Princess in Galoshes

Where I Talk About My Kid Some More

2012-01-11T15:07:00.002-07:00

I need to get a job for no other reason than I need a source for something else to write about. Miss Thang is super awesome, and I could write novels about her antics. And poop. (Why is poop SUCH a prominent topic among parents? WHY?) But I am sure you are not here to hear about that. And if you are...yuck.

We had a lapse of warm weather and it was OHSOWELCOME, despite the unseasonableness of it. Nearly 70 degrees in January! We went to the zoo and DIDN'T WEAR COATS. So awesome. Now, of course, it is snowing. But I have stopped fantasizing about moving our entire family of fair skin to Mexico for at least a few minutes.

Miss Thang starts one half day of preschool next Monday. I am already having anxiety dreams about it. One of my concerns is that it goes until 1:00 PM, and typically Miss Thang likes to start her nap around 12:30. I believe she can be flexible for one day, and it'd be nice to push her nap time back just a little in general, but deviating from her routine = not one of Miss Thang's strengths. So I signed her up with the understanding that I will probably arrive 15-20 minutes early the first day, just to make sure she is not melting into a tatrum-y pile of exhaustion. Naturally, last night I dreamt it was her first day and I looked at my watch and it was 1:00. The place is 25 minutes away, by car. And I somehow decided that the best way to get there would be to hop on a bike. (Which, for the record, is something I do not even own.) I was making up excuses in my head to tell the director about why I was such a neglectful parent IN MY DREAM.

Sometimes I wonder if I could benefit from therapy, and/or less tonnage of refined sugar in my diet. (The whole Paleo thing is still intriguing...but hard to commit to.)

Our holidays were great, I am glad they are over. Miss Thang and I both like our routines, I suppose. Sadly, Frosty the Snowman has become a staple in our home, despite the over-ness of the holidays. Miss Thang is potty-training, and is not very motivated by sugar-y treats. (YAY!) She is, however, a TV addict (ERG), so we let her watch bits of Frosty every time there is praise-able behavior. Sometimes, after a particularly successful day, I want to thumpity-thump-thump the DVR, and that is when we switch to Elmo.

Um. That's it. I am out of stories, but hope to be back before another month goes by!

Can You Put Kale in Jello Shots?

2011-12-08T21:10:00.002-07:00

Things that have been going on:

1) Our vet told us to feed our cats more wet food. A lot more wet food. Apparently new research says that because it's closer to their natural food source (all relative, I suppose, since that meat-like mush doesn't really resemble any natural meat I've ever encountered, but I suppose more so than pellet-shaped kibble) it's better for their bodies. They're finding that this generation of cats is dying from/with completely dehydrated kidneys and livers, because apparently cats, being desert creatures, get most of their water from food-based substances as opposed to drinking fluids directly. So if you feed a cat kibble all the time, they don't necessarily compensate by drinking more water like a human or even dog would. I expressed concerns over Tatum's growing mid-section, and the vet assured me that cats are very self-regulating with wet food, it's miraculous almost, cats who need more nutrients eat more, cats who need to lose weight actually eat less.

So swung by PetSmart, sorry for the years of unintentional feline kidney neglect, and bought an obscene amount of high-end wet cat food.

Sugar, naturally, refuses to eat it. Give her Fancy Feast, or she shall starve herself.

Tatum, meanwhile, missed whatever self-regulation memo the vet was referring to, and has ballooned out to epic proportions. It would be funny if it wasn't quite so quick and swelling-y. I have to monitor him like crazy, because it took me a while to figure out Sugar wasn't eating her food because Tatum would inhale his, then mainline hers while I just thought everyone was eating a proper amount, tra-la, and why was Tatum so much fatter?

2) Miss Thang is awesome, and smart, and talkative, and already cornering me with her toddler logic, and that is kind of scary. So we are starting to discuss preschools, which leads to an even scarier issue of what the fuck shall I be when I grow up, for Martha Stewart-ing isn't really my gig. I love being at home with my kid, but just ask The Funasaurus about how many gourmet meals he gets a week (whereupon he shall laugh in your face) or stop by and see just how tidy our little home isn't. Stay-at-home mom = yes, housewife = no. Since one cannot be much of a stay-at-home mom if one sends one's Miss Thang to preschool, one might oughtta procure oneself a job.

3) I have been looking into the paleo diet a little. Not much, because I basically live off of cheese and carbs and sugar (and wine, which either is composed of or goes well with the aforementioned) and none of those are very paleo-approved. But this video

posted recently by an old bloggy-friend on Facebook, really got me reconsidering. My compromise is that I am trying to eat a LOT more leafy greens daily. This is hard, because besides some basic romaine and occaisonally spinach, I don't really like leafy greens. Kale and chard and blah de blah farmer's market stuff is too bitter for my taste. But I am trying. I try to dress it up with balsamic, which again, not so paleo, but it's going to be a slow transition, if at all. It's at least better than what my diet was, I figure.

