saturn returns

dear diary,

ways that my life has gone downhill since 16 months:

my naps during the day have gotten embarrassingly long; my afternoons are filled with the company of mr. belvedere re-runs and sara lee creme cakes; internet shopping has become a lonely addiction and mama's milk no longer carries the same warm buzz that it used to. i cant seem to fit into any of my crotch-snap shirts anymore and i wonder if i will ever shed this baby fat and transition into the lean mean toddler machine i was meant to be.

brandy, my new psychic friend, who i met via phone for only $2.99 a minute, has recently told me some amazing news. she says that my planets are in complete alignment with the "tiny dipper", which apparently only happens once every other blue moon & in conjunction with the year of the golden rhino. because i have been awarded this rare opportunity, brandy says i need to "actualize" and she also thinks i should get a job.

one poem i read bravely states: "i've been to paradise, but i've never been to me". brandy thinks that i should write these lyrics above my bed so that i can evoke the lonely but strange tiger within to hold my hand on the journey to self discovery.

not that there is anything easy or sane about embarking on the quest for self understanding, but if there was ever any time for it to happen, the time is now. i have been drumming at dawn to call upon my inner child, and frequently seek out members of the circle of trust for life advice. i have sworn off daytime talk shows, internet grazing and sugar that comes in the form of a hoho or dingdong.

i think my saturn is finally close to return.

peace, love & capricorns~

indy, 18 months

cherry bombs for junior

dear diary,

when the units informed me that we would head south of the border for a few weeks, they failed to warn me of the trials of travel that customarily accompany a small person.

things began to unravel the minute we got to the airport: it was earlier than bloody hell, my teeth were unbrushed, my hair frizzy, and much to my disgrace, my milk source had dressed me in a pimp-like jogging ensemble.

the winking airline-desk-lady talked to me as if i were a nine month old and "forgot" to ask me if i had a seat preference. upon arrival to the security checkpoint, i took off my leather slip-ons, emptied my pockets of my sacajawea coin collection and placed my heavy load of jewelry in the plastic security container. i began to crawl towards the metal detector when all of the sudden, an airport guard scooped me up and placed me in a box and onto the moving conveyor belt. humiliated, i rode on down the line towards the xray, as silent onlookers shook their heads in disbelief.

needless to say, i looked forward to stretching out in my seat once we boarded our flight. my milkmaid and her wing man sat down and got comfortable, pulling out books and magazines. apparently my "seat" was actually a smallish, warm lap. the prospect was horrifying: not only was my arrangement the highly unpopular and uncomfortable leg ride, but I looked like a raving dependant to the self sufficient two year old positioned directly in back of me.

feeling vulnerable and anxious, i tried to engage my self in one of the sky mall magazines, making notes to self of preferred items (memory foam pillow, travel alarm clock/barometer, 5 speed back massager etc.).

i was gaining some breast access when the twinkle toes stewardess rolled up with her travelling beverage cart to take orders, but before i could wipe the milk drippage from my cheek, she was gone. when I began to scream in protest, the tall bearded one laid me on my back, squeezed my cheeks, and poured some god-awful cherry flavored drudge down my throat. unfortunately, the not-so-clever one managed to miss my gaping pie-hole and annoyingly poured half of the entire contents
all over my face.

i don't remember much after this, as i passed out with sticky pink cheeks and sickly sweet medicinal breath. i'm not sure, but i think i may have been slipped what is known by us small folks as a "benedryl cherry bomb" a.k.a "roofie junior".

over and out,
indy, 14 months

s.o.s from the cats

to whom it may concern (help!):

It all started last january with the intrusion of what we thought to be a six pound hairless cat. This creature, not unlike ourselves, slept the day away and frequently soiled itself. Although we found it's strange ways somewhat irritating, we weren't severely affected by its encroachment upon our territory.

With the passing of six months time, the strange "feline" had proved to be something simply pretending to be a cat. In my field journal, i noted it's daily changes and observed its shift from stagnancy to a spastic/slapping crawl. This mobility was no doubt alarming, however it was still clear that both Hannah and I could outpace this specimen. From our lookout posts on the couch, we watched it carefully, constantly hypothesizing about the monster we faced.

Recently things have taken a turn for the worse and now we are almost certain that the bald one is not one of us. The creature relentlessly tracks and follows us and we have a sneaking suspicion that it was sent in to monitor us and collect information.

The specimen learns quickly and is brutally clever; it is now capable of standing on two hind legs, which severely compromises our position. Not only does it hide its identity with santa suits, but it has a severe gambling addiction, playing poker until the sun comes up.

The most terrifying thing of all however, is that while the creature tracks us, it undulates in a strange language, repeating the same haunting phrase over and over:

ABA-ABA-ABA-ABA.

We are still not quite sure what this could mean, but we speculate that it is a warning of sorts: a horrifying glance into an imminent danger.

