Best Misspelling of the Day

I am definitely one of those poor souls who derive schadenfreude from typos - menus, advertisements thinly disguised as letters to my home, you get the picture.

There are some mistakes made because letters are close together on a keyboard (meet vs neet)

There are those made because the words are homynims (there and they're)

And then there are those made by people who listen, but do not read. Those are my favorite! Check this one out from a CNN blog today:
http://caffertyfile.blogs.cnn.com/2008/01/31/the-obama-clinton-debate/
See the comment by Karl in SF: "The economy is a mute issue."

It's a moot issue, Karl. Thanks for playing.

New versions of myself

Almost immediately after I started this blog, I discovered I was pregnant with twins - identical twins at that. There is nothing else I've experienced that has been so earth shattering - and so time consuming.

Writergrl 1.0:

• when tired, just push through it (i.e. attend grad school while working 55+ hours per week and planning then dismantling a wedding. no problem!)
• eat moderately, struggle a bit to get enough exercise and not gain weight
• never accept the helping hand, even when offered in sincerity because "it's more fun to do it myself."
• take my health completely for granted - never sick, can pretty much do any physical task I set my mind to and (finally) happy with the way I look physically

Writergrl 2.2:

• exhaustion that is literally like flipping a switch: when tired, I'm just out
• struggle to gain enough weight, deliberately limit the number of times I climb stairs, must rest for 30-45 minutes every night after work and before dinner / evening activities
• annoyed when someone on the bus doesn't give up their seat, grateful JT will carry the laundry basket for me
• shock and awe at how out of control my body/hormones are, forced to stop and take deep breaths after each flight of stairs, and I now waddle when I walk

Here's the strangest part: in my ever-more-vivid dreams, I'm not myself. Literally. People call my by my name, but the person who answers is, for example, a 55-year-old Chicago cop, who's puffing for breath at the top of the stairs.

JT even experienced this - he had a dream that I was Oprah.