Bubbles
FROM THE ARCHIVES | ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON AUGUST 17, 2009
Ok. So.
We decided that the name Marlo was a frontrunner back in December — an homage to Marlo Thomas, a woman whose father started a children’s hospital in my hometown of Memphis, Tennessee. And then in February we downloaded all five seasons of “The Wire” and started watching two to three episodes a night.
EDITED TO ADD: Perhaps this sort of addiction prophesied the sinister machinations of how alcohol would systematically destroy my life.
If you haven’t seen that series I cannot recommend enough that you go right now and get your hands on it immediately. Best show on television. Ever, in my opinion. In fact, it’s been hard to watch anything after that because nothing is as well written or acted or directed. We miss it. We miss the characters. When we finished watching the final episode of the final season it felt like we were breaking up with a boyfriend.
Turns out in season four that a really sinister drug dealer is introduced into the plot, and his name is Marlo Stanfield. And we’re like, shit, people are going to think we named our baby after a drug dealer. FROM BALTIMORE. Should we risk it? Awww, why not. No name fit her better. So we are constantly referring to her with names from the series, like:
Hey, Bubbles!
or…
Stringer Bell is UPSET.
or…
Damn, Kima!
I guess we won’t be laughing when she eventually grows up and gets charged with felony possession.
A SELECT FEW FROM THE ARCHIVES
Le secret de Paris, from she who sure does talk about balls a lot
A relic from my redneck heritage
When I went to hang out with Michelle and B.
A Costco-sized tangent that even I didn’t see coming
“Hi, I am the one that needs you.”
I am Heather B. Armstrong and this is my website. You can read more about me here or here or here or here. Pick a link you like and be sure to check back regularly for more from the archives. Wink, wink, motherfuckers.