I fear that we are no longer safe....

over and out,

the cats

love hurts. love bleeds.

dear diary,

i am in love.

when i am with her i want to sing an italian operetta in a high voice; i want to launch into a romantic haiku musical; dress in cashmere and play with finger puppets; run out into the rain in my white onesie and feel the drops fall off my baldness.

just being close to her makes me a better man.
eva: young, beautiful, master of hearts.
i don't even think she knows i exist.

she doesn't look my way when i enter a room or applaud when i finger-pince an O. she has no interest in cuddling up to watch the 11 o'clock news and never comments on my outfit selection. just recently, my kiss was returned with a blank, blinking stare. my gropes at her glorious mop of hair are futile.

sometimes i feel emotion emanating from her like a light and the cloud momentarily lifts from her gaze.

it is in these moments i attempt to tell her this:

"i can see us holding hands, walking on the beach with our bottles in hand. i can see us in the county side, sippin on juice, playing side by side."

oh the sweet torment of being young & in love.

indy, 10 months

my wee snaggle

dear diary,

crawling really isn't all it's cracked up to be. sure, now i am technically a free bird-- i could wander out the door at any moment and catch the 2:30 northbound greyhound. the problem with this humbling mobility is that my knees are raw and my wrists are constantly achy. also, the woman who takes care of me often forgets to sweep the floor, which results in the frequent digestion of thick black hairballs from the four-legged creature that i am tracking.

the people who look after me took me on a vacation to idaho last month. not only did i have extraordinary nausea on the seven hour car ride over, they left me in the backseat with no magazines, no sudoku. upon arrival, they put me in a "private pool" which, much to my dismay, was a tiny tupperware container with foam tubing around the edges. they continued to pretend like i was at the marriott, while i sat in the sad little tub with......plastic yogurt containers???

lastly, the most humiliating thing that i have had to face this past month has been the eruption of a sad little snaggle on my lower gum. the tooth sits like a beacon in my mouth and is laughed at on a daily basis. the woman who feeds me is constantly photographing it and documenting its growth. i am currently researching the possibilities of braces as it seems to be growing in slightly crooked. if i could find a dentist to install a clear brace, i might be able to change the course of this hideousness.

peace, love & snaggles,
indy, 8 months

haikus, baby.

dear diary,

six months is funky.
six months is new found memories and size 3 diapers.
six months is cold banana and attempts to crawl.
six months is johnny jumpUP and tupperware-pool time.
six months is time for haiku.

ode to half a year
now more a man than ever
respect would be nice

slippery green peas
neck constricted with a bib
oh awful puree

fat furry creature
cat silently passes by
sweet jesus i want that fur

lazy summer day
dreaming of the open road
naked in diaper

fuzzy bald head DAMN
hair that is slow to arrive
for shape gel works best

mom singing raffi
no more twinkle twinkle star
some rock and roll please

peace, love and breastmilk.
indy*

baldness: the way i roll

dear diary,

i haven't been able to write for awhile because unfortunately, my mom blocked access to my computer usage. lame. she thought i was "abusing" my technological privileges.

anyway, i feel more and more like a man everyday. although i still have the embarrassing bald spot on the back of my head, i am getting alot of fuzzy growth on top, which i plan to braid or dye the minute no one is watching. i also have some "fringe" at my neck line which has been popular with the ladies.

things are going pretty smooth with the units, although they still have me on the liquid diet. this is strange considering they have definitely moved onto solids. i see them eating pork chops and flank steak, and i'm like, "yo! can i get a piece of that?!". they never seem to hear me or care about what i really want, cause the minute i start yelling for the meat, it's boobie city or bust.

they finally took me on a vacation--things had been pretty stressful for me and it took them forever to pick up on my cues, but they eventually decided on a long weekend at the ocean. i was ready for some solo time on the beach: just me, some tanning oil and a trashy mag. they had other ideas, however, and carried me around the entire time, dressing me in diapers and a disturbingly large corduroy sunhat. all i wanted was some time to relax: a little poker at night with the guys, some crab and my own warm spot in the sand.....

things are looking pretty good for the next few months. my aunt bits finally married the guy who is going to teach me how to throw a good horseshoe and juggle fire, and i think i might also get the opportunity to roll around naked in the yard.

personal goals for the next month:
--start wearing regular shirts (what the hell is up with those
bodysuit outfits, anyway?)
--persuade the units to feed me bacon or other kind of meat
--learn how to use stereo in order to play own music
--watch cats closely and learn escape method through basement
--meet other 5 month olds to discuss challenges of being young and bald
--take road trip to canada

peace, love & diapers,
indy.

a little respect

dear diary,

things have been getting better ever since i hit the big 3-Mo. my parents are finally giving me the r-e-s-pect i deserve. i get to sleep all the damn day, swing whenever i want, and have full and unobstructed boobie access.

last saturday night i learned my first lesson about the harsh reality of being a "smaller" person. me and the gang hit the roller rink at oaks park 'round 7 -- i was feeling good, looking good and ready to show off my fresh moves. all was going as planned until i went to pick up my skates at the rental counter. it was then that the lady said: "we don't carry skates for people of your size". rude.

obviously my confidence was shattered, but i think i'm ready to get back in the small saddle and take care of business. i'm kinda getting sick of staying in my mom and dad's room and i'm lookin for a place to call my own.

needless to say, this player needs a little room to grow.

peace, love and breastmilk,
indy

just along for the ride

dear diary,

my parents are wierd.
sometimes they dress me up in beach clothes even though its cold outside. they try to read to me, but then they just pass out. they sadly attempt sing me lullabies when they don't know the words. i must admit I'm getting tired of breastmilk. i asked my mom if I could maybe have some sushi and saki, but all she said was hush, baby hush. oh, there are days where I feel like no one understands me. i daydream about getting naked, setting the house onfire, and riding the cat off into the sunset. how we lead lives of quiet desparation....

at ten weeks - obediently yours,

indy