, and the actor Timothee Chalamet is "cute."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 out of 1 middle-aged white mothers <br />
who write this blog want to smack him in the face.</td></tr>
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Her mother has a different viewpoint, and at my age, though I do still relate to Jo, I relate more to Marmee, and though Laurie may be cute, it's more in the pejorative sense of the word, as in, You think you're real cute, don't you, Laurie? Or maybe I relate more to Aunt March, especially as played by Meryl Streep. Who wouldn't want to have enough money and maturity not to care as you delivered barbed comments to your dependents. #FutureGoals. I also wouldn't mind <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2019/02/zoe-vs-oscars-2019.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">being Meryl Streep</a>. Especially at Oscar time. #Winning.<br />
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<i>Zoe: 196; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/02/zoe-vs-oscars.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">my very first Oscars post.</a></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-11287648563157938392019-12-19T03:30:00.000-08:002019-12-19T11:10:43.064-08:00Zoe vs. Is It Inappropriate? AKA: The Day the LOLZ Died<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Have you heard that last year's biggest toy for Christmas has a new line this year? And that some parents are not happy? First, if you don't know what LOL Surprise dolls are, let me explain.</div>
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LOL Dolls are tiny dolls with disproportionately huge heads (OMG SOOO CUTE!). They come inside little plastic balls that your child unwraps, revealing smaller (SURPRISE!) accessories---tiny outfits, little purses, and sunglasses---on the way to the big reveal of what doll you get. It's a collect-them-all Dantesque nightmare, just with tiny shoes that instantly (OMG!) get lost. Plus, glitter! </div>
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Zoe got a whole bunch last year for Christmas. Did I mention they have THEMES! For instance: OMG! Fashion!, Glitter Glam!, and Swag!, all with exclamation points exactly where you'd think and also where you wouldn't think! But wait! There's more!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't let the big eyes fool you. They will LOL while they slit your throat.</td></tr>
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There are also even smaller (AW!) Little Sister versions and pets, also with accessor!es. Some you put in water and their hair changes color . . . at which point the FUN! is just SO MUCH!... for about ten minutes. And then you lose one shoe from each pair.</div>
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But don't worry, you'll never ever lose the glitter! That's with you for life!</div>
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And because---viva la variety!---this year we have LOL Boys! And, LOL!! they are anatomically correct. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, maybe hold back one LOL! if you haven't yet had THAT conversation with Dear One, because what's getting unwrapped this Christmas is AWKWARD! Talk about a surprise package!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I censored the scandalous, I mean, God's beautiful teachable moment.</td></tr>
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Naturally some parents are a tad upset.</div>
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Let's go back in time, shall we, to the days when toys were less LOL! and more Puritanical and no one was allowed to laugh quite as loudly---or if we did, we spelled it the right way, by God! Remember Ken and his neutered smoothness stored discreetly in hot pants? Though he did have a butt! And truly what is more old-fashioned lowercase lol than a butt for the under-ten set?</div>
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Well, that was <i>so </i>twentieth century. The twenty-first is all about dolls with tiny grape-like yet detailed constructions tucked into their tiny plastic hot pants. I wonder what happens when you put them in water?</div>
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All I can say is, add LOL Boys to Uncomfortable Topics for Christmas Dinner.</div>
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For extra credit, see if you can steer the conversation toward adjacent divisive topic circumcision! </div>
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Now really what better toy can there be for a little girl like Zoe, who claims she can see cartoon characters' penises through their cartoon pants, and then asks me if that's inappropriate.</div>
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What does one say to this?</div>
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I'm really asking.</div>
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Because she asks <i>me </i>daily and my "It's okay, dear" is wearing thin but not as thin, apparently, as Snotlout Jorgenson's trousers in <i>How to Train Your Dragon</i>.</div>
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So if she gets one of these LOL Boys for Christmas she's likely to a) notice, b) comment on it, and c) point it out to strangers on line at CVS.</div>
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If Zoe was Haley Joel Osment in <i>Sixth Sense, </i>when she saw a dead person, the fact they were dead would not concern her as much as what they were wearing and whether it was revealing too much rotting skin.</div>
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So you'd think I'd be prepared and on high alert myself for inappropriateness, but nope. I recently put up four Art Deco prints in our bathroom and hadn't even noticed this one:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnM4LPI2ObcZOOuNjBBO_tHcGU6EB0Vaf8A3AZXWvvy7OA9MYaXLBE6MKJ-RU7SPq-4_pVktJEmuv1w2YJCAKTd5R4IPnPo4ucd8DJvKmEDTP-pqnC-wZb3vv_sUClBUafqvPUn7njOrI/s1600/IMG_6716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnM4LPI2ObcZOOuNjBBO_tHcGU6EB0Vaf8A3AZXWvvy7OA9MYaXLBE6MKJ-RU7SPq-4_pVktJEmuv1w2YJCAKTd5R4IPnPo4ucd8DJvKmEDTP-pqnC-wZb3vv_sUClBUafqvPUn7njOrI/s400/IMG_6716.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>L Eau</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 16px;">Can we all see the butt of the gentleman coming out of the lake?</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJx4sLid6de-ppY62tcBmUMo4n1kezvsk3-LXXqR1mRwXIxT84dB80W5vSoXxFW7KkwHX6kJXO7LfcR3ZJ9GWKFuAUG_CYBrdTTp7vRoaqEMKGtwOmrP5JmlafhfsqONnYRwoSIH2LMg/s1600/IMG_6717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJx4sLid6de-ppY62tcBmUMo4n1kezvsk3-LXXqR1mRwXIxT84dB80W5vSoXxFW7KkwHX6kJXO7LfcR3ZJ9GWKFuAUG_CYBrdTTp7vRoaqEMKGtwOmrP5JmlafhfsqONnYRwoSIH2LMg/s400/IMG_6717.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Le buttocks</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Can we all guess who saw it immediately and zeroed in on it?</div>
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Then there's this one:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkdjlwpCi42DmiYrVe39_EBDyqfviu3MlR3HN-Ts11qgQ-NFfu80VNytaIZXh7JnlbptRkvTm3fFKQW5le24Ppm3LW6XC-4kmpMNHShDxys7MwQJFEcAjOV9CJRn9ttTMhiQGD8US-ug/s1600/IMG_6718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkdjlwpCi42DmiYrVe39_EBDyqfviu3MlR3HN-Ts11qgQ-NFfu80VNytaIZXh7JnlbptRkvTm3fFKQW5le24Ppm3LW6XC-4kmpMNHShDxys7MwQJFEcAjOV9CJRn9ttTMhiQGD8US-ug/s400/IMG_6718.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Le feu</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Don't see anything? Look at the vase. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRvhOjB_5s9_GwPLMXtjNu1dUVeaMF8ztQydZlNIL9OYzJ7JmSM3B4lHBIuaixmg7g1Tajf9eQGNon6Vc3RkahM0Nf0XIpNZpKbB_l0R3g5_0FhJcKi_dm3qp7zx1Wi_eXi9km8sDdyM/s1600/IMG_6719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRvhOjB_5s9_GwPLMXtjNu1dUVeaMF8ztQydZlNIL9OYzJ7JmSM3B4lHBIuaixmg7g1Tajf9eQGNon6Vc3RkahM0Nf0XIpNZpKbB_l0R3g5_0FhJcKi_dm3qp7zx1Wi_eXi9km8sDdyM/s400/IMG_6719.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Le hermaphrodite?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Two more to go. See any problems?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNv5I28ajJotM5XUgiChr46cRiNDdWjK9wlRDKiUYh0b3jWJIukaVOyRlreIJVBfqYSRO57rjVquXzGliM8ddQ1nwaD3VfLazJcb-EitpzLAKw-e-EITEqIw8IML7DtG5bfmLF0jxohc/s1600/IMG_6722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNv5I28ajJotM5XUgiChr46cRiNDdWjK9wlRDKiUYh0b3jWJIukaVOyRlreIJVBfqYSRO57rjVquXzGliM8ddQ1nwaD3VfLazJcb-EitpzLAKw-e-EITEqIw8IML7DtG5bfmLF0jxohc/s400/IMG_6722.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>La Terre</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
No? Look again. Those trees have boobs. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZKc2fHBBhQkIabrodbrcsJtAyOzZLdXCLIIVM15qBDf1CPuMsRVJWGsnBHjG7RDb1ve9P0CpkhUZibPw9CjeNKzApcM-2vdHIXWJXcL2JfGoXA99O9dODmTSnCGN1SzQyVVkn95AmeU/s1600/IMG_6723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZKc2fHBBhQkIabrodbrcsJtAyOzZLdXCLIIVM15qBDf1CPuMsRVJWGsnBHjG7RDb1ve9P0CpkhUZibPw9CjeNKzApcM-2vdHIXWJXcL2JfGoXA99O9dODmTSnCGN1SzQyVVkn95AmeU/s400/IMG_6723.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CbnxxVidO7Y6hXPAcIcHHMUYGAm9e0jTLt8Gmf2ik8Fac0Vg6E0ijk7mpHHDtHv2Sm4dDRT8fPHEOgt23Uqu-t2BUTqHkUzNS2jNafe0NoIsZ4wK1PpZGZjpx6wt15TRrDDkVxozkj0/s1600/IMG_6724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CbnxxVidO7Y6hXPAcIcHHMUYGAm9e0jTLt8Gmf2ik8Fac0Vg6E0ijk7mpHHDtHv2Sm4dDRT8fPHEOgt23Uqu-t2BUTqHkUzNS2jNafe0NoIsZ4wK1PpZGZjpx6wt15TRrDDkVxozkj0/s400/IMG_6724.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Le arbre a seins</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Zoe is now calling them boob trees.</div>
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Personally I think she's reaching with the last one, but she swears she can see butts in the clouds.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNQLoH_s-HxLsvrcBrk2PzE_6EQ2nP2Xa9Y7frCuu9rYPF7G_uJfgfhyphenhyphenzeEUykMaKQlw_dU2F3QWDE7EpGSL5TQ93lJZCBZoNAacaTP29xKIb1gv388NgzS-pxk6ZPGu-BXT1kKPkV4E/s1600/IMG_6720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNQLoH_s-HxLsvrcBrk2PzE_6EQ2nP2Xa9Y7frCuu9rYPF7G_uJfgfhyphenhyphenzeEUykMaKQlw_dU2F3QWDE7EpGSL5TQ93lJZCBZoNAacaTP29xKIb1gv388NgzS-pxk6ZPGu-BXT1kKPkV4E/s400/IMG_6720.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>L Air</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
Well, maybe.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYAaDnkZ7USfnNNW5q8TxRwuZs-s4kSKfy-BeU941dqBGeZbh-1dhEnHetN1EzLFbivjS00deL7S67LE5XynXao0g66cX_cZpAFTqe0ZExLdqLrgMJTrW0wlivqC0tw1ZfhSjxXhx7eg/s1600/IMG_6721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYAaDnkZ7USfnNNW5q8TxRwuZs-s4kSKfy-BeU941dqBGeZbh-1dhEnHetN1EzLFbivjS00deL7S67LE5XynXao0g66cX_cZpAFTqe0ZExLdqLrgMJTrW0wlivqC0tw1ZfhSjxXhx7eg/s400/IMG_6721.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Le tushie</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But I'd argue that that's the only image she ever sees in clouds. Whenever this child looks up, I suspect that all she sees are cloud-butts and boobs in trees. Maybe she should keep her eyes on the ground. Where there are puddles. Shaped like penises.</div>
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<br />
<i>Zoe: 195; Universe: 0</i></div>
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy this Christmas post: <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/12/zoe-vs-rudolph-red-nosed-reindeer.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.</a></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222;"><i> For more LOLZ,</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">click here</a> to subscribe. </i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-48736149157782664792019-07-11T05:00:00.000-07:002019-07-11T09:29:18.022-07:00Zoe vs. General Observations Better Left Unsaid<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
You remember several months ago when I said it's getting harder to post about Zoe as she gets older? This is why the months since I've posted have been <i>several</i>.</div>
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As Zoe becomes more of a person I feel the need to respect her privacy in case she's ever embarrassed by something she's done. So far she's embarrassed over things she shouldn't be and not embarrassed over things she should be. This, I suspect, will change.</div>
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In the meantime, I'm the parent, so I'm supposed to have restraint; I'm supposed to care about whether or not she's embarrassed. I'll tell you something I've discovered about this caring: it's a one-way street. And I travel it alone.</div>
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As the child, Zoe has little regard for her mother's, or really, anyone else's, humiliation, or to say it another, more accurate, way, she's very comfortable exploring and discussing others' humiliations., behind their backs, in front of their faces, whatever, she's not discerning.</div>
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Charmingly, right now, she's going through a phase of excessive truthiness, truthiness of observable facts that will hurt people's feelings if said out loud but that she NEEDS to say out loud if only to have me confirm she's still a good person even though she has these thoughts.</div>
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Each day she informs us who she's seen that day who has a pimple, or smells funny, or is fat. And at first we responded by telling her it's okay to <i>notice </i>these things---often you can't help it---but that didn't mean she needed to say them out loud, and moreover, she shouldn't focus on appearance so much.</div>
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Then the eye of terrible judgment and truth turned on us, her loving parents.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHicz9896h-5xcij5OyLMYiDszRRjrk5xX12hi8EoXxUtldDyapZ5CtX_QaChGAQDZP7sL2RDbOeiCglnaGpZg128FKLe3DojUf1W0Tn1uK-ONWt6-a2JoJnr2iyH98eDysFdewEKCIcI/s1600/Zoe+vs.+General+Observations+Better+Left+Unsaid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="940" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHicz9896h-5xcij5OyLMYiDszRRjrk5xX12hi8EoXxUtldDyapZ5CtX_QaChGAQDZP7sL2RDbOeiCglnaGpZg128FKLe3DojUf1W0Tn1uK-ONWt6-a2JoJnr2iyH98eDysFdewEKCIcI/s400/Zoe+vs.+General+Observations+Better+Left+Unsaid.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
It began with, Is it okay if she sometimes loves Daddy more than Mommy, and vice versa?</div>
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Naturally, whichever one of us she asked was the one who was enjoying Less Than Favored Status at that particular moment. So, of course, we'd reassure her our love (unlike hers!) was not conditional.</div>
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A sensitive child, at least in the sense that she was sensitive enough to realize she should appear to be sensitive, she'd sometimes clarify the REASONS WHY she loved one of us more than the other at that particular time, or even better (!), what qualities she was celebrating or denigrating, depending. And so I'd hear things like: I like to play with Daddy more than I like to play with you, and he'd hear things like: I want Mommy to put me to bed or come in to the bathroom with me or to help me do this, that, or the other, the clear implication being Mommy is the nurturer, sure, but also, super clearly, the workhorse, and <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2015/06/zoe-vs-daddy-dfp.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Daddy is FUN!</a></div>
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Soon, as you probably were expecting, she began sharing, always with sad regret and a performance of guilt, observations she just had to get off her chest, usually about my graying hair, my expanding waistline, and whether or not she thought my outfit was flattering. </div>
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I would reassure her that I forgave her for having these thoughts while emphasizing she didn't need to share them. And I'd say no matter what, I still loved her, albeit through increasingly gritted teeth. </div>
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Taking a shower soon became a gamble, a fifty-fifty chance I'd step out of the tub to be greeted by a frank appraisal of my perimenopausal body. Did I know how pale I was? Did I know I had rolls of fat on my stomach, especially when I bent over to dry my feet? Did I know "insert another non-supermodel factoid" about my hips, thighs, or the shiny heels of my feet?</div>
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Indeed, my precious child, I did know.</div>
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Eventually I'd had enough. The Husband and I sat her skinny youthful eight-year-old ass down and reminded her of when she was smaller and we'd tell her to use her inside voice.</div>
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Did she remember that?</div>
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She nodded.</div>
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Well, Daddy and I want you to do that, just, now, more inside. Like way inside. Like in your head.</div>
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She nodded, slowly, turning that over in her mind.</div>
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Since then she's been trying. Sometimes. Though quite often still, when she's chatting away, and suddenly stops midsentence, her distracted gaze lingering on my midsection or the roots of my hair, I can almost hear what she's thinking, so really she doesn't need to say it.</div>
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But, god bless her, she says it anyway.<br />
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<i>Zoe: 194; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy Zoe's and my previous entanglements with truthiness in the aptly named <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/03/zoe-vs-truth.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. The Truth</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> You CAN handle the truth,</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-70733086664043445432019-04-11T05:30:00.000-07:002019-04-11T09:47:33.871-07:00Zoe vs. Self-Sufficiency: Hair-Washing Edition<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
I heard somewhere---or maybe I read it---that the main idea behind parenting is to raise functional, independent, contributing members of society. This is my goal for Zoe someday. But before she can get a job, vote, pay her bills, etc., she probably needs to learn how to wash Her Own Damn Hair.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teri tries a new shampoo with jojoba oil, coconut essence, and LSD.</td></tr>
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Zoe was born with an impressive mane of hair, and so from day one I had my work cut out for me. As she grew, coincidentally, so did her hair. Along with that, she developed an astounding ability to acquire knots, leading to extreme anguish on a daily basis when I tried to get a comb through her hair.</div>
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She would cry, and I would threaten to cut her hair short, and she would cry harder, until I got a pair of scissors---not to cut her hair, but to excise the most recalcitrant knots.</div>
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I believe there should be a direct correlation between a child complaining about how they look and taking care of it themselves.</div>
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So this was a New Year's resolution. I forget if it was mine or hers. She would learn to wash Her Own Damn Hair.</div>
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For those unfamiliar with calendars, January first was a few months ago, and she's still trying to weasel her way out of it, putting the same mental energy for excuses and avoidance that she applies to other things. For instance, for Lent she announced she was giving up Airheads, a candy she had just finished from her Halloween haul and so there were none left. And they were not her favorite, something she told me every time she ate another one.</div>
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Excuses for why she can't wash Her Own Damn Hair:</div>
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Her arms are too tired.</div>
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<i>She's</i> too tired.</div>
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She needs to sit.</div>
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She'll do it tomorrow night.</div>
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Can't I wash her hair? I do it better.</div>
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Well, of course I do, but that's not the point. So I force the issue. And it is an ordeal for both of us.</div>
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SETTING:</div>
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A woman stands outside a shower curtain, glasses fogging up, trying not to get wet, getting wet, exhorting her child to actually put her head back so that the top of her head gets wet and not just the ends of her hair. It's like she thinks her hairline begins way in the back of her head like the beverage-refusing Gestapo agent from <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnzLhUncLhuS4nOxPKE3z3jV4HAwTRg4QIFUAvwxa9Zp4yb8aBTa65-L2ck2HkAeg0b-wP0oPwn1JAhGtSqIHdlygfXS1-71dm_lbqrA-zJbvU8bTC9vuyjqMvhXTxrQLxdGsMBTOf3g/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="146" data-original-width="345" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnzLhUncLhuS4nOxPKE3z3jV4HAwTRg4QIFUAvwxa9Zp4yb8aBTa65-L2ck2HkAeg0b-wP0oPwn1JAhGtSqIHdlygfXS1-71dm_lbqrA-zJbvU8bTC9vuyjqMvhXTxrQLxdGsMBTOf3g/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bet <i>we're </i>thirsty now.</td></tr>
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TRANSCRIPT:</div>
