Dear Hilarity or Perish,
Welcome to my blog. Welcome.
Welcome to my blog. Welcome.
I'm a woman of no real consequence, so unless you are my parents or someone who googles the phrases "puns about Ted Danson" or "does anyone write haikus about Morrissey?" you probably aren't familiar with anything I've written. But why should I harp on how much you don't know me? Read my blog and find out everything you've ever wanted to know at whoisliz .
So even though I am almost 30 effing years old, I still babysit. Like, a lot. Someone saw me last night watching two of my kid-charges, and asked me "Isn't it a little late for you?" and I looked at my watch, realized it was only 7pm and figured out her question was a dig at my age. Late. As if I'm in the autumn of my years. It's not even like "I love children and can't have any of my own", I actively practice against spawning my own kids (I have a job just to get insurance, insurance I have primarily to pay for birth control pills, but really that's my backup method. My main method of kid-prevention is provoking my boyfriend by saying things like "You're too hard on Hillary Clinton" or "Fuck comics. Scott Pilgrim sucks." This should make him so mad that he doesn't want to touch me for days. I figure if I do that consistently enough, he will never want to have sex with me and I can quit my day job and not worry about having insurance.)
I'll stop right here to assure all the nerds that I have never actually said that Scott Pilgrim sucks, but there have been times where I requested that Grand Theft Auto be shut off so I can watch Paula Deen or The Hills . It's not quite as provocative, I know, but still does the job.
So then why babysit? Because basically I only value my life at $10 an hour. And usually, I get free pizza for dinner, or at least get to cook up alphabet-shaped chicken nuggets to eat - babysitting is a gateway to eating disorders because unless you're watching the kids of the Patrick Bergin in Sleeping with the Enemy , no one will notice that you ate a cup and a half of their mixed nuts, two bowls of Special K and the entire chocolate stripe out of the half-gallon of Neapolitan. Mostly though, it's the money. Babysitting is like spending 4 hours in line for the ATM, only this ATM has Showtime.
The last and possibly most valid reason I babysit is that in a way, it fulfills a lifelong goal of mine to be just like Elisabeth Shue. (That hair - I wanted the hair. And who didn't want that black checkered bubble skirt she was going to wear for her date with Bradley Whitford?) For me, Hamlet 2 wouldn't have been quite the same movie without all the references eh...Shue-horned in. I have the sense of humor of a 60-year-old dad, fyi. Just you wait, it's only going to get worse. So that's the introduction I wanted to give you all. I am 29, watch other people's kids, and if someone mentions eggs, I tell them that reminds me of a funny yolk. Sigh.