Dragons and Babies

Many times over the course of my quarter-century, I have uttered the phrase "I want one." When I was little it was probably about cookies, or an easy bake oven (still bitter about that, btw), or fire. Yeah, fire. Now when I utter the phrase, it's usually still about cookies, but also might be in reference to: clothing featuring pokemon, fish sticks, an alcoholic beverage, or ron weasley.



So pretty much anything. I can distill the wanting of one into two major overarching categories: dragons and babies. (Fish sticks goes under dragons, in case you were wondering. And Ron Weasley does too, IN SPITE OF WHAT ANYONE MIGHT SAY about our age gap.) There are many things I want, but it's safe to safe to say that when I see most any baby or anything featuring a dragon--or just a straight-up dragon--I want it.

Recently, Amber and I ventured to see "How to Train Your Dragon." Did you know that Boise houses the Coliseum? Neither did we! We, clad in our 3d specs, wandered around the strangely deserted cluster of shops designed solely for the movie theater. I copped a feel on a golden man statue, and we pondered the strange decision of the golden family to fly their kite in a fountain of water. Then it was dragon i-max time. I have often told AmberN to not audibly weep in movies, but inevitably, I am the one who ends up weeping. And like a 12 year old girl, I wept. BUT THE DRAGON IS LIKE THE MOST ADORBS THING EVAH!!!!!!! It has the most expressive eyes, it spoons, and it is so freaking sassy. I can't even deal.

I was just typing "How to train your dragon" into google, and "how to get pregnant" came up as a suggestion. I don't ever feel obligated to use segues or transitions (considering how some people assume that I'm generally drunk when I blog), but I can't really ask for much better of a transition than that. My next want: babies. My inexplicable desire to fawn over every baby ever, in light of the fact that my general trainwreck of a life (one time I put chewed gum on my bedroom wall and left it there until someone pointed it out) is in no way compatible with the rearing of any sort of baby. I'm not sure there are sorts of babies. ANYWAY, Big Ben(nett), my biological clock, has been well documented. It's all sad and puzzling. But imagine my excitement when I found out that there was a new documentary coming out called..... Babies. This guy follows the (cute little) steps of four babies from all over the world. I realize this is just a cheap fix for my problem, but I will so take it.