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Mother: Put your head back. Farther back. Farther. Your hair's not wet yet. Tilt your head, tilt it, get the hair by your ears wet. Put all your hair back. Behind your shoulders; you still have some in front of your body. Pick it up IN YOUR HANDS and place it behind your bodeeeee. <i>Oh my god. </i>The hair above your ears is completely dry!</div>
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Child: After this can I have candy?</div>
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And this is before we even get to the shampoo, which, when I pour it into her hand, she proceeds to place it, carefully and precisely, on top of her head, like she's balancing an egg.</div>
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Mother: Rub it in. Work it IN to your hair. Lather up. Move your hands. More. Gather your hair on top of your head. Do it!</div>
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I'm yelling, I'm wiping my glasses on my damp pajama shirt. I might as well just get in there with her. </div>
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Maybe 35 percent of her hair gets sudsy before I give up and tell her to rinse it out. (<i>Put your head back. Back!)</i> Then there's the conditioner.</div>
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Two roads diverge, if you would. Down one: present yelling and crying to get the knots out of her hair. Down the other: still yelling and crying, but it comes farther down the road after she's dry and in her pajamas and I have to comb the knots out. So actually it's more like two roads converge or there's a wormhole or a wrinkle in time but instead of a wrinkle it's a snarl of blond hair.</div>
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And something else. This is a child who, with one minute before she has to leave for school in the morning, asks me to style two symmetrical mini buns in her hair so she can look like an individual named "Dove" from Roblox YouTube video, as if she's ever known her own mother's hair to vary from one of two styles: a) in a ponytail holder and b) just released from a ponytail holder so there's a semi-permanent bend in her hair from where the ponytail holder was.</div>
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So I censor my first few responses (my curses have more range than my hair styles) and ask her, "Did you at least brush your hair first?" Because I'm trying to get her to do that too.</div>
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"Yes?" she says.</div>
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I run my hand through her hair only for it to get caught halfway by an enormous knot.</div>
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Time for the scissors.<br />
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<i>Zoe: 193; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2013/10/zoe-vs-picture-day.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Picture Day</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Don't let things get hairy,</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-54045788459395013422019-03-14T05:00:00.000-07:002019-03-14T09:23:07.232-07:00Zoe vs. "Bohemian Rhapsody" A Parody<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
I don't know about you, but since the Oscars I've had "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen stuck in my head. That is, when I don't have <i>Lego Movie 2</i>'s prescient "This Song Is Gonna Get Stuck Inside Your Head" stuck inside my head.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMs9_6c9BhkUIz5fWoSk4_4Zf1WZtTHKgWnzV1hjkVpxmi09-2LaXPxwb47NcPRO0sGaGPO47GNiTWUHwoG_UDtc-FmA4TC3w14Op_O0xn_GBVemqtBUMWl-D0yIzcpghIIlm0sv9pVY/s1600/Zoe+vs.+Bohemian+Rhapsody.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMs9_6c9BhkUIz5fWoSk4_4Zf1WZtTHKgWnzV1hjkVpxmi09-2LaXPxwb47NcPRO0sGaGPO47GNiTWUHwoG_UDtc-FmA4TC3w14Op_O0xn_GBVemqtBUMWl-D0yIzcpghIIlm0sv9pVY/s400/Zoe+vs.+Bohemian+Rhapsody.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My Bohemian Rhapsody is about games. Mostly board games and card games but also computer games.</div>
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When Zoe was younger we'd play things like Candy Land or various Disney movie versions of Chutes & Ladders, and yes, I let her win (meaning, let her cheat).</div>
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She was four. I'd say letting her win made Candy Land interesting but <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/11/zoe-vs-mommy-land-formerly-known-as.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">nothing makes Candy Land interesting if you're not four</a>.</div>
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Since then the Husband and I have played lots of games with Zoe from Uno to Chess to the Game of Life and Careers, and I thought at a certain point we'd broach the ideas of fair play and losing with grace and basically not cheating all the time, or at least not so obviously, or maybe it's better that her deviousness is transparent?</div>
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Well, we haven't gotten there yet. </div>
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She doesn't whine like she used to at the first sign of something not going her way.</div>
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Not the <i>first</i> sign.</div>
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Her bad sportsmanship is more insidious. Like somehow there's a new rule you didn't know about or a rule that she "doesn't ever go by" . . . till it's your turn. If it's ever your actual turn.</div>
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So I've set my suffering to song. "Bohemian Rhapsody," specifically. Though in my rendition it's called . . .</div>
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<b>You-Lose-Me-Win Rhapsody</b></div>
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Let's play the game Life</div>
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How 'bout Monopoly?</div>
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All chutes no ladders, I slide</div>
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She wins each game with me</div>
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Before your eyes</div>
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Anyone can see she cheats</div>
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I'm just a tired mom, my child lacks empathy</div>
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She says "lose your turn," "don't pass go"</div>
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Her score is high, mine is low</div>
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Anyway the die rolls, doesn't really matter to Z . . . to Z.<br />
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Mama, I took your pawn</div>
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Knocked your bishop in the head</div>
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Illegal move, don't care, he's dead</div>
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Mama, game time's just begun</div>
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After chess and checkers, what else can we play?</div>
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Mama, ooh ooh</div>
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Didn't mean to make you cry.</div>
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Let's play this game again this time tomorrow</div>
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Or maybe now, maybe now, the rules don't really matter<br />
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Probably too late, the time has come</div>
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To tell her that it's fine</div>
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No one wins games all the time</div>
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Goodbye, everybody, she's gonna blow!</div>
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Wasn't worth it to try to make her face the truth</div>
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Mama, ooh ooh (it's my turn but she goes)</div>
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"Now your king is gonna die"</div>
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Sometimes I wish I'd never sat down to play at all . . .</div>
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<br /></div>
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I see a slim to little of a chance</div>
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We don't play Clue. "Let's play Clue! Or will you play with me the Uno?"</div>
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"Battleship! Now fight me!" She's very very frightening me.</div>
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Connect 4-oh, Sorry!? No. How bout Nintendo? No playing Halo! God damn Hasbro!</div>
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Stratego? My lumbago!</div>
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I'm just a tired mom, my child no loves me.</div>
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She's just a tired mom, doesn't want to play Monopoly.</div>
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Spare her her life from cheating progeny</div>
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She wins some, you lose all, will she let you go?</div>
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Monopoly! She will not let her go, let me go</div>
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It's surely my turn! She will not let you go, let me go</div>
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No $200 for you, do not pass go! Why no pass go?!</div>
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(Will not let Mom go) let me go (never, never let Mom go) let me go (never let her go)</div>
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Oh oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no</div>
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Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia, let her go</div>
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My eight-year-old puts a go-directly-to-jail card aside for me for me for me . . .<br />
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So you think you can cheat and I'll play one more time?</div>
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So you think I won't notice you palming the die?</div>
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Oh baby, can't do this to me, baby</div>
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Just gotta get out, just gotta get outta jail free</div>
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Oh oh oh yeah, oh oh yeah<br />
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The rules don't really matter</div>
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Anyone can see</div>
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The rules don't really matter</div>
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Fair play don't really matter to Z.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 192; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/11/zoe-vs-mommy-land-formerly-known-as.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Mommy Land</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Don't stop me now,</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-57909288620759161782019-02-21T05:00:00.000-08:002019-02-21T09:36:55.887-08:00Zoe vs. the Oscars 2019<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
The Academy Awards are this Sunday, so that means it's time for my sixth <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/03/zoe-vs-oscars-2018.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">annual roundup of all the movies nominated for Best Picture</a>. Continuing the downward trend, having seen four of the nine movies for 2017 and two of the nine last year, this year I've halved my tally again, seeing only one of the eight nominated. Maybe next year I'll only see a movie halfway through!</div>
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So now it's time to sum up this year's movies and how they reflect life with Zoe.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRiPhzF8rgUXjOzlDZKvntIjN5DEI8_HPHbSCJz2uQdD8_fbirOTVInLCt17pn2ktpoAw8RPxNwzDcs4TOnaoxHwLFhpPPj5WEGz3iVB1TBzNTPnCCg-JNrW7wZE3_EOfM-GIwxE_M6B8/s1600/Zoe+vs+oscars+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="940" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRiPhzF8rgUXjOzlDZKvntIjN5DEI8_HPHbSCJz2uQdD8_fbirOTVInLCt17pn2ktpoAw8RPxNwzDcs4TOnaoxHwLFhpPPj5WEGz3iVB1TBzNTPnCCg-JNrW7wZE3_EOfM-GIwxE_M6B8/s400/Zoe+vs+oscars+2019.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><b>The Favourite:</b></i> One thing about having an only child is you don't have to check that the coast is clear before saying to your kid, "Who's my favorite?" Whether it's American or British spelling, it's Zoe! Still, she sometimes vies for my attention as if she's competing with a sibling, or a cousin/courtesan currying royal favor. And yet she's the one who seems to think she's royalty, much like Queen Anne, expressing little interest in taking care of her responsibilities, preferring instead to partake in eccentric pastimes like pretend-narrating a YouTube fashion show, racing Lego dragons, or flossing (the dance not the dental hygiene), the latter of which gets her so hyped up I've contemplated drugging her tea.</div>
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<i><b>Bohemian Rhapsody:</b></i> The many moods of an eight-year-old girl are much like the music of Queen, particularly this song: a mix of styles ranging from operatic, to ballad, to rock. It's drama enough to give you whiplash. Especially if you ask her to do her homework, take a bath, or go to bed. Mama, didn't mean to make you cry, indeed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxoZepXWCCaLvQRcBVnli8raRQnAoG2GdEzxxvxJWH13SeW1QqkztUGs-wVSp6YWVollw9z1bSekjZA-prCZPAM_IVcyGrjA_1X7pEAUGvcWkQww0xeIHwYFMPDhpsyhn6Pt0Im4VBN4/s1600/bohemian-rhapsody-df-11915_r2_rgb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxoZepXWCCaLvQRcBVnli8raRQnAoG2GdEzxxvxJWH13SeW1QqkztUGs-wVSp6YWVollw9z1bSekjZA-prCZPAM_IVcyGrjA_1X7pEAUGvcWkQww0xeIHwYFMPDhpsyhn6Pt0Im4VBN4/s400/bohemian-rhapsody-df-11915_r2_rgb.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pfft! But can he do the floss?</td></tr>
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<b><i>Green Book:</i></b> Seems magical but might really be a white-washing scam. Was that a critical review or parenting metaphor?</div>
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<b><i>Black Panther:</i></b> Okay, this is the one I saw. Notwithstanding the fact her favorite big cats are cheetahs, she does like panthers too. And, as an evil mastermind in training, the idea of developing advanced technology while hiding in a third world country is right out of her devious playbook. </div>
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<i><b>Roma:</b></i> Featuring a middle-class family where the main character is a live-in maid. Zoe is part of a middle-class family. She is the main character. She thinks I am her live-in maid. Brooklyn!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2b32HRMaArmDYU9k2-ZcRmUZVHVO4x_t1PGelGwL0NlrHA_H8uNuc6ukC9LQcuimfQFICtrs8HqPXRLJ9nanZvuTBPiOom5Cifl5Pp7BDP_m-EzeoHu_fUjhX99UWg3mJQH8fKfmziQ/s1600/Roma-Movie-Review-Alfonso-Cuaron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="798" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2b32HRMaArmDYU9k2-ZcRmUZVHVO4x_t1PGelGwL0NlrHA_H8uNuc6ukC9LQcuimfQFICtrs8HqPXRLJ9nanZvuTBPiOom5Cifl5Pp7BDP_m-EzeoHu_fUjhX99UWg3mJQH8fKfmziQ/s400/Roma-Movie-Review-Alfonso-Cuaron.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every mother ever who just wants personal space.</td></tr>
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<i><b>BlacKkKlansmen:</b></i> It's a biography, a crime story, a comedy, a drama. In other words, it's a parenthood joint!</div>
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<i><b>Vice:</b></i> Who's really in charge? I wonder every day. Life with Zoe includes praiseworthy performances, polarizing behavior, getting shot accidentally (by a toy missile from a four-headed Lego dragon), and when it's time for bed and the credits roll and you think it's over, it starts up again because she needs a drink of water or to go to the bathroom, and it feels like the only end will be your own death, after which she'll harvest your organs. No regrets!</div>
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<i><b>A Star Is Born:</b></i> Enough said.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 191; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy my <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/02/zoe-vs-oscars.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">first-ever post about the Oscars</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> And the Oscar goes</i></span><span style="color: #222222;"><i> to</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">clicking here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-1137916748379458972019-01-10T05:00:00.000-08:002019-01-10T10:09:46.118-08:00Zoe vs. Laughter: With, At, Near & Around. Or, Mommy, You're NOT Funny!<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Apologies, I've been neglecting this space for a while. The usual reasons---work, life, holidays, etc. </div>
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But it's also because as Zoe gets older, it's harder to write about her. Her thoughts and feelings are more particular to the person she is becoming. And so it doesn't seem fair to tell stories about her without her having some control over them. Even if this blog has always been more about my own reactions to motherhood than telling deep dark secrets about Zoe. </div>
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And even though I've obviously exaggerated some of her antics and alleged crimes against my humanity. The records have been sealed. (And you can read them <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/04/zoe-vs-dostoyevskys-crime-and-punishment.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a>.)<br />
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Another issue is her sense of humor. </div>
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I often think she's funny. </div>
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Sometimes she thinks I'm funny. </div>
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But often she does NOT THINK I'M FUNNY AT ALL, MOMMY, PLEASE STOP. </div>
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For the past few months, especially, only three types of jokes have been funny to her: </div>
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1. Those concerning butts and their doings. </div>
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2. Jokes SHE tells. </div>
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3. Jokes that she tells ABOUT butts.</div>
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She DOES NOT like jokes where she thinks, rightly or wrongly, that she is the butt of the joke. Butts are not amusing when employed in that fashion.</div>
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Obviously Zoe has become trapped in what is popularly called binary thinking. That something can only be one thing or another. You are either laughing with her or at her. </div>
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And if she's the only one not laughing, hold on to your butt.</div>
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Her mother, unfortunately for her, is someone who thinks mockery is the highest form of love.</div>
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It's going to be a rough couple of years. For us both.</div>
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So far I don't think my attempts to elucidate the concept of binary thinking have gotten through. It might be because I use words like "elucidate." </div>
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I've been trying to explain the middle ground between laughing at and laughing with, that there's a third option---no, not laughing <i>near</i> the person, though I never fail to chuckle at that zinger. </div>
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The third laugh, which is maybe not the middle ground, but more a transcendent laugh, is where you laugh <i>at</i> the person but <i>with</i> love. Because it's funny but also so true about that person, and you laugh because you enjoy them at their essence. </div>
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Feeling my words must have effected a breakthrough to some greater, sophisticated understanding, I wait for her to speak, her face, changing every day but still my baby's face, wrinkling in thought. </div>
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"One question," she says.</div>
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Of course, I say, flush with teachable-moment success. </div>
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"Can I go on the iPad?"</div>
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And so I sigh and say, yes, "for half an hour," which I know will stretch to an hour, so I can get stuff done around the apartment, while trying to convince myself I'm funny, it's just my audience that's lacking, as in the background Zoe giggles at some goofy video on YouTube while sitting on the couch, scratching her tiny hilarious butt.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 190; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2015/09/zoe-vs-some-truly-terrible-knock-knock.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Some Truly Terrible Knock Knock Jokes</a>, which may include more butt-focused humor. Okay, it does.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Mockery is to love as butts are to comedy. Enjoying analogies</i></span><span style="color: #222222;"><i> is to fun with words as fun with words is to</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">clicking here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-9264257098661860632018-10-18T05:00:00.000-07:002018-10-18T11:49:34.651-07:00Zoe vs. Sicily. Part IV: The Injury Report, or, Dio Mio, I Twisted My Ankle, Quick, Apply Gelato!<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