That's about it. We are getting ready for the holidays. I am glad we don't have to travel. We are hosting our annual New Year's party, so if you're in town, looking for a party with awesome 90s hip-hop, please come by and check out my feeble attempts at something Martha Stewart-y in the form of fancy-schmancy jello shots.

Mwah, darlings.

Love Out There

2011-11-03T21:13:00.002-06:00

Uhg. That's three. I know these things happen in three, so I'm hoping that's it for a while, that with the holidays comes some good news. I've had three different friends come out with three very different but very sad pieces of news in the last few days. I am trying to get some perspective, to appreciate my world as it is right now, and all the people in it. Lots of love to everyone everywhere. And a bit of extra love to one Shooting Star in particular.

Sorry to be elusive, but thanks for reading, and if you want to send a little love out to the universe tonight, I think it would be well-received.

On a lighter note, my current deep dark secret is that I LOVE the Christmas stuff. I know it is not yet Thanksgiving, I know there are lots of funny cartoons about turkeys giving Santa the what-fors these days. But honestly, I took Miss Miss to the mall today, and she was entranced by the Christmas trees. We admired them for quite a while, in toddler-time. (Thank goodness Santa wasn't there yet.) And her joy was contagious. It was so exciting, and we were both giddy, talking about Christmas trees, reindeer, snowmen, and jingle bells. Speaking of, I played Christmas carols the other day while it was snowing, and we both sang "LET IT SNOW" at the top of our lungs, Miss Thang at least is able to carry a bit of a tune. I'm ready. 'Tis the season for a bit of good times, already. Angela, at least I know you're with me.

Halloween

2011-11-01T14:43:00.002-06:00

Halloween was awesome this year. Miss Thang kind of understood about pumpkins and costumes and GETTING CANDY. I figured we'd hit a couple neighbors, she'd think it was interesting, then we'd come home and have some wine with the grandparents who were obligingly mulling some cheap red while we trick-or-treated. I underestimated Miss Thang's enthusiasm. We hit the whole neighborhood, "More trick-or-treat, o.k.?!" Ok, sweet baby. But hustle. Mommy's treat is cooling off rapidly back at home.

We came home and let her go nuts, which is to say she consumed a Kit-Kat, two Reeses cups, and a blue lollipop, which was the highlight. She was totally overstimulated and crazy on the sugar, but that's what Halloween is about, right? Excessive indulgence in high fructose corn syrup. (Until I read this. This made me sad. I will attempt my fair-trade part next year. sigh.)

Miss Thang eventually went to bed (with a neon blue tongue) and I finished off my wine. Miss Thang woke up promptly at 6:0-something this morning, demanding candy. Then had a full-on temper tantrum when I told her no. Seriously made me consider having a similar fit for some of my wine. Then I realized perhaps we were both bordering on an unhealthy habit as it was not even yet light out, let alone 5:00 somewhere. So we had yogurt and french toast and went out for a play date, where we both acted like we were hungover. So I took us to Target and got us both sunglasses. We be hip, though we be cranky.

I'm headed to Albuquerque this weekend to see a good friend and her new baby...all by myself. The Funasaurus will be spending his first weekend alone with Miss Thang. I think we are all ready. I will warn him not to give her (much) candy, and I feel he will be more or less prepared.

Happy November, blog world.

Why Don't I Just Go to Bed? I Haz Important Schtuff to Sayz! (Not Really.)

2011-10-25T22:31:00.002-06:00

Yo.

Getting the first snow of the season here, and Facebook can't shut up about it. Seriously, it's mid-October. This is not unusual, but anyone who lives anywhere near here must post something pertaining to the weather. I realize that, despite avoiding Facebook, I am now just as guilty for posting something on my blog.

Hey world, you already know this, but it's snowing in Colorado! Still! As predicted! Foretold, and continuing to be told via any social network you should choose to subscribe to, plus weather.com. I just don't want it to go crazy until The Funasaurus gets home.

* * * * *

I have discovered Pinterest. Fuck me now, I did not need another way to kill time on the internets. I'm so addicted.

* * * * *

Little child-interaction tip from me to you, if a parent (say, me) asks their child (say, Miss Thang) something asinine like "What sound does a train make?" do not jump in and say, "CHOO-CHOO! Miss Thang, does a train say choo-choo?" Uh, yes. Thanks. I'm so glad YOU know what sound a train makes. That's exactly why I asked. And the reason Miss Thang is now staring at you blankly is because she knows that you have already answered the question. There is no reason for her to go on with this silly trick.

