Hair Brushes and Kim Jong Il

Okay, two itty bitty things before we kick off this post-

1) Why must it be completely impossible to capitalize the "i" in "il" and have a lowercase "l" without it appearing to say Kim Jong the second? My OCD is not okay with this confusing, yet properly written title.
2) I can't even remember the second item because said OCD is too busy waving red flags about the completely confusing nature of item number one. Little things like this are how wars start, people. Or at least that's what the OCD says.

           But I digress. For the purpose of this blog, my boyfriend has requested that he be referred to as O'Malley...like the alley cat in The Aristocrats. Really. Which leads to this disclaimer: my boyfriend is not a cat, cartoon animated or otherwise. Because that would make our baby, Owen, half cat....among other unspeakable aspects. Anyway, I plan to shorten said blog moniker (does anyone still use that word?) to Mal. So now instead of imaging an orange cartoon cat when he's mentioned, you can think of Mal from Firefly! Here, let me illustrate the difference...

"O'Malley and I went on the most romantic date!" or, "O'Malley is a lazy, no good piece of-"

See? It's a little weird. And since I prefer to not make it sound like I regularly talk to alley cats, as well as force them to hold babies while I blog, we will go with option numero dos:

Who is, you know, the same species. As well as a bad ass. Although boyfriend is usually said to look either like Jake Gyllenhaal, or John Travolta. The later of which disturbs me slightly. Moving on!


                                              Hair Brushes and Kim Jong Il

        It's the little things in life that make a perfectly sane (I like to think) mother compare her darling baby to, well, Kim Jong Il. Like having to disarm said baby, who was brandishing a deadly weapon. Okay, so it was a brush. But he's a strong little guy! I like to think that my actions were like that of the UN....sort of a, hey, we're all friends and you're a swell guy, but lets stop clubbing people with that cute little wooden brush. Of course, he didn't see it that way, and became deeply distraught, mostly because he was in dire need of a nap, which he is now taking. ..did that sound ominous? It wasn't, really. At all. 
        To imagine the scene, picture Kim Jong Il from Team America (or, if you haven't seen it, just imagine him as a very cranky looking puppet wearing that little suit he wears). He's just minding his own business, chilling with his nuclear weapons, and then, BAM. A gigantic bully come out of nowhere and says "now, now, little Kim, we're going to have to disarm you". Of course, in the real world, Kim Jong Il would probably blow something up. Probably something large. But in this alternate reality, he instead bursts into the song he sings in Team America (geez, why am I not getting paid for years after the fact advertising?) and cries. So something like this- 

And then you feel like a gigantic douche bag for ruining poor Kim Jong Il's happiness.


Okay, so that was completely ridiculous, and Owen looks nothing like Kim Jong Il. But, it's the little things that keep a parent sane. Or maybe it's insane? Perhaps happy would be the best word for it.