We've now reached the final chapter of our trip to Sicily. Our story began with Zoe claiming <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-i-isola-bella-which.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">grievous injury</a> on the rocky beaches of Isola Bella. Next, she suffered heat, boredom, and dehydration along with <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-ii-valley-of-temples.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">an awkward anatomy lesson</a> at the Valley of the Temples. Finally, she quite enjoyed the <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/10/zoe-vs-sicily-part-iii-opera-dei-pupi.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">barbaric puppets</a> we saw in Palermo.</div>
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On our last day in Sicily, we went to Mondello Beach, which might be the most beautiful beach I've ever been to.<br />
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This is saying something. Not because I'm well-traveled but because (beach-lovers, get ready to riot) I hate the beach. (*ducks to avoid metaphoric tomatoes)</div>
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Apologies to sun-worshipers, but I am not a beach person. Ten reasons, 1 through 9 being the sun. </div>
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For as long as I can remember the sun and I have been locked in mortal combat, a battle I'm losing, which is probably for the best considering plants, life on Earth,etc., rely on its stupid light and warmth.</div>
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Reason 10 is sand. Not a fan.</div>
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However, Mondello Beach, though it had those 10 things, made me forget them; that's how beautiful it was. </div>
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First of all, no rocks. So Zoe was happy, though she had to be convinced and still wore her water shoes when she went in, having not gotten over her suffering at Isola Bella.</div>
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Second, the water was clear, and so BLUE.</div>
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Third, you could wade out 100 feet and still the water only came to your waist, or Zoe's chest, another truth she resisted.</div>
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In fact, the water was so accommodating, our group decided to play a game of Keep Up with a beach ball.</div>
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Which is when I injured myself.</div>
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Though I didn't realize it for a while.</div>
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At one point I jumped to keep the ball in the air and when I came down, what felt like a rubber-band snapping happened in my right ankle. </div>
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But after I stretched a few times it seemed better. In fact, I was walking fine. A while later I took Zoe to the bathroom, where she complained about the heavy doors and the wet floors, and then I took her to the food stand for lunch, where she complained about the selection and I bought for her what she said she would like and bought for myself what I thought she'd actually like, and we returned to our beach chairs where she rejected her lunch after one bite and claimed mine. All proceeding as expected, and my foot bore up well.</div>
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Until it was time to leave. I stood up and when I put pressure on my right foot I felt an excruciating pain.</div>
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How would I get myself back to the bus stop?</div>
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More concerning, how would I get to the gelateria, which was past the bus stop, to try "the best gelato ever," according to some of our family members who'd already made the trip.</div>
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Because I am a strong woman, whose strength can be rallied by even sub-par gelato, I made my way there, slowly, passing the bus stop, pressing on. Heroes don't wear capes. Because if they are wise they will have removed their capes in order to hold more gelato. </div>
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Was the gelato the best ever? I'll just say this: they had four different kinds of pistachio. Zoe had chocolate. Her usual. She gave me a thumbs-up and a bite. So it was all worth it, I thought, as I hobbled and grimaced my way back to the bus stop.</div>
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Back at the hotel, I put my foot up and applied ice, and Zoe comforted me by watching cartoons in Italian.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif63s83HPWi7_6GGilIN8RXVu-Ct2b-vXq2rOq6tmpaJYK2C3htZUwTTSx9TPgeJ8TR6VGvN1X-KtPrG5hyphenhyphenC1FT1hwHdZWF_9pdiq1VsuHvnBIeGZbHcjhoLCR6ooLqVdgXXrm8OSs-9s/s1600/39000304_1834619579958057_4884479736656429056_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif63s83HPWi7_6GGilIN8RXVu-Ct2b-vXq2rOq6tmpaJYK2C3htZUwTTSx9TPgeJ8TR6VGvN1X-KtPrG5hyphenhyphenC1FT1hwHdZWF_9pdiq1VsuHvnBIeGZbHcjhoLCR6ooLqVdgXXrm8OSs-9s/s400/39000304_1834619579958057_4884479736656429056_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case you couldn't see my poor foot above, <br />
here's how Zoe comforted me in my time of need.</td></tr>
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Luckily it was our last night, so I just had to get home, a journey that was to take about seventeen hours because we had a stopover in Munich. </div>
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We'd stopped over in Frankfurt on our way to Sicily, and, you know that stereotype about Germans being very organized? Not so with their airports. Recalling the hike through the whole Frankfurt airport ten days before, we decided I should make use of a wheelchair, along with all the "perks" that went with that. A van would take me to Customs where I'd be on a special line. I took Zoe with me because I had her passport. Plus, I figured it would be easier than the Husband having to schlepp her with him. (The Husband couldn't come with us because this was against the rules according to the German <i>Flughafensicherheit!!</i>)</div>
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If I thought it was embarrassing being rolled through an airport in a wheelchair with my foot wrapped in an Ace bandage, not to worry, there was more embarrassment in store.</div>
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After Customs, there was another <i>Flughafensicherheit!</i> checkpoint, and there, the <i>Sicherheitsbeamte Frau!</i> said, in a perfect tone of Teutonic accusation, "You know you are earmarked for special security check?"</div>
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No, why would I know that? Was that even a question? Didn't I just see you stamp my boarding pass with the special <i>Sicherheitskontrolle!</i> stamp yourself?</div>
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So I had to go in a separate area, along with Zoe, to be scanned, chair, child, and all. Zoe looked worried, and I wanted to make a girl-bomb joke yet I sensed it would not be welcome by any of the parties present. However, one of the guards, also seeing the look on Zoe's face, smiled and said, "You are dangerous!" And we all chuckled, except for the <i>Sicherheitsbeamte Frau!</i> who swabbed my backpack and said she had to run a chemical test.</div>
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That came out clear so we were sent on to our gate, bypassing the shopping and food, which, naturally, gave Zoe more to complain about because the vending machines were out of water and recognizable food items---the remaining snacks were a bag of Dinkelchens and some Fritts, whatever they were.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28W2px3KPHL6ADDk3kOBLCAxAxdrOo71wXraagKeo-F8o0xDEbSuZQtJ-uCmc_MZboqVN1pnLgRyRz5oJaXSqXJnivWiDK2z-SetSEe48lvKOaR0DTAO6w2sUerZRrhB6r4N45r_rPQI/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="145" data-original-width="348" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28W2px3KPHL6ADDk3kOBLCAxAxdrOo71wXraagKeo-F8o0xDEbSuZQtJ-uCmc_MZboqVN1pnLgRyRz5oJaXSqXJnivWiDK2z-SetSEe48lvKOaR0DTAO6w2sUerZRrhB6r4N45r_rPQI/s400/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sadly, the vending machine was out of "Tasty White Children."</td></tr>
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However---<i>Wunderbar!</i> and <i>Fantastico!</i>---I did have our Italian chocolate in our carry-on. Faces stuffed with dark chocolate, we waved <i>arrivederci </i>and <i>Auf Wiedersehen!</i> from the plane.</div>
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Violent marionettes, punishing sun, and injuries, real or imagined, aside, we'd all had a great time, and I wrote these posts to remind Zoe, when she complains that we're not in Sicily anymore, that though she did have a great time, she's always, always, found something to complain about, and so you could say I've always suffered more.</div>
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<i>Veni, vidi, lamentato.</i></div>
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<i>Zoe: 189; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-ii-valley-of-temples.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Sicily. Part II: The Valley of the Temples, or, OMG, it's too hot and I'm thirsty and why didn't you bring me a snack?</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Always bring a towel.</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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<br />ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-29699225636737794762018-10-11T05:00:00.000-07:002018-10-11T10:54:53.143-07:00Zoe vs. Sicily. Part III: Opera dei Pupi, or, OMG, what an amazing but kind of racist and then suddenly inexplicably violent puppet show!<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
<i>Buon giorno!</i> If you've been following along, and if not, whatsamattayou?, you've already read Parts <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-i-isola-bella-which.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">I</a> and <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-ii-valley-of-temples.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">II</a> of our family trip to Sicily. To catch you up, Zoe encountered rocks of various sizes---in summary, <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-i-isola-bella-which.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the small ones hurt her</a>; <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-ii-valley-of-temples.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the big ones bored her</a>. </div>
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The last stop on our trip was Palermo, one of the largest cities in all of Italy and Sicily's capital. Besides visiting the Cathedral and going shopping for jewelry and leather, we'd been told we must take Zoe to see a puppet show.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwbIgp2ZnDAvBUufn-cwga9-EmvUT1iqe27FOpH-NOuGOd5ujjA166Z8MeNIh66K_uM6t4UJXyewN2fgANYUQk3FVHffa3Ry_Y5n39cNdt4BBP5gYNL0yyzHYk2-ZJr77VoA8lid57Ag/s1600/Zoe+vs.+Sicily.+Part+III_+Opera+dei+Pupi%252CAdd+heading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Opera dei Pupi" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwbIgp2ZnDAvBUufn-cwga9-EmvUT1iqe27FOpH-NOuGOd5ujjA166Z8MeNIh66K_uM6t4UJXyewN2fgANYUQk3FVHffa3Ry_Y5n39cNdt4BBP5gYNL0yyzHYk2-ZJr77VoA8lid57Ag/s400/Zoe+vs.+Sicily.+Part+III_+Opera+dei+Pupi%252CAdd+heading.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Sicily. Part III: Opera dei Pupi, or, OMG, what an amazing but kind of racist and then suddenly inexplicably violent puppet show!" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was no ordinary puppet show, this was Sicilian puppetry, Opera dei Pupi, which was distinctive and was supposed to be can't-miss, especially if you had a child with you.</div>
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I wasn't sure what to expect but I assumed it would be "cute."</div>
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Cute did not come up.</div>
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Zoe sat up front, where the children sat, adults in back. There were painted tapestries of dueling knights, so we knew what to expect. Plus, we were handed a playbill explaining what we were about to see in four different languages. Our show was part of the Cycle of Charlemagne, the history of the French Paladins from the time after the Normans conquered Arab Sicily.</div>
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And then it began.</div>
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First, yes, the puppets were incredibly detailed, from their faces to their costumes to their armor and weaponry. It was in Italian, of course, but when the knights would duel there'd be yelling and stomping and crashing music, and, naturally, they'd be attacking each other, so it's not like a non-native speaker couldn't follow the plot.</div>
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The yelling was deafening. Somehow I wasn't surprised. I'd noticed throughout our trip locals having "friendly arguments." Yelling was like breathing there. Angry? Happy? Sad? Yell it!</div>
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This wasn't particular to Sicilians though. I was half Italian so I was familiar with this argumentative style of communication. As a child I'd sat around many a dinner table eating a normal amount of pasta, or so I'd think, until one of my aunts would suddenly yell, "Is that all you're eating?" in an accusatory tone, causing me to drop my fork into my cavatelli.</div>
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Or, if I'd decided to skip the brasciole: "At least try it! You don't like it!? Since when!?" (Since forever, which is the same amount of time we've been having this conversation.) But all the shouting came from a place of love.</div>
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In the puppet opera, the marionettes really were fighting. Over and over again, the Bad Knight was defeating the king's Paladins, and by defeating, I mean he'd knock them down, and then they'd shake it off and be escorted off the stage by an Arab servant.</div>
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Here's where the racism came in. The "Arab" puppet had a dark complexion and delivered asides in a snide and sniveling tone and seemed to be either treacherous or the butt of jokes. I didn't understand Italian but I understood "yuck." The husband and I exchanged looks of appalled horror.</div>
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Back to the play, where, defeated, the king sent his magician to the underworld---complete with flying demons (one little Italian boy younger than Zoe ran to his mother in the back but Zoe stayed in front, mesmerized and probably cursing the language barrier)---to chat with a demon to find out how to defeat the Bad Knight. </div>
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In the next scene, the king came out to confront the Bad Knight and his minions in a series of duels.</div>
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Understand that, up to this point, the violence had been mild, about a 2. Now we quickly progressed to 50, or, crazy violent.</div>
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Whereas before the duels ended with someone fainting then leaving the field, now it was a bloodbath. The king killed puppet after puppet, cutting them in half, flaying off faces, beheadings galore. It was carnage, and puppet bodies piled up till there was no more room on the stage. Until finally: The End.</div>
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Um, what? A bit shell-shocked we were late in clapping.</div>
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Then, before the children could process the violent spectacle they'd just witnessed, they were invited on stage to take pictures with the marionettes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ez5F670ztulOm0N9hl9UqQ7aVUVKFjHXzQzt9gmiTqas2FTitfB1gkciIbG0uOOw8Jazwt8tl6_5FLUkhdKs0z7zdHpSx5iNy6fYXVfr_y9PHqBvK_QmQ9cYcISMvHTFQMMMEmIzhZc/s1600/IMG_2891.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1032" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ez5F670ztulOm0N9hl9UqQ7aVUVKFjHXzQzt9gmiTqas2FTitfB1gkciIbG0uOOw8Jazwt8tl6_5FLUkhdKs0z7zdHpSx5iNy6fYXVfr_y9PHqBvK_QmQ9cYcISMvHTFQMMMEmIzhZc/s400/IMG_2891.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After all the killings, picture time!</td></tr>
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Zoe got to touch their armor and swords and the plumage on their helmets, so what was a little blood lust and casual racism if you got to handle a novelty plaything for two minutes?</div>
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There's a history lesson in there somewhere but I had no time to think about that either since I had to elbow my way to the front to take a picture of her with a murderous marionette, and if I had to shout to make myself heard so she'd turn my way, that's okay, my yelling came from a place of love.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 188; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-ii-valley-of-temples.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Sicily. Part II: The Valley of the Temples, or, OMG, it's too hot and I'm thirsty and why didn't you bring me a snack?</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-22013741136578277402018-09-27T05:00:00.000-07:002018-09-27T15:47:58.307-07:00Zoe vs. Sicily. Part II: The Valley of the Temples, or, OMG it's too hot and I'm thirsty and why didn't you bring me a snack?<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
If you missed it, last week was <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2018/09/zoe-vs-sicily-part-i-isola-bella-which.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Part I</a> of my report on our trip to Sicily. Today I present Part II: The Valley of the Temples.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLnV20k07vmbsZlINHCDPFeuQKv8d5tyezg_Rw4RF6rxQNHi-Bx9ZFsq94bWhT3sYMjsZGgvLgpC4zUHoDwsm-atywJnaCRRb9CalppxD-EBiURKt5zH_thJDuS2cWgv93LovDYhX3VNU/s1600/Zoe+vs.+SicilyPart+II_The+Valley+of+the+Temples.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sicily: The Valley of the Temples" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLnV20k07vmbsZlINHCDPFeuQKv8d5tyezg_Rw4RF6rxQNHi-Bx9ZFsq94bWhT3sYMjsZGgvLgpC4zUHoDwsm-atywJnaCRRb9CalppxD-EBiURKt5zH_thJDuS2cWgv93LovDYhX3VNU/s400/Zoe+vs.+SicilyPart+II_The+Valley+of+the+Temples.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Sicily. Part II: The Valley of the Temples" width="400" /></a></div>
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Departing Taormina, with its Stunningly Beautiful yet Extremely Punishing beaches that caused Zoe so much undue suffering, we headed to Palermo, but on the way we stopped at the Valley of the Temples in Agrigento, a UNESCO World Heritage site dotted with ancient ruins.</div>
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Over the centuries, because of its central location, Sicily had a lot of visitors, by which I mean conquerors, and Agrigento, located in the south of Sicily and only 500 miles from the coast of Africa, hosted a lot of these folks, from the Greeks to Arabs to Romans and Christians. Thus, many of the temples, though originally dedicated to Greek gods were preserved as they were put to use by others.</div>
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Admittedly, the day we visited it was hot. Close to 100 degrees. The shade was sparse and gave hardly any relief. Zoe had just fallen asleep in the bus when we arrived, and so she was not feeling well-disposed to appreciate "rocks that used to be buildings." </div>
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I slathered sun tan lotion on her irritable form as she roused herself enough to complain. We made a pit stop at a bathroom, which was not up to her standards, and then got on a line to enter the site which moved too slowly for Zoe and was the longest 30 seconds of her life.</div>
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The first ruin we visited was the Temple of Juno, formerly Hera. It was built around 450 B.C. and much of it was destroyed by fire, which is something I just read on the internet, because, though we had a guide, I missed his talk because I was tending to my troublesome offspring---something Hera probably knew a lot about, I mean, who really caused that fire in her temple? Don't ask me, remember, I missed the presentation.</div>
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First, Zoe had more to say about the heat, none of it helpful, all of it whiny. Then she told me she was thirsty. I wonder why. I gave her my water, which she finished, and it wasn't enough! Why didn't I bring more?!</div>
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Then she realized she was hungry, which is why I'd warned her to eat a full breakfast earlier, but why listen to your mother?</div>
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Well, she countered, why didn't <i>I</i> have a snack? I had no answer to that.</div>
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Utterly dejected, she walked away and sat on a rock, her back to the evidence of a once great past now destroyed.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wearing down of centuries has nothing on <br />
the pain compressed in this moment.</td></tr>
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That is, until a security guard yelled at her. Apparently she was sitting on part of the ruin, which was in danger of further being ruined by her tiny distressed derriere. Dehydrated as she claimed to be, she yet produced copious tears!</div>
