I wonder if the hatchet-murderers ever feel sad that they didn't become a trope like those poser axe-murderers.

It's so much harder to murder someone with a little hatchet! No one appreciates the effort. No, it's all about the gore these days. Ever since Lizzie Borden.

No appreciation for artistry these day. Kids.

Whoever killed Lizzie Borden's parents used a hatchet, but apparently the writer of "Lizzie Borden with her axe..." couldn't find a suitable rhyme for hatchet.

Oh, forgot to mention unusual encounter at brunch. We were walking in to the restaurant, and this lady was sitting on the bench out front talking on the phone. She says "hold on a second", puts the phone to her chest, stops me to ask "did you break both your legs?". What?? No! And we walked in the door.

Ugh. Why do people have to suck? My dentist did that to me a while back on the second time I saw him after he noticed my leg braces. When I told him no, "I'm handicapped" I thought it felt like he was thinking, "but her husband is perfectly normal", but I'm trying to convince myself that I was just over reading into his confusion. I do not know how he didn't notice my gait the first time.

I can't imagine asking anyone about a disability. I figure if they want me to know, they'll tell me. Sometimes I'll say "Can I reach that for you?" or maybe "This hill sucks, doesn't it?"

"but her husband is perfectly normal"

Gee, I noticed that too. Then again I think you are both normal, so it could just be me.

sj, I hope you are taking lots of transformation pictures of your new home. Remember that you have lots of handy people here that love to give advice.

Laura, I should take more. I took one of TCG taking down wallpaper yesterday, but mostly because he just looked adorable. Also, the world would be a much better place if more people were like you.

I need to get moving soon because I am supposed to be meeting my father-in-law at the house. I'm tired and don't want to move.

The one time I asked, I found out the woman's ex-husband beat her so badly, she was paralyzed.Not exactly the getting-to-know-you-through-shared-adversity gambit I was searching for. I never ask now. Because if it's awful like that, what do you say? "Sucks to be you?" "What must the other guy look like?" Sometimes I wonder what knowing that about me tells people. But then, sometimes I think I imagine a big, goofy, relieved exhale when I say "Something happened when I was born," or "cerebral palsy,"(depending on the audience) and then that kind of pisses me off, but then I'm a suspicious freak with no magic in my heart or cripple wisdom. Right now, the hardest thing for me is people's babies. You know, the best wishes thing. Because, on one hand, the culture has shifted enough, in theory(We have laws, ramps, and Murderball, right?) that I'm often expected to act as if that thing that happened at my birth is, like, no big deal. Left-handedness, with equipment. But we all know that it is a, to use Biden's phrase, big f---n' deal, and that when I'm wishing good fortune to somebody's baby, what I'm really saying is that I hope they don't turn out like me. Which is not good for how I feel about my life, but I'm not going to be like my more militant friends and hijack well-wishing for a lecture about diversity, and I have to admit, it hasn't been easy. Or "Murderball" glamourous. But I don't think it's quite as horrible as people imagine, either.

I continue my campaign of getting in people's faces when they jovially say to Hubby, "Dude, you shouldn't let your wife hit you so hard!" when he's obviously impaired. Dear Hubby, he tends to smile proudly when I go all she-wolf on these people.

I would like to eat All The Chocolate today, please. Augmented judiciously with caramel and peanut butter (but not *combined* caramel and peanut butter).

I think a trip to the store to refill the Editorial Dept.'s trough o' chocolate is in order.