I'm Well Again!
Hi everybody,
I just realized that it’s been months since I’ve written and, at risk of sounding like one of those people who acts like they are busier than everybody else and can’t seem to find the time to comply with basic protocol, I’ve been busier than everybody else and haven’t had time to update my blog. Life is demanding enough when you already know how to perform all the basics, but try to remember what it was like when you didn’t. I’m still learning to amble around, which has unlocked a whole ‘nother universe of things for me to investigate and figure out. So that is some of my new news: I am now able to get around crawling – or hopping, depending on how rigorous you are in defining “to crawl.” On a good day, or simply when inspired, I can now traverse the greatest possible distance in my apartment – from the sliding glass doors in the living room to the ones in my parents’ bedroom – in about sixty seconds. I like to do this when my father thinks he is hiding on me, because he is a simpleton and always picks the same places, so there is no doubt in my mind where he is going to be and therefore no need for hesitation or caution in my pursuit. I can also get to my feet, provided there is incentive, though I still need to have something to balance myself or hurl my body against when I get there. I particularly enjoy the two yellow hand-crafted chairs from Madrid that we have in the living room because the arms are really smooth and I can grab them both simultaneously and push with all my might and they still won’t budge. The sofa and the bathtub also make provide nice support, though I prefer to be inside the tub, even if it’s empty, as it makes me feel cozy and protected. The tub, in fact, is my favorite place in the known world, which is my case, is admittedly limited. I throw a screaming hissy fit pretty much each and every day when they take me out of the bath, even if I have been in there a good long while. They even trick me by getting me to play with the stopper so that I inadvertently drain all the water – which is certainly a big part of the bath’s charm – but I don’t mind, I still like being there with all of my floating toys, naked and relaxed. So, back to crawling and walking: I feel like I get around just fine now and don’t really have much desire to take it to the next level. It would be nice to be a lot taller so that I could get to things on higher shelves or grab stuff off the walls, but I’m talking my dad’s height or more. Plus, I was very sick over this past weekend, so I spent almost the entire time in somebody’s arms, which makes me feel even less like trying to do everything for myself. I’ve found that it’s not so hard to get your way all the time and I don’t really intend to jeopardize that for whatever little jolt to my self-esteem standing upright and clodhopping around might provide. Plus, you can’t really see it in the pictures I’ve posted, but I am very tall for my age, which means I have a lot farther to fall than most kids who are learning to walk. And I certainly don’t mind if strangers in the street think it’s odd that I don’t know how to walk yet because I look older than I am. As Bob Dylan once said, “They don’t know me.” Speaking of my imposing height, I went to see that rat-bastard Torture King, a/k/a Dr. Puy, the other day and gave him the now-standard bollocking he deserves. My father was busy, so it was Auntie Inma’s first chance to get a taste of how I can be if somebody is not obeying me in the least. He eventually did all of the stuff that he likes to do to me, but not before I extracted my pound of flesh, I’ll have you all know. He also measured me and said that my 79.5cm put me in the top 3% of chicas my age; however, he gets a little fuzzy with his math sometimes and has me shrinking or losing weight or whatever and, after careful consultation with my father and lying patiently on the floor on my height matt, it was determined that I now top out at 83cm, which I imagine puts me in an even more exclusive circle. The problem is that none of my clothes fit me just right because I am uniquely sculpted and have no control over my own metabolism, so I think they better find me a good tailor (and designer) pretty soon. So, that about sums my life up as it stands today. I’m feeling well again and able to offer sustained shrieks whenever they feel right and have also returned to my peregrinations around the apartment to look for any things I may have missed. You have probably seen all the new pictures posted from my holidays in Boston and Barcelona, and I promise to put some more up in the next few days and afterwards, when my Grandma Sheila, Auntie Valerie and cherished cousin Melaina fly all the way from Boston explicitly to visit me and celebrate my big milestone – one year of existence as we know it. Toodles.