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Luckily by then a cousin had found a granola bar, which I sneaked her bites of. It was probably okay to eat there but after the yelling I was taking no chances. I wouldn't be responsible for what wholesale destruction those temples would bear witness to if the guard tried to take her granola bar away, which, thank Zeus, did not contain stupid raisins.</div>
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After that we walked to the best-preserved of all the ruined temples, Concordia. I don't know much about that one either because we fell behind the group so I could buy Zoe a lemon ice, not her favorite flavor she'd have it known but all they had, and so we missed most of the info. Still, the treat (which she did not share with her mother) restored Zoe somewhat so she could ask a question that had been preying on her mind.</div>
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What did it mean when people said someone had big balls? What the heck were balls anyway?</div>
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I made a mental note to berate all her cousins again as bad influences. I said it meant guts and or overconfidence. That someone was very daring or showed no concern for consequences.</div>
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But why balls? What were they? she insisted.</div>
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So yes, dear reader, the sun bearing down mercilessly on my pale skin, sweat running in rivulets down my back, it was time for an anatomy lesson: what things were, who possessed them, and in what arrangement.</div>
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And the gods must've been listening, because just then we caught up to our group arrayed in front of a faux-ancient sculpture in the form of Icarus, who flew too high and fell when the sun melted his wings, lying on his naked side, balls-up, as they say. And because I'm a twelve-year-old boy I took the opportunity to complete my anatomy lesson in a probably unnecessarily loud voice, pointing at Icarus's tragic gigantic stone stones.</div>
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Behold, balls!</div>
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And Zoe, embarrassed, refused to come closer and just kept shouting, "I know."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behold! A teachable moment.</td></tr>
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So everyone learned a lot that day. Afterward, at lunch, there was a wine tasting, and I gave Zoe her first taste of the nectar of the gods.</div>
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Because I'm the best mom in any pantheon, which, if anyone asks Zoe, I told her to say: she knows.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 187; Universe: 0</i><br />
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<b>Check out my Facebook page tomorrow, September 28, for some big news!</b><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Get some balls!</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-57036923426077178532018-09-20T05:00:00.000-07:002018-09-20T09:56:39.039-07:00Zoe vs. Sicily. Part I: Isola Bella, which means "beautiful island, OMG, these rocks are killing me and I have more boo-boos than anyone!"<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Sorry, folks, I know it's been a while. I had a lot on my plate. For one thing we were away on vacation, and I'll be sharing a lot about Sicily in the coming weeks, starting with our visit to Isola Bella in Taormina. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXM6xKGZzfg33XttznRUqjUwXfn_5FtpFhDk-ZvpBlzmFpC3MUgaS6mJ5dRjaCNjGzpNjZ6sx0aLJLRwveEoAIQDZBclJkYup3ZtgsVW9772zyfAb05301mVVv_1fPQNjdVhOeMdndW0c/s1600/Zoe+vs.+Sicily%252C+Part+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sicily Part I Isola Bella" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXM6xKGZzfg33XttznRUqjUwXfn_5FtpFhDk-ZvpBlzmFpC3MUgaS6mJ5dRjaCNjGzpNjZ6sx0aLJLRwveEoAIQDZBclJkYup3ZtgsVW9772zyfAb05301mVVv_1fPQNjdVhOeMdndW0c/s400/Zoe+vs.+Sicily%252C+Part+I.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Sicily Part I Isola Bella" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was Zoe's first international trip, and in Sicily she discovered a beautiful, historically rich new world in which she could whine. </div>
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When we came back we were busy with back-to-school things, and then I hurt my back, which I'll be sure to tell you about here as well so you can see where Zoe gets her whining prowess from. Plus, I was really busy at my day job. </div>
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That's right, folks, this blog does not make me any money so I have to work. If that gives you the sads, I want you to right now go to your couches and search for loose change to send me. Just place your quarters and dimes in an envelope addressed to "That Crazy Blogger Lady" and drop it in the mail. The Postmistress knows me.</div>
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So we went to Sicily this August, and we spent a few days on the east coast, in Taormina, and then a few days in Palermo, the capital, on the northwest coast.</div>
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One of our first trips was to the beach at Isola Bella, which was simply stunning. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just like Zoe! Beautiful on the outside, treacherous on the inside!</td></tr>
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But also, yes, very rocky. In fact, we'd been warned that a lot of the beaches in Sicily were rocky and we should bring water shoes. Zoe had her water shoes but the rocks, in addition to being plentiful, were slippery so we kept falling down. </div>
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I wanted to take her out to Isola Bella itself, aka the largest rock in the middle of the water. </div>
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Check my thinking here, folks. First, it was there, which meant it must be stood upon. Second, when would we ever be here again? Seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so I wanted to go out there with my once-in-a-lifetime child. Making memories, right?</div>
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We sure made them! The complaining kind. </div>
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Zoe slipped and fell so much, and I did too, and we scratched our hands and arms and legs on all the rocks. By the time we got to the island she was in a Very Bad Mood and blamed me for Everything Bad That Had Ever Happened to Her. She was especially upset that she had more boo-boos than I did. </div>
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But we'd made it!</div>
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She looked around briefly, then asked to go back. </div>
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On our return trip I was instructed to fall and thus get more boo-boos than she had, this being one of the few challenges she did not want to win. </div>
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I looked back at the rocky island and crossed it off my bucket list, my satisfaction tempered by my irritable companion. </div>
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I think she really appreciated the view.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKE6ou1IjrcjrYLmtfDECCb5-jZW5TPd2Y7FbLWR4C1SmA9V0JjW_hn7o0nXx3tR2s0UXMsXniML0va0eb3CqdpWmPH3RBhDeicRPaYHYB8DLYzwTJN4tl4817a0sFCLGef38i9nnmR4k/s1600/IMG_2279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKE6ou1IjrcjrYLmtfDECCb5-jZW5TPd2Y7FbLWR4C1SmA9V0JjW_hn7o0nXx3tR2s0UXMsXniML0va0eb3CqdpWmPH3RBhDeicRPaYHYB8DLYzwTJN4tl4817a0sFCLGef38i9nnmR4k/s640/IMG_2279.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before. When she still took enough pleasure in life to dab.</td></tr>
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<i>Zoe: 186; Universe: 0</i></div>
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy this tale of another time I forced Zoe to have fun: <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2016/09/zoe-vs-renaissance-faire-elizabethan.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. the Renaissance Faire: An Elizabethan Tale of Wonder, Revelry, and No Small Amount of Suffering </a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Beware of rocks!</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-41733592016174877562018-06-21T05:00:00.000-07:002018-06-21T09:29:06.472-07:00Zoe vs. the Worst-Case Scenario: Play Date Edition<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
What's the worst-case scenario for a play date?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUD1xV-RisN24C-JXTPEKs6SusrcTlXwNnsQJCEzQghSlW64AnEqXH3ip09OTXnnd5QYSCnwmDr9EHVTN7MnshxNtMEli5t5vPu1Vl8X5WMhI011-x2p2Z4r5z9qQEc_rtkVgq6nV7ijQ/s1600/Worst-Case+Scenario.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Play Date Edition" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUD1xV-RisN24C-JXTPEKs6SusrcTlXwNnsQJCEzQghSlW64AnEqXH3ip09OTXnnd5QYSCnwmDr9EHVTN7MnshxNtMEli5t5vPu1Vl8X5WMhI011-x2p2Z4r5z9qQEc_rtkVgq6nV7ijQ/s400/Worst-Case+Scenario.jpg" title="Zoe vs. the Worst-Case Scenario" width="400" /></a></div>
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Three guesses.</div>
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The kids don't get along.</div>
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No.</div>
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The parents don't get along.</div>
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No.</div>
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How about the wrong kid shows up?</div>
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Yes.</div>
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Let me back up a bit. First, as my lawyers have advised me to say, There are no "wrong" children. Just wrong situations. Exacerbated by kids acting wrong.</div>
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If it hasn't been established by now, I'm an introvert. In fact, here's a meme I made:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4m7AJgnLVfqIveBG9u9kSmqYQ9Y8TJiQO_xCHqQC8To4oTuvsz4lVtgt9A5mV-6wWcJxefRUolFW5wwmzISSMdWOxV2_E-oegMFDbT14tzhTEvWEZwORUSNof5nc-lmScXq9_RjoHSm8/s1600/phone+call.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4m7AJgnLVfqIveBG9u9kSmqYQ9Y8TJiQO_xCHqQC8To4oTuvsz4lVtgt9A5mV-6wWcJxefRUolFW5wwmzISSMdWOxV2_E-oegMFDbT14tzhTEvWEZwORUSNof5nc-lmScXq9_RjoHSm8/s400/phone+call.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here's another. (I like blue, and personal space.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNk9VeXotme0VqBqfO376cIPuTvW_RWMD8WF5scqE0_XIDBY2nS7mTJxGTy0msqQbRlbRNoGE25UdFTBUZobxwJsWZFikW_Cky9G-Qmk5B6Os5W89cmnUmwg7YxtKzfj-9_XfNlo1yEpY/s1600/Facebook_+Our+algorithm+will+favor+posts+that+spark+conversation+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNk9VeXotme0VqBqfO376cIPuTvW_RWMD8WF5scqE0_XIDBY2nS7mTJxGTy0msqQbRlbRNoGE25UdFTBUZobxwJsWZFikW_Cky9G-Qmk5B6Os5W89cmnUmwg7YxtKzfj-9_XfNlo1yEpY/s400/Facebook_+Our+algorithm+will+favor+posts+that+spark+conversation+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So one of the hardest aspects of parenting for me has been the "talking to others" that it requires. Being an "advocate." Speaking up. Asking questions. Plus, if I want Zoe to be more social than her mother I need to learn to make small talk.</div>
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I am constantly tested on this front, purposely exposing myself to social interactions until my soul's elbows have blisters from all the rubbing.</div>
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I do the best I can but sometimes my reluctance to mix leads to problems. Like cases of mistaken identity. For instance, this weekend's play date, which was like Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night" mixed with Mr. Furley's <i>Three's Company</i>. </div>
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Zoe knows---though I didn't till this weekend---three girls named Kristin.* Actually, and importantly, one's Kirsten (and she's in fourth grade--this is also important!!) and the other Kristin is spelled Krysten, and either that one or the Kristin with the i's pronounces her name Kirsten.</div>
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I think.</div>
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But Zoe, as has been previously established, is <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/05/zoe-vs-fidget-spinner.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">even more of a poor witness </a>than I am an introvert. </div>
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So Zoe wanted to have a play date with Kirsten. Having no idea who anyone is, I gave Zoe's after-care teacher a note to give to Kirsten's mom with my phone number asking if Zoe and her daughter could have a play date. </div>
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With me so far? Sounds so easy. So Kirsten's mom texted me, and we arranged a play date for Saturday.</div>
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Come Saturday I'm packing Zoe's bag for the park. The sprinklers are on so I pack a towel, sunscreen, snacks, water, etc., and we're only three minutes late. Then the other mom texts me that she's going to be late because there's bathing suit drama with her daughter. I text back with something like "Ha, been there." See, I can do this! Way to go, me!</div>
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As the minutes tick by, Zoe keeps asking me when Kirsten is going to get there, and I keep saying, any minute, and finally, a woman shows up with two little girls. I'm like, hmmm, I thought Zoe told me Kirsten was an only child like her but whatever.</div>
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"Look who's here," I say and turn to find Zoe with tears flooding down her face.</div>
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Because it's the wrong Kirsten. This is apparently Kristin, a second-grader, from her class. Not to be confused with Krysten, another second-grader, or, more to the point, Kirsten, from fourth grade.</div>
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Zoe was inconsolable.</div>
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I was embarrassed.</div>
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Kristin was super chill, a cool kid that now I want Zoe to be friends with.</div>
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And the mom was super chill too, especially considering there was no way to pass Zoe's reaction off as "Yay, she's so happy to see you she had to run away to cry on top of the slide. . . . Y'know, from all the joy."</div>
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I had to explain what happened, and again, Kristin and her mom were very gracious.</div>
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Then I went over and tried to coax Zoe down from the slide. I said I was sorry but it was an honest mistake by her teacher, and me since I didn't know the kids in her school, and it was hardly a tragedy, and why waste a nice day, etc. It was no go. </div>
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I decided to give her a few minutes and went to be (gasp!) social with the mom and make sure no feelings were hurt. Meanwhile Kristin tried to go play with Zoe, which still wasn't happening.</div>
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When I thought it was enough, I went over to Zoe and told her she had two minutes to pull herself together. She knew this little girl and there was no reason she couldn't play with her. Furthermore, how would she feel if she showed up to a play date and the other kid started crying because she was Zoe not Zoey. (The goddammits were silent. Albeit loud in my head.)</div>
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To Zoe's credit, two minutes later, she came down from the slide, and two minutes after that, she and Kristin were running off to play in the sprinkler, and Kristin is now my very favorite child with undoubtedly the best-spelled name of all the Kristins, Krystens, or even Kirstens everywhere.</div>
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And I went back to chat with the mom and it wasn't so hard. Especially now we had something to talk about.<br />
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<i>Zoe: 185; Universe: 0</i><br />
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<i>*Names have been changed to protect the innocent, as if I could even identify them in a lineup.</i></div>
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Hey, want to read something else by yours truly? Head on over to Little Old Lady Comedy for my piece <a href="https://littleoldladycomedy.com/2018/06/15/vaguebooking-from-notable-historical-figures/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Vaguebooking from Notable Historical Figures."</a> Enjoy!<br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/04/zoe-vs-sartre-or-hell-is-other-people.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Sartre; Or, Hell Is Other People, i.e., Kids Who Won't Play with You (or Maybe It's Because You're a Bossy Cheater Just Sayin')</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Avoid an embarrassing mistake.</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-75157326964246554052018-06-07T05:30:00.000-07:002018-06-07T08:16:41.175-07:00Zoe vs. the TV Viewing Habits of the Average North American Octogenarian.* Or, The Legend of the Fifth Golden Girl<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Could Zoe be the fifth Golden Girl? That's kind of like the fifth Beatle, but with more sass and possibly more estrogen, depending on how well hormone replacement therapy is going. In any case, I'm basing this theory on Zoe's TV viewing habits, which are a lot like a senior citizen's.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOabto55pTaQH9CHaiRAYXWO7Vm6wyCi87oQou8v6jDpgAwFMgSXluQ3nKjEZJ50u4n0ZlsWtkaMoz3h5L7K94yFKrPQvBEytWXx5BjsGqbdQr62eWsS_lNUnSPnN8Ra_TlHRVWfuoWoU/s1600/TV+Viewing+Habits+of+Octogenarian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Or, The Legend of the Fifth Golden Girl" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOabto55pTaQH9CHaiRAYXWO7Vm6wyCi87oQou8v6jDpgAwFMgSXluQ3nKjEZJ50u4n0ZlsWtkaMoz3h5L7K94yFKrPQvBEytWXx5BjsGqbdQr62eWsS_lNUnSPnN8Ra_TlHRVWfuoWoU/s400/TV+Viewing+Habits+of+Octogenarian.jpg" title="Zoe vs. the TV Viewing Habits of the Average North American Octogenarian" width="400" /></a></div>
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Take, <i>Wheel of Fortune,</i> for example, traditionally everyone's grandma's favorite show. It comes on after <i>Jeopardy!,</i> which the Husband and I watch, and Zoe's bath time is generally right after Final Jeopardy! If we're not quick enough to change the channel, Zoe is begging to delay her bath so she can watch just one more puzzle on <i>Wheel of Fortune,</i> and when she grudgingly surrenders and goes to her bath she wants us to leave the <i>Wheel </i>on so we can tell her who won<i>.</i></div>
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Exhibit B: Reality cooking shows. When visiting relatives, Zoe is famous for her request that they leave the TV on in the bedroom when she goes to bed so she can "watch a little bit of her cooking shows" before she goes to sleep. <i>Chopped, MasterChef, MasterChef Junior.</i> All she needs is a jar of Vicks on the nightstand and a hot water bottle for her sciatica and she'd be a contented tiny senior citizen.</div>
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Exhibit C: Other reality shows. <i>American Ninja Warrior </i>and maybe even <i>Superhuman </i>might put her in a younger viewing demographic, but then the other night I was flipping through the channel guide and she suddenly yelled, "<i>Shark Tank!</i>" This is a show that is struggling with the under fifties. Draw your own conclusions.</div>
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Have I been sounding like I'm presenting a case? That's probably because the clincher showing her inner advanced age is that she absolutely loves <i>Judge Judy</i>.</div>
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I don't know how this happened but she can't get enough of tough-talking, no-nonsense Judge Judy Scheindlin.</div>
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Judge Judy is Zoe's spirit animal.</div>
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After I refused to watch <i>Shark Tank</i> the other night I capitulated on <i>Judge Judy</i>. Half from pity, half from amazement.</div>
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Let me set the scene. . . .</div>
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Picture it: Brooklyn, two nights ago.</div>
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Zoe couldn't sleep because she was having pains in her legs. With her factual age being seven, I figured these were actually growing pains and not sciatica, but there I was, sitting on the couch with my little young old lady, rubbing her calves while she watched Judge Judy try to settle a dispute between some young man and his baby mama.</div>
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Zoe was enthralled. Judge Judy judges behavior under the law, not morals. She just wants to get the facts straight when she's asking about the baby mama's <i>other </i>kid, the one who is not, in fact, related to the defendant. But at issue here is, who has rights to the dog?</div>
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I'm not sure what Zoe learned by the end of the episode, but her satisfied sigh as she watched told me, just like Sophia Petrillo, she's seen it all before.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 184; Universe: 0</i><br />
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</i> <i>*Okay, so technically only Estelle Getty's character, Sophia, was supposed to be eighty years old, and I know none of the actresses were actually even close to eighty, but in my defense, octogenarian is a funny word. I rest my case.</i></div>
