Colonel in Special Ops said he was the bastard son of Clint Eastwood and Yoda.

In case you were wondering, no. No. Today's yoga class was not the magical booze cruise to Tahiti it was last Thursday.

First off, I was a little distracted by the Sweet Valley Twins performing their own version of Cirques du Soleil in the intermediate class. There were two particularly dainty blondes that were able to move their 85 lb. bodies with the likes of Mongolian contortionists. I really wanted to hand them both a McDonald's arch card tell them to "Have a Big Mac or two on me."

There was also a man there that I am convinced is the DNA hybrid of George Takei and Clint Eastwood.



As if there weren't enough human distractions while forcing my Sulu-loving ass up into downward dog, I realized something about myself. I'm the worst distraction in the studio. I'm...the underwear fiddler.

No, not this kind.



I'm a wedgie pickin', pant leg kickin', bra aduster that is constantly touching my own ass to assure no ride up and smashing my quadraboobies back into my shirt. Oh, and the pants I was modeling today managed to somehow balloon up at every stretch and make me look like Aladin. And there's nothing like a room lined with mirrors to let you know that you are not as descreet about readjusting the crotch of your panties as you had hoped.


Today's subject line quote is Colby Granger, "Numb3rs" (2005) {Toxin #2.9)}.

Are you kidding me? No, no. I'll grab my iPod.

I am now a firm believer that iTunes is directly controlled by God. How else can you explain the phenomenon of facebook note postings that form such a coherent description of the universe? Two out of Two random iTunes oriented "bulletins" on facebook, if you will, have turned out pretty sweet. This one told me to write a poem using the first line of the first 20 songs on my playlist. The title is #21.

"Under Pressure"

Yeah. I mean, I hear what you're saying.
Meet me in outer space. We could spend a night and watch the earth come up.
You got a great car. What's wrong with it today?
Right about now, funk soul brother. Check it out now.
I am the son and heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar.
You could be happy. I won't know.
Jerry was a race car driver. Drove so Goddamn fast.
Whenever I'm alone with you, It's like I am home again.
A long time ago, me and my brother kyle here, we were hitchhiking on a long, lonesome road.
Crack that whip, give the past the slip.
I've come to bring the pain, hardcore from the brain.
You let me violate you.
Oh, you're gonna take me home tonight.
It's a wonderful night. Gotta take it from me.
Darling, you've got to let me know. Should I stay or should I go?
Summer's coming too fast. Winter's been here too long.
I'll kiss you once. I'll kiss you twice.
I was angry when I met you.
Something takes a part of me, something lost and never seen.
Well-painted passion, you rightly suspect.

Like the playful banter of a bashful romance and ongoing car theme? So it may not be the hand of the almighty laying his finger on random mode, but it's godly nonetheless. Makes me want to revamp it into a real poem. Here is the list of songs this fake one came from.

Another Love Song, Insane Clown Posse
Stellar, Incubus
Bohemian Like You, The Dandy Warhols
Rockafellar Skank, Fatboy Slim
How Soon is Now?, The Smiths
You Could Be Happy, Snow Patrol
Jerry Was a Race Car Driver, Primus
Lovesong, Tori Amos (The Cure cover)
Tribute, Tenacious D
Whip It, Devo
Bring the Pain, Mindless Self Indulgence
Closer, Nine Inch Nails
Fat Bottomed Girls, Queen
Wonderful Night, Fatboy Slim
Should I Stay, or Should I Go?, The Clash
Out Here All Night, Damone
Graveyard, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Push It, Garbage
Freak on a Leash, Korn
The Dumbing Down of Love, Frou Frou
Under Pressure, My Chemical Romance and The Used (cover of Queen feat. David Bowie)

For today's present, you get to be poets! It's easy. Do one. Playlist...open...type...post.

Today's subject line quote is Morgan Grimes, "Chuck" (2007) {Chuck vs. Tom Sawyer (#2.5)}.

...she'll go on and on about the time she choked on her beads at Mardi Gras and was legally dead for five minutes.

As you may know that it's Carnival season here in Lousiana. Mardi Gras is alive and puking all over the streets of the greater New Orleans area! Weekly parades in the names of various gods and goddesses are held to celebrate the joys of diablerie and sin before giving up chocolate and booze for Lent. We actually went to a couple.