This kind of thing happens more regularly than you'd think. Give a parent a little credit, odds are good we're not going to ask our kid a question like that if we aren't fairly certain they'll be able to answer correctly. We tend to like to make our kids look good. We also expect that you, as kind-of well-adjusted adult already know the answer to such a thing.

* * * * *

Enough snark. Most people are lovely to my lovely child and all is well. Also, I sleep a little more these days, so = happy, except I would sleep a lot more if it weren't for Pinterest. Darn you, brilliant, brilliant web of everything mind-numbing thing I could ever want to look at. So pretty it makes the minutes on the clock tick by magically fast.

My Brain Has Exploded Just a Little

2011-09-27T02:40:00.003-06:00

I'm pretty lame these days, which is whyfor the lack of writing. HEY INTERNETS, I WIPED UP MORE POOP TODAY! Woot woot.

Miss Thang is awesome, but we are still struggling with sleep. It comes and goes. Right now it's basically gone, and I am pretty sure that as of tonight, I've snapped. Hence the 3:00 AM posting. I haven't slept yet tonight, so after four hours of sporadically lying in bed (mixed in with getting up to get the baby [is she a baby still? She's practically two]) every 45 minutes or so) I decided to get the fuck up out of bed and troll the internet for new entertainment (FOUND) and maybe write a blog post. Here I am! Taking advantage of my sleep deprivation to check in with the ol' computer.

Boy, am I going to be a joy to be around tomorrow!

I wish I had exciting news for you, but I don't. Our recent weeks have involved a quick trip to Michigan, wherein we had a nice time and Miss Thang's tenuous sleep routine was smashed to hell. Then we came home and re-found a semblance of a routine and then Miss Thang got a cold and said routine got re-smashed to hell. Also, doctor visits with a kid whose long-term memory is developed just enough to remember shots. So...fun.

Um. I've tried to make a few pies with varying amounts of success this summer. Any attempts at Martha Stewart-ing were completely undone by the state of my kitchen after those forays into baking. Also it turned out that neither The Funasaurus nor Miss Thang like pie, so I ate a lot of pie myself. The lack of non-maternity pants that still fit indicate that perhaps my next foray should be salads. With no dressing or bacon bits.

That's about it for now. Off to have myself a little dance party with iTunes set on SUPER UBER LOW so that one toddler does not wake again, since sleep still eludes.

I am sorry I am not funnier. I will try again before another month goes by. Did you clink on the link up there? That will make up for all my lack of funny. Seriously. Here's another. CLICK!

Justification, Presented as Catching Up

2011-08-01T14:02:00.003-06:00

Hi. I realized I skipped July there. I'm guessing I didn't have time to blog because I spent a lot of time cleaning up summer-related things, a la popsicles, sand, mud, chalk, sunscreen, and chardonnay. Happily, chardonnay does not stain as much as winter-related wine.

I decided to stay home with Miss Thang. No more work. There's even been a lull in the freelance stuff I was doing, and I am more than fine with it. I've come to the realization that I don't have as much energy as the rest of the world seems to have. I am too tired at the end of the day to cram in everything I'd need to do if I were to go back to work. I made it happen before, but at a price. I sucked at my job, I sucked at parenting, and our hangers rotted in our (un-vacuumed) closet as our clothes rotated between various laundry baskets and heaps on the floor. Somehow other families (let's be honest, women) manage to do it all. I don't know how. I admire them. I would like to be them. But if I have the luxury to choose between getting it all but sucking at it, or picking one and doing well, then I pick hanging out with my daughter. Enter: endless popsicle cleaning. I am not bored. I am aware that plenty of people would be, but it takes all kinds, right? I am settling into the fact that I am not so deep and think-y as I thought I was. And I get I'm lucky to have the choice. It's been the right one.

Enough about ME. How are you, blog-land?

Conundrum

2011-06-30T12:47:00.002-06:00

I have a decision to make in the next 24 hours. To go back to work or not to go back to work, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to brave the slings and arrows of outrageous Excel spreadsheets or take arms against a sea of laundry; and by opposing end them? To die: from lack of sleep.*

But hey! Paycheck! That'd be nice.

Meanwhile I'm enjoying the heck out of the summer. Miss Thang and I went for coffee this morning. Specifically, I sipped a decaf latte in the shade while she tried to eat bird feathers off the patio floor. Extra protein, yes? She wouldn't eat any of the bits of breakfast burrito I offered her. Picky eating is a fickle thing.