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2013/10/zoe-vs-dr-phil.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Dr. Phil.</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-40741022627256485732018-05-17T05:00:00.000-07:002018-05-17T11:13:23.637-07:00Zoe vs. the Royal Wedding: Wedding Announcements for Disney's Royal Couples<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Charles and Di got married when I was nine. You may think as a nine-year-old girl I would've been interested in royal weddings and princesses. Alas, no. All I remember is the wedding was boring, my cartoons were pre-empted, and Princess Di had a long-ass train that seemed like it would make using the bathroom a three-bridesmaid job.</div>
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The next British royal wedding was William and Kate's, about a year after Zoe was born. Zoe didn't care because she was an infant. I didn't care because I was busy with an infant, but probably wouldn't have cared anyway.</div>
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Now, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle are set to tie the knot on Saturday, and as it turns out, I still don't care. Even though the Royals really tried to attract new subscribers with the whole twenty-first-century update of a biracial American bride who was married before. Edgy!</div>
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Anyway, it got me thinking about the whole princess fantasy young girls have or are supposed to have and that I didn't have. And as for Zoe, with <i>Frozen</i> arriving on the scene during her early years, she leapfrogged right over "princess" to queen. Plus, she informs me, she is not going to get married, and if she wants a baby, she will simply buy one. And who am I to discourage her future black-market-shopper ambitions?</div>
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So today, in honor of the royal wedding I don't care about, I present a send-up of those smug wedding announcements you see in the newspaper, but with Disney royalty.<br />
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<b>Princess Aurora and Prince Philip</b></div>
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Princess Aurora, aka Sleeping Beauty, and Prince Philip were married in the Kingdom, May fifth, once upon a time. Having been promised to Prince Philip when they were both well below the age of consent, Aurora was raised in secret as well as in ignorance in a secluded part of the woods, which turned out to be a ten-minute walk from her parents' castle.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMG, if you go back to sleep, will you finally stop talking?</td></tr>
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All the secrecy had to do with the Mighty Whammy put on her as a baby by a snubbed christening guest with a knack for the dark arts. So the bride lived the first fifteen and eleven months of her life in a hidden cabin with three magical fairies who somehow made it fifteen years without revealing their magic though it seems doubtful they could've gone for fifteen minutes without using it, until, in a meet-cute for the ages, shortly before her sixteenth birthday (note: still below the age of consent), she was singing in the forest, dancing with an owl in a cape, and in general cavorting with woodland creatures when Prince Philip, wandering by, heard her, crept up behind her, and started dancing with the girl who, unbeknownst to him, was the baby who'd been promised to him in matrimony when he was a toddler.</div>
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They flirted a bit, Aurora played coy, and before you could say Bibbity Bobbity Boo---which you wouldn't, unless you were mixing up your stories---Aurora's whereabouts were discovered by the snubbed guest's pet raven, she went into a trance, pricked her finger on a spindle, and fell into a coma, and in order for the lovers to be together, Philip had to kill a dragon and then kiss Aurora to wake her, and this time, before she could say, Whoa, still barely legal, people, she was sent down the aisle by parents she couldn't even remember, but anyway Prince Philip's father, King Hubert of the Other Kingdom, was happy because at long last this union improved his kingdom's economic prospects.</div>
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The bridegroom wore a cape and pouffy sleeves, while the bride wore a dress that kept changing colors, curiously none of them white.</div>
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<b>Snow White and Prince Florian</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was dead, buddy, I didn't lose my legs.</td></tr>
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Snow White and Prince Florian were married in Bavaria on Saturday, shortly after Prince Florian, out riding his horse aimlessly, discovered her dead body in a glass coffin in the woods and using his lips, and presumably some sort of necromancy, brought her back to life.</div>
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They'd first met an unspecified time before for about five minutes ("when you know you know," HRH says) when he was lurking near the bride's stepmother's castle and heard the girl singing. Following the tradition among unemployed princes, he snuck up on her and scared her---but in a cute way!---and then they never saw each other again until after she died from ingesting a piece of fruit that had gone bad.</div>
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The bride's parents are both deceased and, until she'd run away, shortly after meeting the prince, she'd lived with her stepmother, who died under suspicious circumstances while taking a stroll. On a cliff. During a thunderstorm. There are rumors she may have tried to poison her stepdaughter, but whether that was before or after the bride ran away and shacked up with seven men with adjectives for names is unclear.</div>
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Following the marriage, the bridegroom will continue to gambol about the woods, annoying the kingdom's hard-working citizenry, and the bride plans to whistle while watching others work. Gifts can be sent to the castle. No apples or Apple products, please.</div>
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<b>Cinderella and Prince Charming</b></div>
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Cinderella and Prince Charming were married Sunday in the Magic Kingdom, the original one, not the one in Florida. The bride is from humble origins but her foot fit in a particular shoe and it is not our place to comment on the fetishes of royalty. The bride was not given away by her stepmother as much as reluctantly released from a locked room. Her two stepsisters could not make the wedding, too busy recovering from the longest ugly cry in the kingdom.</div>
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The bride's dress was made by herself, some local mice, and a little bit of magic. They will honeymoon in Milan during fashion week because shoes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Next time, could you bring, like, the oldest pair of shoes you own?</td></tr>
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<b>Belle and Prince Adam</b></div>
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Belle, aka Beauty, married Prince Adam, lately known as the Beast, this past weekend in the Formerly Enchanted Castle, Somewhere, France. The bride was given away by her sometime-inventor/all-the-time crackpot father, Maurice. The bridegroom's parents are deceased, having died when he was still a boy, which lack of authority and guidance probably explains why he was such a dick to that enchantress when she dropped by, causing her to curse him.</div>
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In attendance were all the servants that were formerly home furnishings and dancing plates. Both the bride and the bridegroom are unemployed, though the bride fancies herself an autodidact, much good that'll do when the wolves are after you and your husband no longer sports claws.</div>
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<b>Princess Jasmine and Aladdin</b></div>
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Princess Jasmine and Aladdin were married on Saturday in Agrabah, loosely based on Baghdad, following much gnashing of the teeth by the grand vizier, Jafar, who reportedly tried to upset the union using a magic lamp and a scheming parrot. The bride was given away by her father, the Sultan of Agrabah.</div>
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Following the ceremony the couple said they were going to take a ride on their magic carpet with the bridegroom's pet monkey, presumably a euphemism.</div>
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<b>Ariel and Prince Eric</b></div>
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Ariel and Prince Eric were married in a surf and turf--themed wedding on Sunday. The bride was given away via a raised triton waved from the water by her mermaid father, the aptly named King Triton. Her sisters were also in attendance, as well as a talking crab, close confidante of and singing coach to the bride. The Prince was attended by his longtime aide, Grimsby. Dress was uniforms, fins, and scales. The bride was barefoot as she still can't get over the fact she has toes. The meal erred more on the turf side in deference to the guests that were fish.</div>
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<b>Tiana and Prince Naveen</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You'd think we'd be tired of green by now.</td></tr>
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Tiana and Prince Naveen of Maldonia jumped the broom in New Orleans this past Tuesday night during Mardi Gras---for the second time, but the first as humans. (Their first wedding ceremony, presided over by hoodoo priestess Mama Odie, was performed while the bride and groom were still frogs.) Miss Tiana was formerly a waitress, and frog, as was the Prince, the frog part, not the waitress part. Their love story involves the usual adorable misunderstandings, mistaken identities, and voodoo curses. The bride was given away by her best friend's father Eli "Big Daddy" Le Bouff, noted sugar baron and masquerade giver, and as a wedding gift he invested in Tiana and the Prince's restaurant, Frog's Leg, which does not actually serve frog's legs since the couple spent their courtship as amphibians.<br />
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<i>Zoe: 183; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may enjoy <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2015/04/zoe-vs-three-disney-princesses.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Three Disney Princesses.</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Wanna live happily ever after?</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-15130993583537646832018-04-26T04:58:00.000-07:002018-04-26T10:35:27.480-07:00Zoe vs. Kendrick Lamar's "Humble": A Parody<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
You may have heard that Kendrick Lamar won the Pulitzer Prize for music for his album <i>Damn</i>. If you're like me, your first thought was, Who's Kendrick Lamar? Your second was, I didn't know there was a Pulitzer Prize for music. Which just shows that your ignorance has range. Your third thought is, Speak for yourself, lady. Which is fair.</div>
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If you're not living under a rock---or several rocks if you have a seven-year-old who keeps handing you rocks for her "collection"---you might know more about popular music than I do. I also looked up previous winners of the Pulitzer for music and I'd never heard of any of them either, though, again, my wide-ranging ignorance is showing. Of classical music, of jazz, and of rap. My milieu is more Duran Duran.</div>
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Come to think of it, how come Duran Duran never got a Pulitzer? Wasn't "Hungry Like the Wolf" one near-rhyme away from spoken word poetry? Furthermore, what soul could look upon that video and fail to be moved?</div>
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But we were talking about Kendrick Lamar, who also won several Grammys this year. I didn't know that either. Which is because I have now entered the Kidz Bop phase of life wherein the first time you hear a popular song it's the retooled version for children.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Yhkw_Uk_vtFILDkZDNRO39qC_CxoRctCbHoy54sdHp9sEvC-nfqfr018F5NAZbpMP_zIX90t9w3d8dg-My2qrOYswCjk01EABCHQIHnCHSl5XznwUgokihFEEoGDNWZNWOgoT5K7rks/s1600/Zoe+vs.+Kendrick+Lamar%2527s+_Humble_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Parody of Kendrick Lamar's "Humble"" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Yhkw_Uk_vtFILDkZDNRO39qC_CxoRctCbHoy54sdHp9sEvC-nfqfr018F5NAZbpMP_zIX90t9w3d8dg-My2qrOYswCjk01EABCHQIHnCHSl5XznwUgokihFEEoGDNWZNWOgoT5K7rks/s400/Zoe+vs.+Kendrick+Lamar%2527s+_Humble_.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Kendrick Lamar's "Humble"" width="400" /></a></div>
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Of course, it's not just what's on my iPod but my experience of life that is miles away from Mr. Lamar's. It's more than our respective number of Pulitzers. What I'm subtly alluding to is the fact that, unlike Kendrick Lamar, I'm a white mom in her forties. Chai-drinking, yoga-pants-wearing, highest-SPF-applying, don-a-wide-brimmed-hat-on-the-beach white.</div>
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Since learning of Kendrick Lamar's existence, I've listened to a few of his songs. Now, I don't mind cursing, but the sheer number and variety of curse words were an obstacle to my listening. Then there was the velocity in which they were delivered. He sang so fast the speed reminded me of "I am the very model of a modern major-general" from <i>The Pirates of Penzance</i>. (I may have gotten whiter just writing that sentence.)</div>
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Anyhoo, I did learn about syrup sandwiches, which was what Lamar apparently ate as a child because he was poor. If I were to rap about that, it would probably go like this:</div>
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<i>Regarding syrup sandwiches, you can guess, </i></div>
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<i>as per my gender, age, and race, </i></div>
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<i>ain't no sugar let alone carbs approaching near my face.</i></div>
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All of the foregoing is to say, I have a parody today of Lamar's Grammy-winning song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvTRZJ-4EyI" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Humble."</a> <i>(Dear Mom, click on the preceding link to hear the song. On second thought, probably don't.) </i>My subject is bedtime reading with Zoe, and the pain that plucks a caregiver's nerves as his or her child pauses every other word to ask what every other word means, or to ask how many more pages she has to read, or otherwise whines, and if she's not yelling the sentences that end in exclamation points, you can barely hear her because she mumbles, and so I present:<br />
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<b>"Mumble"</b></div>
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You gotta read, miss</div>
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I can't believe this</div>
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Read (yeah) (yeah)</div>
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If there's a word you can't pronounce I make allowances</div>
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No reason to dissolve in hissy fits</div>
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I can't account for this</div>
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Pajamas on, now time for reading, please</div>
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My face, it's frownin', miss</div>
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You say you already read today, tastes like lies, I ain't buyin' it</div>
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Girl, you learn about the world with the junior book club</div>
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Literacy's good, my patience worn down to a nub.</div>
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Mommy's too tired, just read it straight; don't do no voices</div>
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Pick up the book, then put it down, we're not playin' Jenga</div>
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P.M. is the evening, feels like P.M. turning A.M., clunk</div>
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Get off me, no more leaning, don't kick the chair, clunk</div>
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Mummies in the Morning, Magic Tree House, who'da thunk?</div>
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No dancing, reading! Regretin' all that juice you drunk.</div>
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"Read!"---my shout's all bile!</div>
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If you don't, I'm gonna throw that book a mile!</div>
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Mary Osborne, read the words she wrote</div>
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Speak clearly. Nice and slow. Don't mumble.</div>
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Read loud. Don't mumble.</div>
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(Speak up. Wrong pitch.) </div>
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Read loud. Don't mumble.</div>
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(Speak up, speak up, speak up) Don't mumble.</div>
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(Modulate pitch) Read loud.</div>
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(Speak up.) Don't mumble.</div>
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Read loud. Don't mumble.</div>
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Who dat shorty thinkin' that she frontin' on Mom and Gran?</div>
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If you don't read, time you greet Mr. Sandman.</div>
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Read two more pages before I turn out the light</div>
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Or I swear you won't play for the rest of your life.</div>
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Mommy's so frikkin tired her life needs the Photoshop</div>
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Show me you can read a sentence without one stop</div>
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Show me you can speak a sentence without adding question marks.</div>
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You don't know the word, look it up in your dictionary, ay</div>
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I know you know that word, ay, I know it's within your vocabula-ray</div>
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Enunciate your words, ay, articulate the verbs, ay</div>
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Stop conversatin', ay, no confabulatin', ay</div>
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Archaeologist has two a's, but you don't say the second a</div>
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This that Merlin Mission, that magician, that warlock, ay</div>
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Though your lips move, can't hear your voice talk, ay</div>
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If I lose my temper, it won't be my fault </div>
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It's the bedtime-reading gestalt. Which means, don't mumble.</div>
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Read loud. Don't mumble.</div>
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(Speak up. Wrong pitch.) Read loud.</div>
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Don't mumble.</div>
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(Speak up. Speak up. Hello?) Read loud.</div>
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(Speak up. Change pitch.) Don't mumble.</div>
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Read loud. Don't mumble.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 182; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may want to check out my parody of a non-humble <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2015/05/zoe-vs-kanye-west-phd.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Kanye West's "Gold Digger,</a>" which did not win a Pulitzer.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Hol' up, bitches!</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px; text-align: center;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-6051774952933372592018-03-29T05:00:00.000-07:002018-03-30T07:56:08.834-07:00Zoe vs. Roseanne: A Review<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
All I can say is: And Zoe thinks <i>I'm </i>sarcastic. Not that I let her watch when TV's most sarcastic mother<i> </i>returned to TV in the<i> </i><i>Roseanne </i>reboot Tuesday. But I watched it. Partly because of the hype. Partly because I had watched the show when it originally aired in the late eighties/early nineties.</div>
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But also because I've never quite made up my mind about Roseanne Barr herself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_lgXkQ_qK97ZQEBczxQovgIwC3fFkZC1mwWa09KCSBb5TpR0X07Rep3uHmisrFG9Gqzdhyu4M3HERNa0jQ-ezTtRdeh-JnMod7AIUqktMInvwv2xhtH7GHokKtmeVoowl1FRCCJsIVLM/s1600/roseanne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Review of the Roseanne reboot" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_lgXkQ_qK97ZQEBczxQovgIwC3fFkZC1mwWa09KCSBb5TpR0X07Rep3uHmisrFG9Gqzdhyu4M3HERNa0jQ-ezTtRdeh-JnMod7AIUqktMInvwv2xhtH7GHokKtmeVoowl1FRCCJsIVLM/s400/roseanne.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Roseanne" width="400" /></a></div>