The ones here in Slidell are pretty family oriented. Though if you stick it out to the end, the float riders have had ample time to enough chug Miller Lites that they think throwing beads (full speed) directly to the baby in the stroller is a good idea. I got one in the eye early on and it hurt like a bitch. Dom and I just took the stance above Michael when it got rougher.

Here is an example of the caliber of crazy that the spectators like to bring to these events. Yes, that's a Mardi Gras port-a-potty and a guy grilling in a viking helmet. No, that's not a float in the parade.



That's what people do here. They bring out the campers and park on the grass for weeks just to watch parades and get free crap thrown at them. I have a trashbag full of plastic necklaces on my kitchen counter. That's just from attending 2 parades. And Michael now needs a stuffed animal hammock for all of the bears, footballs, crabs and crawfish that were chucked at him.

There's a picture of me with our friend Larry and a random person I met standing on the street.


There's Dom and Michael...
Here are...ghost cheerleaders?

So have a Phat Tuesday, everybody! Look, I made you a cake. Well, I made Dom a cake. Okay, I made Dom a cake for Valentine's day. But that's the present you're getting today.


Today's subject line quote is Maya Gallo, "Just Shoot Me!" (1997) {A & E Biography: Nina Van Horn (#4.23)}.

Good news, everyone. Tomorrow, you'll be making a delivery to Ebola 9, the virus planet.

The Google Fairy visited me again last night. Not in the dirty, molest you in your sleep way. Sickos. Nope, The Google Fairy (or Bot to be more precise) crawled this blog for the second time since I registered the web address with Google.com!

Basically, you can register any site with Google for free. Once you do, they send out their little robots to do "crawls" and scout out the page and download all of the little links and pages to revert back to the google index. That way, you have more information when you google my name. *wink*

And here's the best part...

Google "Cassidy Pond-DiMaggio, blog" check out entry 4 on the first page! Also, the first entry is Dom and I's website. But look at 4! It's my December 28th entry about Christmas. The tag underneath the link is talking about Pond Family doing Karaoke and the DiMaggio's are too sexy for their pants.

Okay, so now google "Oh my Blog, Cassidy." The bottom of page 2 yields my myspace page! It picked up the link to the blogging group I created on cafemom.com. Unfortunately, there are no active members in it. But it did help me make the second page of Google!

Ready for the big finale? "Oh my Blog, Cassidy Pond-DiMaggio" reveals this blogger website as the first entry. Now, this isn't likely going to bring in new readers. However, if people that already know the website forget how to get here...Wham! Google it.

It's a small victory to me. I'm very excited. Stop rolling your eyes. Now take your gift. Stay cool with this google fridge...



Today's subject line quote is Professor Hubert Farnsworth, "Futurama" (1999) {A Big Peice of Garbage (#1.8)}.

It's like going to heaven and finding God smoking crack.

Why do I have to microwave my enchilada at 50% power for 8 minutes? Couldn't I just nuke the sucker full on for 4? Raise your hand if that sounds like a better plan than doubling my hunger in that precious 4 minutes. If you don't raise your hand, I'm going to eat it instead. Mmm, tasty appendages for everyone!

Doesn't matter how long I try to kill my frozen enchilada with radiation; it will come out at magma levels of hot and I will end up waiting another 10 minutes for it cool enough to not melt my mouth into a puddle of tongue on the floor. But I won't, so cheers to the lost ability to speak clearly.

For those of you wondering why I'm eating an enchilada and not the usual coffee and imaginary bacon and eggs breakfast, get with it. It's noon. I broke morning protocol of baby-highchair, coffee, blog to get ready for yoga class. It's at the worst possible time for me, 9 a.m. That actually translates to 8:45 in mommy-drop- off-the-kid-in-childcare time. And if you factor in my morning scramble to pack a bag and wrestle a toddler into clothing, we're really looking at a process that begins sometime around 7 p.m the night before.

