Translation: So, first of all, Jeff and I can't stop talking like this (Ed note: "this" being "like retards.")
I blame this squarely on Allie Brosh, who writes the hilarious blog Hyperbole and a Half and who has invented a character called "Spaghatta Nadle," a spaghetti noodle with a speech impediment. Wah ahr tahtahly ahbsahssed. Ahts gahting tah bah ah prahblahm. (Translation: We are totally obsessed. It's getting to be a problem.)
It totally did not help that yesterday we went sledding and ran into Peter Sarsgaard. Obviously.
Okay, backing up. I am not telling this story very well.
As I mentioned yesterday, it snowed so much that we couldn't fly to Florida. So we decided to use our snow day wisely and went sledding.
We practiced first in our apartment, because we are giant spazzes:
Ahr nabarhs prahbablah haht ahs. (Our neighbors probably hate us.)
Then we bundled up (Jeff in his black coat and hat and I in my Muppet gloves, Rainbow Brite boots, and earmuffs, looking sort of like Jeff's "special" sister with whom he might ride the bus, were this a Lifetime movie of the week) and headed over to Fort Greene park to get our tobogg on. (Get it? Tobbogan. Oh yes, I went there.)
Everything was great until we got to the park and saw that the only people sledding were small children and their adult guardians. Awkward! First of all, we had to wait our turn in line, but I kept letting all of the little kids cut ahead of us because it seemed cruel not to. (Even though the parents were probably whispering to their progeny, "It's okay, Tallulah. Let the nice man and the... special lady go first. Aren't her boots pretty?") Secondly, we probably weigh almost 300 pounds combined, and the thing about small children is that they don't move very fast and if you speed towards them on a runaway toboggan then they don't move at all.
We didn't kill any, though, even when Jeff decided to take a video recording:
As someone on Facebook noted, he is totally copping a feel.
After this ride we clambered back up the hill and were waiting eagerly for another turn when I saw a man helping his daughter onto a tiny plastic disc. He looked familiar, and after a few seconds I realized that I, a grown woman wearing bright childlike accessories and wielding a big plastic orange toboggan, was looking at Peter Sarsgaard and his kid (whose mother is Maggie Gyllenhaal). This kind of freaked me out, because it is one thing to humiliate yourself in front of normal people, but it is quite another to do it in front of celebrities. Also, as you know I tend to humiliate myself in front of famous people even when I am not looking like a special-needs adult. Much to Jeff's dismay, I asked to head home. He insisted on a final ride, and I agreed. "Just make sure we don't hit the Sarsgaard spawn," I hissed. I took off my earmuffs and shook my hair, trying to look decent just in case there were paparazzi lurking, trying to capture Sarsgaard's outing for UsWeekly's "Stars! They're Just Like Us!" page.
It was a great day, though. In summation:
Bright orange toboggans: 1
Ridiculous Muppet gloves: 2
Age-inappropriate rainbow snow boots: 2
Endlessly patient and loving husband: 1
Small children intimidated: 16 (approximate)
Small children injured: 0 (that we know of)
Peter Sarsgaard sightings: 1
Celebratory hot cocoas: 2
Celebratory chocolate chip cookies that I did not share: 1
Perfect snow days:1