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I was a teenager when <i>Roseanne </i>premiered the first time around, and though I found it funny, what mostly got my attention was how much the Conners argued and yelled. The first time I watched, I remember Becky fighting with Roseanne and finally yelling, "I hate you!" before stomping up to her bedroom. I was shocked by this. No one ever would've said that in my house. It was unthinkable.</div>
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But then came Roseanne's response, which shocked me in a different, almost revelatory, way. She said, "Good. Then I'm doing my job."</div>
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It still resonates with me today as maybe the best response, to remain completely unperturbed when your child or teen hurls some unreasoning emotion at you, to let them know that you're not going to be bothered by their nonsense and won't be swayed. And maybe throw in some sarcasm for good measure.</div>
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After all, as I like to say, Mockery is the highest form of love.</div>
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This is not to say that my mom style is Roseanne Conner.</div>
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For one thing, that would take a lot more commitment. I tease Zoe but I don't want to make her cry. </div>
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Much.</div>
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Or at least only when she needs it for personal growth, as in: Crying doesn't work on Mommy when your goal is to eat all the candy while playing all the Minecraft and doing none of the homework.</div>
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You get the idea.</div>
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Back to my ambivalence about Roseanne. I've always felt like I was supposed to like her, just by virtue of her being a strong female comedian. On the other hand, she's, well, she's Roseanne. Crass and reveling in it and somehow---call me crazy---I get the feeling she'd be a little too much Roseanne to be around all the time. Plus, as a mom, I don't want to be an unrelenting sour note.</div>
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I've always appreciated her comic style, the cutting through crap to expose a truer if oftentimes uglier side of things. However, I wonder if, as self-aware as she seems to be, is she quite aware of the extent of her own crap?</div>
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I've always had this default position where I assume self-deprecating people have built-in wisdom, but that's not necessarily true. In any case, Roseanne Conner is not the kind of mom I really want to be for Zoe. Even if I have a wry to fatalistic view on life and its absurdities, I think it'd <i>probably</i> be good if a seven-year-old has a rosier view. At least until she's in high school.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 181; Universe: 0</i></div>
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like this walk down TV memory lane when <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/04/zoe-vs-happy-days-or-aaaaayy-t-ways-my.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe takes on the Fonz</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i> Bring your trademark cackle.</i></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px; text-align: center;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-22434147120754105942018-03-15T05:00:00.000-07:002018-03-15T09:38:17.999-07:00Zoe vs. Stephen Hawking. Or, A Brief History of a Seven-Year-Old Who Doesn't Understand What Brevity Is<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Stephen Hawking died yesterday, and I'd be remiss if my blog with <i>universe </i>in its name<i> </i>didn't offer a tribute to probably the world's most well-known theoretical physicist and cosmologist, who wrote <i>A Brief History of Time.</i></div>
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The only thing that's brief about Zoe is her height. When it comes to telling a story, she doesn't know from brevity. Just the other morning she was telling me about a dream she had. It went like this:</div>
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"I had a dream last night, or maybe actually it was ten weeks ago, or something like that, or was it yesterday? I don't know, and I don't remember what I dreamed about, never mind, by the way, did I tell you about the Queen who's the Real Most Powerfulest Thing in the World [trademark pending]? She's in charge of the universes. There are three universes. They are 1) itself, 2) Paradise 3) the core...."</div>
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I suppose Hawking might've said Zoe's stories are like black holes in the way they suck in time and energy from all nearby bodies. However, I have to admit, she does emit light in her own inimitable way. Also, mucus. Lots of it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY_BZ-sjCXFib3aWAFUfoe_xSz8zSHvjZvzsaeRE-lBCdQ5-MWrBB63KOuzH4uZFfcMTR8KvbUK2wVHGANNlPlnOUTgr095Ss8KxUrVjdt7zXVqao63PHkV9-6S9DLvcXsksrAioMKU4/s1600/Stephen+Hawking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A Brief History of a Seven-Year-Old Who Doesn't Understand What Brevity Means" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY_BZ-sjCXFib3aWAFUfoe_xSz8zSHvjZvzsaeRE-lBCdQ5-MWrBB63KOuzH4uZFfcMTR8KvbUK2wVHGANNlPlnOUTgr095Ss8KxUrVjdt7zXVqao63PHkV9-6S9DLvcXsksrAioMKU4/s400/Stephen+Hawking.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Stephen Hawking" width="400" /></a></div>
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Since Zoe has designs on eventually taking over the universe or universes, however many there are, it does seem like she'd be interested in what Hawking had to say about it/them---that is, the properties of her future property. Though she probably thinks a cosmologist is the same as a cosmetologist, and that the latter's work has more to contribute to society, and are we really going to argue with a seven-year-old girl about this? No one's got time for that, unless they're a star or maybe that black hole I mentioned.</div>
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I guess.</div>
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I don't know since I only just realized that the advance of scientific knowledge didn't come to an abrupt halt when I graduated high school, which is the last time I studied it, and probably the last time I was up to date on cosmetological concerns as well, albeit just as confused regarding them.</div>
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Expanding outward---just like the universe has been since the Big Bang (bask in that!)---today, as a tribute to Stephen Hawking, here are some of his most famous quotes, with commentary by Zoe.<br />
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<b>"The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge." </b><br />
I know what that means. I'm not going to explain it to you though.<br />
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<b>"People won't have time for you if you are always angry or complaining." </b><br />
Define <i>always</i>.<br />
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</b> <b>"Not only does God play dice, but... he sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen." </b></div>
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That's cheating. And I know because I sometimes do that when the dice fall on the floor and I tell Mommy I rolled doubles and she says, "Did you really?" And I say nothing because I'm thinking what to say and then even though I haven't said anything she seems to know I'm pretty much thinking about lying and she says, "Lying is also cheating," but if even God cheats, then I now have a comeback for her next time.</div>
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<b>"Mankind’s greatest achievements have come about by talking, and its greatest failures by not talking. It doesn’t have to be like this. Our greatest hopes could become reality in the future. With the technology at our disposal, the possibilities are unbounded. All we need to do is make sure we keep talking." </b></div>
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In other words, Mommies should listen to their children when they tell them about Minecraft.</div>
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<b><br />
</b> <b>"Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet."</b></div>
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That's how you trip so I'm not going to do that.</div>
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<b>"The whole history of science has been the gradual realization that events do not happen in an arbitrary manner, but that they reflect a certain underlying order, which may or may not be divinely inspired."</b></div>
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Aka, why my room is not "a mess" that I "need to clean up, especially the Legos" like Mommy says. It's Art. I'm an artist.</div>
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<b><br />
</b> <b>"It would not be much of a universe if it wasn't home to the people you love."</b></div>
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And Legos.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 180; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like this <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2013/08/zoe-vs-laws-of-physics.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">one</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Life would be tragic if it weren't funny."</i> --Stephen Hawking, so:</span></span><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-57398120132165420422018-03-01T05:00:00.000-08:002018-03-01T10:08:05.439-08:00Zoe vs. the Oscars 2018<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
The Academy Awards are this weekend, so that means it's time for my fifth <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/02/zoe-vs-oscars-2017.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">annual roundup of all the movies nominated for Best Picture</a>. This go-round I've actually seen TWO of the nine movies nominated.</div>
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And I've seen FOUR of the nine nominated in 2017. Where's my Oscar?</div>
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So now it's time to sum up each movie, having only actually seen <i>Dunkirk </i>and <i>Get Out</i>, and show how each reflects my life with Zoe.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTU6PtMz3K8TWI3yzrWvid18IDsLMOYWJ9b4gIghr_jTaNnw9v8pgiLDCTuEUHNqqj4hM1qHNjuKsUdLDLbdCTByPrMszyyf0ZZSgZ3S0yG86TI-EbIM8EZDi7dndkl8M4KL0v_XdJnYM/s1600/Zoe+vs.+oscars+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Oscars 2018" border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="940" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTU6PtMz3K8TWI3yzrWvid18IDsLMOYWJ9b4gIghr_jTaNnw9v8pgiLDCTuEUHNqqj4hM1qHNjuKsUdLDLbdCTByPrMszyyf0ZZSgZ3S0yG86TI-EbIM8EZDi7dndkl8M4KL0v_XdJnYM/s400/Zoe+vs.+oscars+2018.jpg" title="Zoe vs. the Oscars 2018" width="400" /></a></div>
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</i></b> <b><i>Darkest Hour:</i></b> Sometimes as a parent you just don't know if you should negotiate or go to war. Sometimes things seem bleakest just before the dawn because you haven't slept any of the actual dark hours and now there's no point since you have to get ready to go to work. And then sometimes, after a night without sleep, you don't even look like yourself but not in a way that'll give anyone an award for Best Makeup or Costume.<br />
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<i><b>Dunkirk:</b></i> Parenthood as a story of survival including <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/05/zoe-vs-potty-training-part-third.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">struggles with evacuating</a>. Enough said.<br />
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<i><b>The Shape of Water:</b></i> I read that the lead female character is a voiceless, isolated woman who spends a lot of time cleaning a place where there's a strange mysteriously wet creature who's like something out of science fiction, and I gotta say I relate.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How high the bath water has to get before a child will turn it off.</td></tr>
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<i><b>The Post: </b></i>Did you say blog post? Sometimes it's hard to bring you, dear reader, the truth as an agent of inestimable power works against me in overt as well as covert ways.<br />
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<i><b>Call Me By Your Name:</b></i> Ok, so it's a coming-of-age story but otherwise it's a stretch to connect with Zoe's and my life since a gay male romance set in Italy is a far cry from our day-to-day. However, I do relate to the seeming confusion expressed by the title, since some days I forget my own name and Zoe's and end up whisper-yelling some other kid's name in a church.<br />
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<i><b>Phantom Thread: </b></i>Daniel Day-Lewis plays a person whose carefully tailored life is disrupted by love. (Aw!)<br />
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<i><b>Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: </b></i>A dark comedy with refusals to back down and unsolved crimes is a fair description of my life; only the cursing is internal because I keep it PG.<br />
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<i><b>Get Out:</b></i> What a useful phrase! Applied to so many scenarios since I've become Zoe's mom. Get out of my bed! My room! My jewelry box! Get out of that mound of dirt and go play on an actual park apparatus like all the norms! Or how about, we're leaving, get your shoes on and get out the door! It's a warning, a directive. And a reminder to be paranoid as I wonder why does she keep gesturing that way with her spoon is she trying to hypnotize me?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoSrTI15JMa2-Zou-diZrgm-A0vQvPn9BL0XRKNVcUF41SaOqJ0QDkIV0bTA_qz7AKeSrDecAHDJ6sYyuDU7dG-DpM7DZtkxHIRFxu3y5oz62aPm_BXuALOf9XGTproP1EUwv6hY_V2s/s1600/download-get+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoSrTI15JMa2-Zou-diZrgm-A0vQvPn9BL0XRKNVcUF41SaOqJ0QDkIV0bTA_qz7AKeSrDecAHDJ6sYyuDU7dG-DpM7DZtkxHIRFxu3y5oz62aPm_BXuALOf9XGTproP1EUwv6hY_V2s/s640/download-get+out.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My expression when Zoe says something that mortifies me <br />
except, unlike the character in the movie, sinking into the floor would've been blessed relief.</td></tr>
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<b><i>Lady Bird:</i></b> A strong-willed daughter versus her strong-willed mother. An outspoken young person asserting her individuality. Lady Bird can be critical of what she loves but deep down her critique is a mask for her loving attention to her subject.</div>
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<i><br />
</i> <i>Zoe: 179; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like this <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/02/zoe-vs-oscars-2017.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">one</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i>Let's all win! </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-4176765785706653602018-02-08T06:00:00.000-08:002018-02-08T09:51:14.927-08:00Zoe vs. Justin Timberlake's "Can't Stop the Feeling": A Parody<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Have you ever tried to leave your house with a child? As in, a child who <i>had to leave with you</i> or Social Services might serve you with side-eye and a summons? If so, you may have noticed that leaving took longer than you would've thought possible.</div>
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When you try to leave your house with a child, time seems to slow down as if you're being pulled into a black hole, one involving mismatched shoes, unnecessary Lego adjustments, and general nonsense.</div>
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On Sunday, as the Husband, Zoe, and I watched the Super Bowl at a friend's house, I was reminded how difficult it is to get her places and then get her out of those places in order to return home. During the halftime show, as Justin Timberlake was transporting sexy back and forth from one thematic set piece to another, I looked over at Zoe and thought, if it takes as long to leave here as it took to leave our home in order to get here, I better start telling her to get her shoes on even though we have a few more songs and a couple more quarters to go.<br />
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Today I've written a parody of Timberlake's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ru0K8uYEZWw" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Can't Stop the Feeling "</a> to express that certain special frustration that every parent feels when they're trying to leave the house with a child who does absolutely everything but actually get themselves ready to go. I'm calling it "Please Stop, We're Leaving." Enjoy!<br />
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<b>Please Stop, We're Leaving!</b></div>
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Each time we're leaving, from our home</div>
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You have to be asked 10 million times to put on clothes</div>
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You dropped my earring. You lost the post.</div>
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Then yell, Mommy, can you help me blow my nose?</div>
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Now I've got used tissues in my pocket</div>
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Got a feeling of defeat</div>
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Feel frustration in my body as the iPad drops</div>
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If I take my eyes up off you</div>
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You progress infinitesimally</div>
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Check the clock, see how it mocks me</div>
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So please stop</div>
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And under the bench is where all the shoes go</div>
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Yes, put them on, but first put on clothes</div>
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Why you're not ready, no one really knows</div>
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I can't imagine, can't imagine, can't imagine</div>
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<i>You know we're late, why haven't you put </i></div>
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<i>on pants, pants, pants?</i></div>
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<i>We should've left a while ago, put</i></div>
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<i>on pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>Stop doing stuff you shouldn't do</i></div>
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<i>instead, get on pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>I guess we won't be leaving soon</i></div>
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<i>and now you're dancing</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Please stop, we're leaving!</i></div>
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<i>Get on pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>We should be leaving!</i></div>
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<i>Get on your pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>Come on</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Ugh, it's something tragical</div>
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You pet the cat, you stare in space, turn TV on</div>
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I'm losing all reason, losing control</div>
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My frustration's high, I can't believe you're on my phone.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Cause I got used tissues in my pocket</div>
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Got a feeling of defeat</div>
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Feel frustration in my body as the iPad drops</div>
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If I take my eyes up off you</div>
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You progress infinitesimally</div>
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Check the clock, see how it mocks me</div>
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So please stop<br />
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</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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Stop flicking lights and put on your clothes</div>
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I'm gonna cry, feeling so lachrymose</div>
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Why you're not ready, no one really knows</div>
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I can't imagine, can't imagine, can't imagine</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Put your toys back in your room</i></div>
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<i>Put on pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>How many times can I say we're leaving till you</i></div>
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<i>Put on pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>Come on</i></div>
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<i>Stop doing crap you shouldn't do</i></div>
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<i>Besides getting on pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>How come your butt's not getting cold</i></div>
