I have the capability of making penguin-shaped jello shots. I need to do that sometime.

Sometime? I think tonight is that time.

I have the capability of making penguin-shaped jello shots. I need to do that sometime.

How could you have kept this from us for so long?

I have the capability of making penguin-shaped jello shots. I need to do that sometime.

You really do, and you need to share.

Hey, have you made lots of twinkies?

I forgot. I should probably mix some ginkgo biloba in.

I haven't made any twinkies

::hangs head in shame::

Stupid diet.

At long last, I've passed an important gestational milestone... I've finally been the recipient of a series of completely inane remarks by a total stranger.

Getting onto the elevator just now. Older man smiles broadly at me and says, "Well, look at you! You must have swallowed a watermelon seed!"

"Um, yeah, looks like," I said, because I am reflexively polite and responsive to grandpa-aged men.

"Didn't your mother teach you that you have to spit them out?"

"Um, well, I know that now," I said lamely, while every woman in the elevator rolled her eyes and every other man tried to pretend he was on another elevator in another state.

"Ha-ha, when I was a little boy that's what my mother always told me would happen if I swallowed a watermelon seed!" [Please, God, shut me the fuck up before I say something awful about spitting vs. swallowing] "But I'm not such a little boy anymore, and I know it takes a little bit more than a watermelon seed to make that happen, ha-ha!" And he stared at me with an indescribable grandfatherly leer on his face as though I were supposed to say something in response to that.

Which I didn't. But I thought, "You are so right, sir -- actually, it was my husband's cock." And then for one horrible, frozen moment, the terrible conviction washed over me that in fact I had said it, out loud and all. Which, apparently not, as I'm here at my desk and not being fired and frogmarched off campus.

It was an interesting experience. I suppose I can look forward to more of them, and more inane, as I expand. Whee!

Just don't Juliana give it to you. She has too many rules.

Say WHAT? I only have rules for my hypothetical roadhouse, and they mostly apply to my ability to pour said drink and drool over Christian Kane at the same time. I happily pour whatever people want in my actual bar. Well, whatever the law allows me to pour, so you can blame crazy-ass California for those rules....

In conclusion, Fernet.

JZ, there's a lovely fantasy world in my head where you actually did say it, and I can see the initially confused and then suddenly horrifiedly aware-of-what-an-ass-he-sounded responses crossing the creepy old dude's face in succession. And you keep your job and get the undying gratitude of women everywhere.

In my imagination, all that happens and her boss is so proud of her, she gets a huge hinking raise and six months maternity leave WITH PAY.