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I have been known to shed all attempts at class and dignity. Like the time I introduced my ass to a store full of cops, and when I ran around a bar with a plastic rack and butt. Of course, not all my spirals into cheesy embarrassment involve alcohol. Sometimes I'm moved by the sheer ridiculousness of the moment.

Don't believe me?

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On Saturday when we stopped over at Craig's parents' house, we took them an 8x10" photo of Sassy. Craig wanted to show them how perfectly our new printer works for photo printing, and I was hoping they'd hang the photo on their wall 'o grandchildren and quit bugging us to have kids.

Yeah, I know: wishful thinking.

First, they ooooo'd and ahhhhh'd over the quality of the printer, then Craig's mother gazed wistfully at her photo wall and then looked meaningfully at my midsection. "One day I'll have a photo of a baby from the two of you," she sighed. "You'll change your mind. My hairdresser's daughter felt the same way and now she has two babies and she loves it."

"I'm sending Craig for a vasectomy next week," I said with a straight face. "If you want grandchildren you better talk him into knocking up some stranger before then." And then I walked into the next room.

There really is no vasectomy, of course. Maybe next time I'll just tell her that I had a freak accident and had to have my ovaries removed, or that aliens abducted me and removed my uterus.

And she's not even my own mother so I can't tell her to go to hell.

Note: I just posted a new entry over at Edible.

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My email is down for the moment so if you're trying to get in touch, well, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Gah.

Remember my saga with the house of faux punk last summer? The owner basically gutted the house after those jackasses destroyed it, and now he's renting the apartment portion to a nice, quiet older couple. And an ice cream shop opened in the storefront.

Craig is being driven systematically insane by the throngs of people at the ice cream place every night.

You know that Craig is nosy, to put it mildly. The ice cream shop opened last weekend and since that time he has been permenantly perched at the front window, monitoring the kids coming for ice cream. Last night he sat down next to me and earnestly exclaimed, "This is the last summer we live here! The ice cream shop is the last straw!"

I was puzzled. Sure, there were more kids around, but they weren't being loud and they weren't destroying anything. The occasional kid copped a squat on our stoop, but that's easily dealt with. They're usually cool about moving if you ask nicely.

I said as much to Craig, and he just looked at me and said, "Well, I must be getting old then. I can hear them. Right now there's a pack of girls over there screaming at the top of their lungs!"

The front window was open. I didn't hear anything louder than the normal noise of the neighborhood. I looked over to the shop -- there were about six girls outside the shop flirting with the boy who scoops ice cream. Hardly a threat to neighborhood order.

Craig must be aging prematurely.

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I got out of bed this morning, discovered it was supposed to be sunny today, and decided to call out of work. I just can't face another sunny day at work after a weekend of pouring rain.

So I'm sitting couchside right now watching Valley Girl. I don't care what anyone says -- Valley Girl is one of the best movies ever.

I lurve me some young Nicolas Cage.