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<i>Without pants</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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</div>
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<i>Please stop, we're leaving!</i></div>
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<i>Get on pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>We should be leaving!</i></div>
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<i>Get on your pants, pants, pants</i></div>
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<i>Come on [repeat]</i></div>
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<br />
<br />
<i>Please stop, we're leaving!</i></div>
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(We are leaving, everybody.)</div>
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<i>Time to be leaving!</i></div>
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(Specifically your body)</div>
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<i>It should be leaving!</i></div>
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(With everyone else's body.)</div>
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<i>Can we be leaving? </i></div>
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Breaking down now.</div>
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<br />
<i>Zoe: 178; Universe: 0</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like this parody of <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2016/05/zoe-vs-oxford-comma-parody-of-jlos-aint.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">J. Lo's "Ain't Your Mama"</a> about the Oxford comma.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i>We haven't left yet. </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-90695353672821747802018-01-25T06:00:00.000-08:002018-01-25T11:15:42.376-08:00Zoe vs. Frustration, Despair, and Bowling<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Is bowling making a terrible comeback? Or is it just coming back terribly into my life because a bowling alley is the kind of place you find yourself if you are or if you have a child and need something to do in the winter?</div>
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Either way it's unwelcome. Terribly.</div>
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I hated bowling as a kid. I hated wearing shoes that had been on strange people's feet. I hated waiting for my ball to come back and then getting my fingers crushed between it and another ball.</div>
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But mostly I hated it because I was bad at it, which wouldn't have been so bad in itself, it being generally okay to be bad at something if you're alone. It's the being-bad-at-things in front of other people---especially if the other people are good at the thing you're bad at---that's just kind of super discouraging.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjin2vsdDpHGHQdRqQBucFmvRB_dUZI9pFX4Luw0Hc3AqDh7hRmevQTagcJIzhxGNEsoTnnljk3H1f3PwwKl5fe-Ma2vvsevfmxgMhUvjVqDWdAed5Uw9_F6g0VYwbpTU-PHZOLUR61q1E/s1600/Zoe+vs.+Frustration%252C+Despair+and+Bowling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Bowling in a sea of despond" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjin2vsdDpHGHQdRqQBucFmvRB_dUZI9pFX4Luw0Hc3AqDh7hRmevQTagcJIzhxGNEsoTnnljk3H1f3PwwKl5fe-Ma2vvsevfmxgMhUvjVqDWdAed5Uw9_F6g0VYwbpTU-PHZOLUR61q1E/s400/Zoe+vs.+Frustration%252C+Despair+and+Bowling.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Frustration, Despair, and Bowling" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Something something metaphor for parenthood.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Anyway, when I went bowling with Zoe a few weeks ago, how good or bad she bowled was not her issue. She was happy just lobbing a heavy object at other objects to knock them down loudly. Basically, her raison d'etre.</div>
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The problem came when she took another little girl's turn by accident and three little girls yelled at her at once. And if you've ever had three little girls yelling at you it's like at least three times that many little girls yelling at you.</div>
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Zoe's bowling career seemed over before it started as she ran off to put her head down on a table, the posture that says "don't even try to talk to me, however, if when I raise my head there's not a crowd of people in line waiting to console me, there will be hell to pay!"</div>
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I looked around, and realizing I was the mother, I picked up my plastic glass of bowling-alley wine---which either wasn't as bad as you'd expect or my judgment was influenced by a need for survival, and furthermore, made me see bowling in a better light than I had as a child---walked over to Zoe, and basically told her that she'd just made a mistake, and the girls had just been excited, but that she had to just get over it or we'd just go home, after I finished my bowling-alley wine, this final clause left unsaid. Just.</div>
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She stayed. Probably because I also mentioned the social studies homework that was waiting for her if we left for home now.</div>
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The only thing worse than bowling when I was a child was homework.</div>
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But also going to the dentist to have my retainer tightened.</div>
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And then there was that time the tongue guard "fangs" on my retainer---which were supposed to keep my tongue back---actually went through and perforated (which may seem redundant but I feel needs to be stated twice) my tongue, trapping a small piece of toast between the roof of my mouth/retainer and aforementioned tongue. This is a Seminal Memory, if you hadn't guessed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQmA-LbQXWDpSjUOJwaiFLd6zPu6VT8VdiXgJUKKuRI4bPzPBo00XFmptsZa2szTHn5byhxfeNCzBt9M0ZRiqqj8H23wXSLn8Lm5LxKEln2KiEK0pZTj0XyuKCHdqK9gXO-nh3ifFDFA/s1600/14JunBFSPerronepalatalrake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="294" data-original-width="400" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQmA-LbQXWDpSjUOJwaiFLd6zPu6VT8VdiXgJUKKuRI4bPzPBo00XFmptsZa2szTHn5byhxfeNCzBt9M0ZRiqqj8H23wXSLn8Lm5LxKEln2KiEK0pZTj0XyuKCHdqK9gXO-nh3ifFDFA/s400/14JunBFSPerronepalatalrake.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think this mouth might have bigger problems than an errant tongue.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So Zoe had this project to do for school. A few days after bowling I pushed her to get started on it and she cried for forty-five minutes, on and off, through her tears of despair asking:</div>
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<i>Why did she have to do this homework?</i></div>
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<i>Couldn't she do it tomorrow night?</i></div>
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<i>Couldn't I help her?</i></div>
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So I sat with her and made suggestions, which upset her even more, leading to:</div>
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<i>Why couldn't she do it her way?</i></div>
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I got up and washed some dishes while she continued to alternately cry and demand I help her which we all know really meant:</div>
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<i>Why can't you just do it for me?</i></div>
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Ohh no-no-no-no. No.</div>
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However, I wasn't completely off the hook. This was because she needed pictures of New York City tourist destinations, which meant I had to print out a bunch of pictures of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building at work, probably making my co-workers think I was planning some sort of attack or heist.</div>
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I find, though, that when some sort of involvement in your child's homework is required, it's hard to extricate yourself, especially when you watch that child filling in the allotted lines using ABNORMALLY LARGE LETTERS and repeating the same sentence three different ways: "There are a lot of places to visit in Manhattan. New York has a lot of beautiful places to see and go to. These are some sites for tourists to visit."</div>
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In the end the project took her a few nights, less crying each night, like the Ferber Method for homework, and Sunday night, the night before it was due, she finally finished.</div>
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So much unnecessary drama, but at last it was done, and I was relieved.</div>
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Until the next night when I was checking her homework, and I opened her folder, and guess what I found? The project, still there.</div>
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"Zoe, why didn't you hand in your project?"</div>
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"Oh, I forgot, I'll hand it in tomorrow. It's fine, Mommy."</div>
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Inside, I cried. For more than forty-five minutes.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 177; Universe: 0</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/10/zoe-vs-boredom-again.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">this one</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i>Don't think of it as homework. </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-81281279935151051932018-01-04T05:00:00.000-08:002018-01-04T09:58:44.262-08:00Zoe vs. 2018: A Seven-Year-Old's New Year's Resolutions. Plus Her Word for the Year<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
This year's list of Zoe's resolutions is late because it was the first New Year's she stayed up to watch the ball drop---and I haven't recovered yet.</div>
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I am a walking yawn.</div>
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But even sleepy I'm working hard to entertain my five readers---see how much I care?---so this year I decided to add Zoe's and my "word" for 2018.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RfgJ_8I4wQIyYDhcEAbzwvrzBfwCSgpzDCyDJfRAtYbShZrc6agPVWbaZCwxeN7JvbkrLExssnf8WdDeuiT-RdI9qaI3faB0U3EK8YlM0IZFJxkwtvDR02XtJvWSy0QTTBlGRbGAQcE/s1600/zoevs2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Word of the Year" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RfgJ_8I4wQIyYDhcEAbzwvrzBfwCSgpzDCyDJfRAtYbShZrc6agPVWbaZCwxeN7JvbkrLExssnf8WdDeuiT-RdI9qaI3faB0U3EK8YlM0IZFJxkwtvDR02XtJvWSy0QTTBlGRbGAQcE/s400/zoevs2018.jpg" title="Zoe vs. 2018: A Child's New Year's Resolutions" width="400" /></a></div>
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Have you heard about this? People now pick a word for their personal year, and then attempt to live up to that word for the rest of it.</div>
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I'm not a New Year's resolution type of person, but I am a word person, so I feel like I'm a natural passenger for the logophile train.</div>
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However, this took some soul-searching, because I'm also not the sort of person who thrills to memes featuring people scaling cliffs at sunrise or rowing a skiff at sunset with words like "Aspire" and "No Limits" written at the bottom. If I ever say I'm "living my best life," you should know that my best life includes sarcasm.</div>
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In the interests of becoming at least the sort of person who's maybe not like the sort of person I am, I decided my word for 2018 will be "insouciant." I like the way it sounds and I think I'd like to be insouciant.</div>
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Think devil-may-care. Think champagne and fluttering clothes in fabrics that need to be hand washed, which is very impractical and also annoying, but do I care? No? Correct. Because I'm now insouciant.</div>
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I was also rewatching Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn in <i>Charade---</i>a movie I've seen a million times---over the holidays and I decided I want to embody that movie, Henry Mancini score and all. <i>Charade</i>'s a movie with insouciance to spare.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0FFRrL-c8wIpTs5I38gxLGhyFBEsKwPfI9Hiw6bMSBEdZ63MOjLTcVbzFT5ucgPNy5mRCMlB_RevIGhZzuHbinkaPbFaLrq-YIuGsQ9Ge4eFGZqeiDJBdEU0CoCn7iAv5jWwaM_OXv4/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A Child's New Year's Resolutions" border="0" data-original-height="166" data-original-width="304" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW0FFRrL-c8wIpTs5I38gxLGhyFBEsKwPfI9Hiw6bMSBEdZ63MOjLTcVbzFT5ucgPNy5mRCMlB_RevIGhZzuHbinkaPbFaLrq-YIuGsQ9Ge4eFGZqeiDJBdEU0CoCn7iAv5jWwaM_OXv4/s400/download.jpg" title="Zoe vs. 2018" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"How about making me Vice President in charge of cheering you up?"<br />
Actual line from movie. Can you stand it? I can. Because I'm insouciant.</td></tr>
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Still, I think I'll start being insouciant tomorrow, which is when my diet starts. Now, here's Zoe.</div>
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(Warning, she uses the phrase "pretty much" in almost every sentence and it pretty much drives me crazy.)</div>
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Zoe here! I can tell Mommy's tired because she slept past her alarm the past three days and this morning when she opened the spoon drawer to get me a spoon for my cereal she dropped the spoon, bent down to pick it up, and then hit her head on the open drawer when she got up again. Poor Mommy! I said. After I stopped laughing. Here are my resolutions!<br />
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<b>Zoe's New Year's Resolutions for 2018</b></div>
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1. Decide on my word for 2018. (I got a dictionary for Christmas and thought it was boring until I saw it had words like "die" and "feces" in it.)</div>
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2. Get the last Lego dragon I don't have, the Queen dragon, which is white with gold and purple wings, and is pretty much bigger---and apparently pretty much more expensive---than all of my Lego dragons put together which gives me an idea.</div>
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3. See if I can connect all of my Lego dragons together so it will pretty much be a necklace of Lego dragons.</div>
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4. Play all the YouTube videos I want for one thousand one million googleplex hours till Mommy uses the weird voice she uses when she's amusing herself with some imitation she should know by now I can't understand to say I should go outside and play in the fresh air which I know she doesn't really mean because we live in an apartment and so she'd have to go with me into the fresh air, like the air at the park which she hates though she tries to hide it but pretty much doesn't try very hard.</div>
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5. Write more run-on sentences.</div>
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6. Learn Italian.</div>
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7. Write run-on sentences in Italian. <i>Molto bene, abbastanza.*</i></div>
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8. Gain weight. (I put this one in to mess with Mommy because she's trying to do the opposite. Don't know why it's so hard for her.) </div>
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9. Go to the bathroom when I have to go and not wait till I'm so desperate it's almost too late and sometimes pretty much a little bit too late. </div>
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10. On the other hand, don't stay too long in the school bathroom just to show each girl who comes in the bad word (the one that starts with "f") that was scratched in the cell <i>[Ed: stall]</i> door so that I pretty much miss snack time. A bad word is not a reason for show and tell, and show and tell and bathrooms should never go together, unless you require medical attention. Plus, I could get in trouble, even though I'm sure it was a bad boy who snuck in and wrote it cause a girl wouldn't do that. Right, Mommy?</div>
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That's all! And I already did my first resolution.</div>
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Ready to hear my word for 2018? <i>Schadenfreude</i>.</div>
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Because it may be wrong to laugh at others' misfortunes but it's also funny.</div>
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Though next time Mommy drops my spoon then hits her head on the open drawer I'll ask if she's hurt first before I laugh. Pretty much.<br />
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<i>Zoe: 176; Universe: 0</i><br />
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</i> *Very well, pretty much.<br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2017/01/zoe-vs-2017-six-year-olds-new-years.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">last year's resolutions.</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i>Come for the laughing with me. Stay for the laughing at me. </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i><br />
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-88221313292351529192017-12-21T05:00:00.000-08:002017-12-21T10:17:53.405-08:00Zoe vs. the Parallel Universe, Again <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Sorry I haven't been around in a while. I was busy writing satire! Hopefully I'll have more both here and on other sites in the new year. In the meantime, here are two posts I have on Medium.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmxsPlksMsfpl7wMQWn6QKQoBIVjydYsSN5ZcISSjGJb7XDWdePAdz28O2hJk0iVkoFGgeRy5j5IvJH2PbSW2Po1Mu8xhFZRyzmRiHc-jTvu44TKSWV-41IkdgZQGOzGu-a0opLz5_iY/s1600/parallel+universe+again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Humor writing on other sites" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmxsPlksMsfpl7wMQWn6QKQoBIVjydYsSN5ZcISSjGJb7XDWdePAdz28O2hJk0iVkoFGgeRy5j5IvJH2PbSW2Po1Mu8xhFZRyzmRiHc-jTvu44TKSWV-41IkdgZQGOzGu-a0opLz5_iY/s400/parallel+universe+again.jpg" title="Zoe vs. the Parallel Universe, Again" width="400" /></a></div>
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Zoe is automatically against anything called "medium." Her objections are threefold:</div>
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1. She dislikes how "medium" tries to bridge the difference between "small" and "large," She feels it's trying to have it both ways, which is both "unseemly" and "repugnant." Her words.*</div>
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2. She wears a "small." But she likes her hot chocolate and stuff "large." Ergo, "medium" has no place in our society.</div>
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3. She doesn't know the other definitions of medium that relate to media or fortune tellers and is frankly uninterested.</div>
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Without further ado, here are the links to my posts on Medium.</div>
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The first is a satire about Roy Moore's horse, Sassy, called "<a href="https://medium.com/@ercatalano/reasons-why-notallhorses-according-to-my-friend-flicka-bb1988579e9e" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Reasons Why #NotAllHorses, According to My Friend Flicka. If She Could Speak Her Truth, Or English</a>."</div>
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And the second is satire about the "<a href="https://medium.com/@ercatalano/transcript-of-the-elf-on-the-oval-office-shelfs-testimony-4f194bb336ed" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Elf on the Oval Office Shelf's Testimony Before the House Judiciary Committee</a>." </div>
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Enjoy and Happy Holidays!<br />
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<i>Zoe: 175; All Universes: 0</i></div>
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*no</div>
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2015/07/zoe-vs-parallel-universe.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">my first Parallel Universe post</a>.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-23295279937073868092017-12-07T05:00:00.000-08:002017-12-07T10:57:13.229-08:00Zoe vs. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
I can't get Zoe to watch <i>Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer</i> with me. She insists it's too babyish. I point out that she never watched it as a baby, either. </div>
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We go over her viewing history, each December since birth. Here's what she watched year by year in the weeks preceding Christmas.</div>
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Year Zero: her hands</div>
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Year One: whatever sparkled</div>
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Year Two: whatever I wouldn't give her</div>
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Year Three: Elmo's World. Over and over, please fast-forward <i>Sesame Street </i>till we get there, OMG, I don't care about anything else!</div>
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Year Four: <i>Little Einsteins</i> or <i>Paw Patrol</i></div>
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Year Five: <i>Blaze and the Monster Machines</i> and <i>Paw Patrol</i></div>
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Year Six: <i>Lion Guard</i> and, a nod to Christmas, the Elf on the Shelf movie (which I do not consider a canonical work!!).</div>