We've also started dance classes, which are a hoot. I realize that by dressing her in the most ridiculous, gauzy pink thing that Target sells and forcing her to learn to curtsey she will inevitably refuse to wear anything but black and brood in dark places where there is no blasphemous dancing, but right now I'm bigger so I get to call the shots. And outfits. And it is so freakin' cute it's worth it.

Also, my friends are all having babies again. We are not on that train, but I am super excited for everyone who will someday get to dress their darling in gauzy pink things that will set the groundwork for their wee one's future therapy sessions. It's really super fun after they get past the squishy, cry-y, don't-really-sleep phase. (And a special, huge welcome to Miss EAS. Love you and your parents very much!)

Sincerely,

PiG

* So, so sorry for the uber besmirching of your quote Mr. Shakespeare.

Hello Again

2011-06-09T14:25:00.002-06:00

Ooopsie, sorry to leave things hanging with that last bah-humbug-y post. Short-ish version of the story, my friend had to cancel on a very precious girls night out sans kiddos, and The Funasaurus was headed out to Ruby Tuesdays with Miss Thang to meet a friend. He offered that I should join them, but I declined. I am usually flexible, but I had my sights set on cozy wine bar, not loud, obnoxious greasy chain restaurant. (No offense to Ruby Tuesday-lovers. It's just that restaurant sucks.) So I stayed at home and nursed a bottle of Chardonnay (and by "nursed" I mean "KILLED") on the front porch and read my copy of Let's Panic About Babies, which is awesome. Also, if I lent that book to you in a drunken fit (another night) can you give it back? I didn't mean to lend it out. Drinking makes me uncharacteristically generous.

I got over myself though, and have been having more fun, which is perhaps why I haven't posted. Enjoying life apparently leaves less time for blogging. I took Miss Thang on a trip to visit relatives and friends back east all by m'self. It wasn't as hard as everyone made it out to be, although I certainly missed my Funasaurus, and you can bet I all but threw the baby at him when I saw him at the airport. Turns out eleven days of being completely and totally out of your comfort zone and routine is about four days too long for my toddler. Who'd have guessed? (Hint: not this superstar mom.) Otherwise, though, trip = pretty awesome, and Miss Thang, all things considered (including ironically-said superstar mom) handled herself exceptionally well.

Now we're back, busting into summer, battling over the kiddie pool, sunscreen, and wake-up times. Turns out I suck because I won't let her get up with the sun at 5:15 A-freakin-M every day. WASTING PRECIOUS SUMMERTIME, THANKS MOOOOOM.

Ahhh, good to be back.

That Is All

2011-05-07T17:53:00.001-06:00

At least I'm not at fucking Red Robin.

Explanation to come when I'm more friendly and less drunk.

This May Have Just Happened

2011-04-21T22:39:00.003-06:00

I am tired and sitting at the computer when I should be asleep. But I don't want to go downstairs and deal with the dishes and cat litter and everything else that needs dealing with before I can sleep. I passively had the thought that I could eat something dessert-y as another means of procrastinating the bedtime routine, and then I thought about how tired I was, and how my skin is really breaking out and I thought, "You know, chocolate doesn't even SOUND good right now. Honestly what sounds better than any chocolate is a nice tall glass of water and a handful of raspberries. That would be so much more satisfying."

Then I realized some hippie demon must have taken over my brain and I dove headfirst into the bag of pastel-colored M&Ms that we are/were saving for Miss Thang's Easter basket.

Where I Provide the W(h)ine

2011-04-14T22:10:00.004-06:00

It's been kind of a shitty week, starting with a stomach virus that someone aptly named "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride Through My Digestive Track." Add the bonus element of a toddler who is going through a bit of a clingy phase and insists on sitting on your (my) lap at all times, including the toilet. That's fun.

(I re-read these sentences sometimes and have to wonder if I'm trying to drive away any remaining readership.)

Today I was finally feeling better, so I took Miss Thang for a walk. Halfway to the park, I bent to see if she was o.k., and my phone jumped JUMPED out of my fucking pocket and hopped like a cheap-ass Samsung Easter Bunny into a waste water drain. Naturally last night we had our annual April snowstorm, so the melt had raised the current in said drain, and my phone is so very, very gone.

I kept it together until I got home. Facebook should reunite me with most of the contacts I had in that phone. What is killing me is the loss of a couple of photos and videos. (Well, hundreds of photos and videos, but a few in particular.) I would describe them here, but it will only make me cry again, and I am out of ice cream.

Tangentially: Colorado now carries Blue Bell ice cream! Happily, my stomach has recovered enough from the flu that I ate a pint to assuage my heartache.