So is it worth it--all the downward dog, ass in the air, stretching into a pretzel time? No. I go for the last 5 minutes of the hour long class. I go for total body relaxation power nap time. Yes, I will put my body into unnatural, hard poses to maneuver in (and out) of for a chance to go completely limp on the floor in near darkness. It's heavenly.

And all the yoga moves make it that much more superb to just lay down and die a little, but in a good way. The instructor came through and did a cool move with everybody too. She took my feet and and swung my legs side to side to loosen up my hips and back. Then, she came around and massaged the back of my skull. It was the most relaxing moment I have experienced in ages. I know, I'm 24 and I shouldn't be allowed to use the term "ages" yet. But I speak truth!

Now I want to go spread joy to the world by telling them to lie on their back and swinging their feet for them! Go ahead, I'll be right over.

Here's a gift while you wait for me to show up.


P.S. I kinda felt like this during the class.



Today's subject line quote is Riley, "The Boon Docks" (2005) {The Story of Gangstalicious (#1.6)}.

Hey it just occurred to me, Mickey Mouse is black.

I thought of like umpteen different topics to blog about last night, but all of them have escaped me this morning because I'm way too invested in whether or not this computer animated bug will survive the roller coaster ride that Gopher built on "My Friends Tigger and Pooh." Don't worry, he's fine. Little guy crawled back to his jar to take a nap.

Aside from super sleuthing in the Hundred Acre Wood, I'm finding myself rather engrossed in the toddler programming I have running during the day for Michael. "Sesame Street" is funny as shit. I get to see popular celebrities act a fool while talking to puppets. They always have guest celebs cameo to teach some valuable lesson, but I'm always too busy trying not to control my bladder from laughing to pay attention. See?


Don't even get me started on "Handy Manny." Okay, I started on my own. First off, it's a cartoon about a Hispanic handyman. Way to embrace a stereotype, Disney. But am I the only one that sees that Manny really wants to bang Kelly? She's the cute blonde that owns the hardware store, and he's ALWAYS over there. And I think it's for parts other than elevator relays. I just know he wants in that fanny pack...


By the way, this is Manny...And this is Bob the Builder...

Now, I've got to go see what the mystery mousekatool is for today so that Mickey Mouse can help Goofy rodeo the number 8. And yeah, I always want to say "Your mom is a mouskatool" when I hear it.

Want your present?


Today's subject line quote is Mike Stivic, "All in the Family" (1971).

I didn't mean to ruin your evening, I just bruise easily.

So guess what I gave my son for Valentine's day! A black eye. Seriously, I did. Well, I didn't physically but might as well have.

Dom and I decided to go to Mega Gym together on Saturday and workout together. It was a lot of fun despite him making me do push ups in front of all the other worker-outers. And since I can't actually do push ups, I had to do the girly knee push ups.

So after crunches with my ass over my head, lifting my leg like a dog at a fire hydrant for several reps, and feeling like an asthmatic on the elliptical machine...I went to go pick up Michael out of the childcare center.

I walk in to see my son being carried around sporting a huge knot and matching caliber bruise under his right eye. I got greeted with "I was just about to call you back here," which is the equivalent of answering the phone with "I was just about to call you" and you both know that's just a cover up because you totally forgot that person existed.

Apparently my son gets his grace from me because he tripped over a toy and banged his face on the corner of a cabinet. Something he had just done two days before that, only outside and on the corner of a lawn chair. Luckily he had already healed up from that one so he wouldn't have a black eye AND a scrapes on his nose. It would totally ruin his modeling gigs. And I'd probably get arrested for child endangerment.

So all weekend we had people giving him googly faces and Dom and I What the hell? looks. Real awesome for social events like Valentine's dates and Mardi Gras parades. On Monday, Dom was playing around and almost hit me in the face. I thought that would look real great for him if both his wife and son had a shiner.

In summation, I unwittingly lock my dogs up in bedrooms for hours, neglect my cat by forgetting to let him back in from the garage, and let the people that watch my son for two hours damage his face. Somebody get me a sash and a crown! I'm the best mother ever.

In honor of Michael's misfortune this weekend, here is today's gift. Maybe putting a cold one on his eye will help, kinda like raw steak.



Today's subject line quote is May Wynn, "The Caine Mutiny" (1954).