I just realized that it’s been months since I’ve written and, at risk of sounding like one of those people who acts like they are busier than everybody else and can’t seem to find the time to comply with basic protocol, I’ve been busier than everybody else and haven’t had time to update my blog. Life is demanding enough when you already know how to perform all the basics, but try to remember what it was like when you didn’t. I’m still learning to amble around, which has unlocked a whole ‘nother universe of things for me to investigate and figure out. So that is some of my new news: I am now able to get around crawling – or hopping, depending on how rigorous you are in defining “to crawl.” On a good day, or simply when inspired, I can now traverse the greatest possible distance in my apartment – from the sliding glass doors in the living room to the ones in my parents’ bedroom – in about sixty seconds. I like to do this when my father thinks he is hiding on me, because he is a simpleton and always picks the same places, so there is no doubt in my mind where he is going to be and therefore no need for hesitation or caution in my pursuit. I can also get to my feet, provided there is incentive, though I still need to have something to balance myself or hurl my body against when I get there. I particularly enjoy the two yellow hand-crafted chairs from Madrid that we have in the living room because the arms are really smooth and I can grab them both simultaneously and push with all my might and they still won’t budge. The sofa and the bathtub also make provide nice support, though I prefer to be inside the tub, even if it’s empty, as it makes me feel cozy and protected. The tub, in fact, is my favorite place in the known world, which is my case, is admittedly limited. I throw a screaming hissy fit pretty much each and every day when they take me out of the bath, even if I have been in there a good long while. They even trick me by getting me to play with the stopper so that I inadvertently drain all the water – which is certainly a big part of the bath’s charm – but I don’t mind, I still like being there with all of my floating toys, naked and relaxed. So, back to crawling and walking: I feel like I get around just fine now and don’t really have much desire to take it to the next level. It would be nice to be a lot taller so that I could get to things on higher shelves or grab stuff off the walls, but I’m talking my dad’s height or more. Plus, I was very sick over this past weekend, so I spent almost the entire time in somebody’s arms, which makes me feel even less like trying to do everything for myself. I’ve found that it’s not so hard to get your way all the time and I don’t really intend to jeopardize that for whatever little jolt to my self-esteem standing upright and clodhopping around might provide. Plus, you can’t really see it in the pictures I’ve posted, but I am very tall for my age, which means I have a lot farther to fall than most kids who are learning to walk. And I certainly don’t mind if strangers in the street think it’s odd that I don’t know how to walk yet because I look older than I am. As Bob Dylan once said, “They don’t know me.” Speaking of my imposing height, I went to see that rat-bastard Torture King, a/k/a Dr. Puy, the other day and gave him the now-standard bollocking he deserves. My father was busy, so it was Auntie Inma’s first chance to get a taste of how I can be if somebody is not obeying me in the least. He eventually did all of the stuff that he likes to do to me, but not before I extracted my pound of flesh, I’ll have you all know. He also measured me and said that my 79.5cm put me in the top 3% of chicas my age; however, he gets a little fuzzy with his math sometimes and has me shrinking or losing weight or whatever and, after careful consultation with my father and lying patiently on the floor on my height matt, it was determined that I now top out at 83cm, which I imagine puts me in an even more exclusive circle. The problem is that none of my clothes fit me just right because I am uniquely sculpted and have no control over my own metabolism, so I think they better find me a good tailor (and designer) pretty soon. So, that about sums my life up as it stands today. I’m feeling well again and able to offer sustained shrieks whenever they feel right and have also returned to my peregrinations around the apartment to look for any things I may have missed. You have probably seen all the new pictures posted from my holidays in Boston and Barcelona, and I promise to put some more up in the next few days and afterwards, when my Grandma Sheila, Auntie Valerie and cherished cousin Melaina fly all the way from Boston explicitly to visit me and celebrate my big milestone – one year of existence as we know it. Toodles.
posted by Juli La Chuli | 12:58 AM
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