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At seven, she's obsessed with watching other people play Minecraft on YouTube, so much so I've found myself saying, without irony, Are you sure you don't want to watch some TV?</div>
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Specifically, now, I want her to watch <i>Rudolph</i> with me. </div>
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<i>Rudolph</i> is for all ages, from one to ninety-two, I tell her. She is unmoved.</div>
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Then I sigh and take her little face in my hands, so I can lift it from the glow of the iPad, and say, "The only reason people have children, which you'll understand someday, is so they can relive their childhoods by watching stop-motion animated Christmas specials with them."</div>
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She rolls her eyes and goes back to her screen. As usual she is neither amused nor swayed by my attempts at absurd humor but we'll get there. I have a five-point plan, all five points of which are obnoxious.</div>
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Feigning defeat, I put <i>Rudolph</i> on in the background and make a big passive-aggressive show of watching it by myself---how's that for reliving my childhood? Ask my sister. I was a pain in the ass then too.</div>
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As I watch---both Zoe and I competing with each other by taking turns raising the volume on our respective devices---I'm actually hoping to enact a scheme that's reverse psychology adjacent, much like when I cut up fruit "for Daddy," knowing that when something belongs to someone else she finds that something immediately desirable.</div>
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I get through the first commercial with no reaction and then it happens, the sound I was waiting for, actually the lack of sound, when she pauses her video to watch. </div>
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What's caught her attention is the scene where the bossy elf foreman is unreasonably yelling at Hermey the elf because Hermey's more partial to dentistry than toy-making. She is transfixed. Until the singing starts. At which point she makes a disgusted sound and goes back to her video. </div>
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She resurfaces again after the "reveal" of Rudolph's horrible deformity at reindeer flight training, when the insults and jeering from the other reindeer fly freely. When that scene is over so is her interest. </div>
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And so it goes, Zoe only pausing her videos for the "dramatic" parts---Yukon Cornelius saying anything, the Bumble---and ignoring everything else. </div>
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I try one more time to get her interested, when the poor misfit toys are at last coming to terms with their essential unlovableness only to be interrupted by Santa, led by Rudolph, arriving to rescue them (spoiler alert) by handing them over to small children whose "love" is actually quite deadly if you're a toy.</div>
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Alas, Santa saving the misfit toys is apparently too saccharine for Zoe's taste, and she gets up from the couch and goes into her room. </div>
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Was motherhood ever so thankless? A child ever so heartless?</div>
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Tomorrow I'll try <i>How the Grinch Stole Christmas.</i></div>
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<i>Zoe: 174; Universe: 0</i></div>
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/12/zoe-vs-recipe-post.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">this one,</a> which includes a recipe for an Italian Christmas dessert!<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-72670003893912683562017-10-26T05:00:00.000-07:002017-10-26T10:01:14.273-07:00Zoe vs. the JFK Assassination Papers. Plus Other Conspiracies Whose Secrets Are Now Revealed!<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
It may seem far-fetched that a seven-year-old girl from Brooklyn could be the force behind one of the biggest conspiracies of the past century. Mainly because she wasn't born yet. Then again, this is a child who somehow ends up with two pieces of gum when I offer her one, so she's skilled at misdirection.</div>
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I know going from sneaking gum to global destabilization may seem like a jump, but hear me out. We all knew Dominion Over All was in her sights from the beginning.</div>
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Since the government announced they would be releasing the final files regarding JFK's assassination on October 26th, Zoe has been furtive and nervous, biting her fingernails, then suddenly getting distracted by a TV commercial before continuing to bite her nails.</div>
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Honestly, I'm not sure which of us has been acting more paranoid. Zoe's bemoaned my lack of transparency since that time I hid carrots in the tomato sauce. And after the first time something fell in her room, and I said, "What was that?" and Zoe said, "Nothing," but as it turned out it <i>was</i> something, I haven't trusted her either.</div>
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Looking back, I suppose I haven't trusted her since she began walking. (This is not to say that the way she used to roll herself over in the Pack 'n Play was above suspicion.)</div>
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As soon as Zoe could walk, the first thing she went for was my phone. Suspicious, right? Who was she going to call? She didn't know anyone's number.</div>
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Or so I thought. . . .</div>
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I'd get the phone away from her quickly, but a few times after I got it back I'd notice an app was missing. And I could never remember which one; I only knew something was gone because of the empty space on my home page. </div>
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This was my first hint that she had deep background in CIA mind control.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdx80VCuOJDpsPaYCPhqgpTijmu6pL5nZbTUtDxGttqrijAI2yfIc6wo4GRUR62l3sfZg-AH5p0hS87hevRXfS6Mqg97Upc6hdrhJbd2gYMZ3VPvQxJZbSrO3Hhiss5EReo9JIP2pOLs/s1600/Zoe+vs.+the+JFK+Assassination+Papers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="JFK, Area 51" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKdx80VCuOJDpsPaYCPhqgpTijmu6pL5nZbTUtDxGttqrijAI2yfIc6wo4GRUR62l3sfZg-AH5p0hS87hevRXfS6Mqg97Upc6hdrhJbd2gYMZ3VPvQxJZbSrO3Hhiss5EReo9JIP2pOLs/s400/Zoe+vs.+the+JFK+Assassination+Papers.jpg" title="Zoe vs. the JFK Assassination Paper. Plus Other Conspiracies Whose Secrets Are Now Revealed" width="400" /></a></div>
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Everyone knows the conspiracy theories surrounding JFK's assassination on November 22, 1963. The suspected architects behind the assassination have been, variously, the CIA, the Mafia, LBJ, the KGB, or a mix of all of those. Very few people mention aliens. Could that be by design?</div>
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More on that later, but suffice it to say that if you believe we've been visited by aliens and have been reverse engineering alien technology including time machines since the crash in Roswell in 1947, the idea that Zoe could be a time-traveling alien/assassin starts to make a lot of sense.</div>
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After all, I was pretty drugged the day she was born, so who knows what might've happened. I've seen <i>Rosemary's Baby</i>. Crazy stuff can and does occur.</div>
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Back to JFK. You'll notice there was one name I didn't mention, someone else who may have been behind the assassination: Fidel Castro. However, some people think that when the papers are released, we'll find what the government was really hiding, that the CIA wasn't targeting JFK; they were targeting another world leader, Castro. </div>
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By now you can see where I'm going with this.</div>
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Numerology.</div>
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It is now almost <b>54 </b>years since JFK was assassinated. Fidel Castro died last year, 11/25/16, which is <i>not just </i><b>53</b> years after JFK's death but if you add the numbers in the date, you get <b>52</b>, which is just one more than <b>51</b>, clearly pointing to Area 51, where the remains of the alien spaceship that allegedly crashed in Roswell were allegedly taken.</div>
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Now these aliens were supposedly from the Zeta Reticuli star system, or, ZR. Guess whose middle name is Ryan, meaning Zoe's initials are also ZR? The evidence of her alien origins was mounting!</div>
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It was becoming clear that my daughter was actually an ancient alien being who either looks like a little blond-haired girl or has time-traveled since she was "born" and went back in time to assassinate JFK and pin it on Lee Harvey Oswald, who, if we rearrange the letters in his name, we get "VERY OLD SEA WHALE." And as we all know since <i>Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, </i>whales are on a conversational footing with aliens. Boom!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAAEULr_WTQ_KALqR7vdfAFnj1VbZ4fQrxUqIuqIKiFSm-EbzvKgoIDOJ7IwPALTBOj84iWaW7RRzZAB7yKubytAXb2oDsTpGdsFhtECGr_RaNUOfrR_WLpgE4Sr7AfHF71vrQI3W0gw/s1600/5475199813_0e800b313d_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="aliens" border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="1024" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAAEULr_WTQ_KALqR7vdfAFnj1VbZ4fQrxUqIuqIKiFSm-EbzvKgoIDOJ7IwPALTBOj84iWaW7RRzZAB7yKubytAXb2oDsTpGdsFhtECGr_RaNUOfrR_WLpgE4Sr7AfHF71vrQI3W0gw/s400/5475199813_0e800b313d_b.jpg" title="Zoe vs. the JFK Assassination Papers" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blond hair, check. Bangs, check. Glowing eyes, unconfirmed.</td></tr>
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But who's behind it all? Don't buy those stories about the Reptilian Elite; that's just ridiculous. I mean, look at their spokesman/patsy, Barney the Dinosaur.</div>
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Could it be the aliens from Zeta Reticuli? And are they acting alone or with some sinister group of humans or alien-human hybrids? Perhaps the rumored Majestic-12, the powerful figures in business and government who, it is said, truly run the world.</div>
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Is it mere coincidence that adding up the single digits in Zoe's date of birth, 8/30/10, yields the number 12? You be the judge. (But no.)</div>
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The only reasonable conclusion is that the lion's share of the mysterious goings-on of the past century have been spearheaded by a cute second-grader with a dark secret, but she's about to be found out, as soon as someone can wade through those thousands of pages of unredacted documents.</div>
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Not me, though; I'm too busy trying to restore some apps on my phone.</div>
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P.S. Zoe faked the Moon Landing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipl-CWUm4Mv6Wh313FUHOwbu3cYIyP4DwcwrbydsUJCT9jd29nVnmFzeoSQNoVVrOB9x8lIkshBPfYyy4TFCdeEgLVWQCIBsr2ts1ROsQ6ffdJ_lMMEj2DjLa9vU-Wp82sQHsxPS9xsQ0/s1600/IMG_0906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipl-CWUm4Mv6Wh313FUHOwbu3cYIyP4DwcwrbydsUJCT9jd29nVnmFzeoSQNoVVrOB9x8lIkshBPfYyy4TFCdeEgLVWQCIBsr2ts1ROsQ6ffdJ_lMMEj2DjLa9vU-Wp82sQHsxPS9xsQ0/s640/IMG_0906.jpg" title="Zoe vs. the JFK Papers" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of her many disguises. Cuteness is the most dangerous weapon in her arsenal.</td></tr>
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<i>Zoe: 173; Universe: rigged</i><br />
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/06/zoe-vs-my-smartphone.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. My Smartphone.</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><i>Resist the consensus reality!</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><i> </i></span><i style="color: #222222; line-height: 28px;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ZoeVsTheUniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here</a> to subscribe. </i></div>
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ercatalanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06806023346542467987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-635689458228471288.post-70407332315197583532017-10-12T05:00:00.000-07:002017-10-12T09:54:02.307-07:00Zoe vs. Boredom . . . Again<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: justify;">
Today we're discussing one of life's greatest mysteries. First, a quote I saw this week:</div>
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<i>The cure for boredom is curiosity.</i></div>
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Like most children, Zoe is curious. So why, like most children, is Zoe so often bored?</div>
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Two Zoe quotes on boredom:</div>
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<i>I'm sooooooo bored.</i></div>
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<i>When I'm bored I sit doing nothing, and that makes me sad and angry.</i></div>
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I say the usual supportive things like: "If you're bored, you can help me fold laundry." Or: "Read a book."</div>
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That's her cue to throw herself down on whatever surface is near where I'm folding laundry and cry.</div>
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<a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2014/09/zoe-vs-meryl-streep.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Even Meryl Streep</a> couldn't fake how unsympathetic I am to her plight, so you'd think she'd know better by now.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiC7rOLDASFCBsXfpggt2j7SDDrHodmKXKaLDFWID7oB-lnn-x60R-e_mNoMhebJWjibRhz99Q2Z_JP3BfuwSyE4s_H4CN5uEaJ8iPibk8ssd2C-BHMPU1H3848n0u3g9GENKcnkOsu0/s1600/Zoe+vs.+Boredom+Again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Boredom for children" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiC7rOLDASFCBsXfpggt2j7SDDrHodmKXKaLDFWID7oB-lnn-x60R-e_mNoMhebJWjibRhz99Q2Z_JP3BfuwSyE4s_H4CN5uEaJ8iPibk8ssd2C-BHMPU1H3848n0u3g9GENKcnkOsu0/s640/Zoe+vs.+Boredom+Again.jpg" title="Zoe vs. Boredom . . . Again" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy from the Land of Stock Photos of Bored Children Staring Out Windows. See <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2016/03/zoe-vs-1980s-video-games.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the girl here.</a></td></tr>
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It amazes me how she can be bored with All The Things. She has even more venues for entertainment than existed when I was a Kid with a Ton of Toys Who Yet Managed to Complain of Boredom.</div>
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Besides the multitude of dolls, vehicles, and action figures, there are the games she plays online, not to mention the games she watches other people play online. Seeing her so distraught makes me want to put on my cranky old-man voice and begin a lecture starting with those three little words: In my day . . .</div>
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In my day, even Disney World wasn't as DISNEY WORLD as it is now.</div>
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<b>Can a Child Be Bored in Disney World?</b></div>
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Disney World is not just where dreams come true; it's also where our nation's most talented boredomologists have done ground-breaking work.</div>
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When I was a kid, the lines for rides at Disney had a unique production value---important to keep tiny impatient guests occupied---but now they're even MORE SO. Of the myriad articles on traveling to Disney World, many have recommendations for how you should allocate your Fast Passes based on which <i>lines </i>have the most entertainment value!</div>
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So even for the rides with longer waits, Zoe had little opportunity to remember to tell me about her deep-seated, constant companion, boredom.</div>
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Even the waiting area for one of the buses had a tic tac toe beanbag toss game and hula hoops as if no one could be alone with their thoughts for even a minute lest we realize how insane and/or expensive the Disney Experience was.</div>
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I suspect that if she'd worked harder at it, Zoe could have been bored at Disney.<br />
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<b>Preparing the Next Generation for the Casino-Dwelling Lifestyle</b></div>
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The other day I decided to download a video game to my phone. Must've been curiosity because I refuse to admit boredom. I looked for a game I'd played almost twenty years before that was no-frills, mindless, and cute---the need-trifecta for my nightly commute. The updated version is miles away from the simple version I'd enjoyed in 1999. It's like Candy Crush as compared to <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2016/03/zoe-vs-1980s-video-games.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Pong</a>. The new version is just so much MORE. More movement and bursts of light and music. Plus rewards in the form of floating treasure chests that emit fireworks before opening to reveal a prize. I was playing to calm my mind not give it a seizure.</div>
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Plus it's addicting. Like a gambler, you're always chasing that high of clearing the next level of shiny cute things.</div>
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After playing one evening, I looked up to find it was midnight and wondered how that had happened. I felt like a toddler after caffeine, sugar, presents, and a personal phone call from Queen Elsa wishing me a happy birthday.</div>
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With games like these, it's no surprise Zoe is easily bored. If something in front of her isn't ringing or jumping or blowing up it's not stimulating enough. No wonder sitting quietly with her thoughts is so unmooring.</div>
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Hanging out with Glacial Mommy who exhorts her to read just can't compete. Maybe I should put a bell around my neck, dress only in primary colors, and throw glitter in the air every time she says my name.<br />
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<b>On Appreciating Boredom</b></div>
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It's no coincidence that "may you live in interesting times" is a curse. As you get older and you become more exposed to the slings and arrows of life, you may even grow fond of boredom.</div>
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The weekend before our trip to Disney, there was a fire in the apartment building next door. Alarms and fire trucks and breaking glass. So loud I was worried Zoe would wake up, and I needed her rested since we had a full day of laundry and packing ahead of us.</div>
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The fire was on my side of the street so I could only see the reflection in the windows across the way in addition to the neighbors who'd come outside to watch. Zoe did not wake up and eventually I went to bed.</div>
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The next day after doing some packing---boring!---I thought I'd take Zoe out. When we passed the apartment building that had the fire, Zoe asked what had happened. </div>
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I told her about the fire.</div>
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I'm glad no one was hurt, she said with innocent confidence.</div>
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Though her made-up games are often very violent, Zoe has no real concept of tragedy. It never entered her mind that a person could have been killed, had been killed, in fact, something her mother knew having heard it on the local morning news.</div>
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I wasn't going to tell her though, and a moment later, she ran ahead of me. I warned her to watch out for driveways, a reflex, a product of that constant low-level song in my brain listing potential threats.</div>
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I was looking forward to an uneventful trip to the drugstore after which we'd go home to finish packing.</div>
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<i>Zoe: 172; Universe: 0</i></div>
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If you enjoyed this post, you may like <a href="http://www.zoevstheuniverse.com/2016/10/zoe-vs-boredom-in-which-childs-ennui.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Zoe vs. Boredom: In Which a Child's Ennui Becomes Tedious</a><br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoevstheuniverse?ref=hl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/zoevsuniverse" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">@zoevsuniverse</a>. </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "open sans" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I need a win here, people. </span></span></i></div>
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