I am clearly in a foul mood, but I am sick of seeing that last post. So, here are some unrelated things to take up some space.

New verbiage in our house:

Torny: One part horny, one part tired, full-on feeling of torn-ness. Sadly, The Funasaurus and I often fall on different sides of the torny coin. But it's fun to talk about it in stupid married people code!

MOON! ELMO!: Brought to you by Miss Thang, talking about her favorite YouTube clip. Skip to 1:09. Now imagine me and Miss Thang getting our MOONELMO on.

Things I Do That I Did Not Think I Would Ever Do Pre-Daughter:

1) Share my ice cream

2) Inspect someone else's poop

3) MOONELMO dance sober

4) Fear six-year-old boys and their un-looking-where-they're-going ways

5) And, you know, let someone else wear the tiara around here

Setting the Bar Low

2011-02-25T12:00:00.003-07:00

Uhg. I just went back and re-read that last post. It came off a lot more my-kid's-leg-may-be-broken,-but-hey-at-least-I'm-pretty! than I meant it to. I was going more for an I'm-trying-not-too-be-too-Debbie-Downer-here, but I think that got lost in translation. There's a large margin of error in my brain these days.

I was tempted to delete it, but I'm weirdly compulsive about leaving the blog ALONE once something is posted. It feels like cheating to go back and edit once I've decided to share things with the world. So I am telling myself that post is what I get to look back on, once I get back in my groove (I suppose that assumes I was ever once in a groove to begin with) and can measure just how far I've come. Baby, I sincerely hope you'll go a long way from that.

In happier news, Miss Thang just got a new friend today. Welcome to the world, little Baby B! I KNEW, KNEW, KNEW you were a girl. And I can't wait to see the little woman you become. We love you already.

Never Been Great at Balancing

2011-02-24T12:10:00.003-07:00

The good news is: no bones appear to be broken. The bad news is I had a very I-suck-as-a-mom-week, wherein we had to make a little venture over to the local pediatric urgent care after Miss Thang had a little mishap on the playground. The other bad news is I don't think human x-rays are going to be any cheaper than feline x-rays. I am quick buying chocolate now before I get the bill, which will hopefully sustain me through paying off the bill. (Or, at least, through Saturday.) Also, I have learned my daughter is way tougher than I am. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Um. What else. I've decided to have a good body image. This may or may not be the result of some serious, Glamour Magazine-reading-taken-to-heart fueled by extreme anxiety and chardonnay. This is a good alternative to Ambien, no? With that: I am feeling pretty hot. I am skinnier than I was pre-pregnancy via exactly no exercise. I credit breastfeeding, genetics, and dumb luck. My boobs are smaller, which is actually a good thing, because it means I can buy shirts that actually fit the rest of my torso. I am well past 30 and have had a baby, which means I have given myself permission to stop caring about a tiny bit of not-flat-belly. I am not planning on being on a Mardi Gras float or participating in a wet t-shirt contest in Daytona over spring break, that was never really my scene even pre-30 and pre-baby. Given that it's winter, I will go ahead and let people assume that I have fabulous abs underneath this yummy sweater and turtleneck. Also I'm wearing skinny jeans. Because I am not ever going to wear mom jeans. Ever.

Also, I sing better than I ever have, I credit thousands of verses of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "Down" by Jay Sean, because those are Miss Thang's two favorite songs. She sings along to both. Seriously, toddler "DOWN DOWN!" is the cutest rendition of that song ever. I need to get a video posted....

So that's the yin-yang of my week. Paragraph 1: I suck, Paragraph 2/3: I rock. Also, still not great at technology.

Bisous.

If I Clean Does That Mean It's Spring?

2011-02-22T12:07:00.002-07:00

I just went through my old blog roll (does one still call it such a thing? Am I dating myself as a blogger of 2007?) and did a little cleaning. My very strict decision-making process involved two criteria:

1) Do I still read the blog?

2) Has this person posted in the past year? / Do I even know this person outside of the blogosphere? (Again with the dated blog-talk.)

Almost everything I got rid of fell under #2. I'm happy to re-add a blog if it starts up again. I just wanted things to look tidier on this page. Are they tidy?

Who am I kidding, I don't really have a tidy bone in my body. But since I'm trying to stage my little comeback, I thought I'd get rid of some dead weight. Blog-a-karmic-burden or something. See? New blog lingo. I believe that one hasn't even been Twittered yet.

Speaking of, though, I do think social media has reached it's tipping point, and the world of blogs, Facebook, Twitter, and everything else the kids are doing these days is going to get a little slower but smarter. I think the inane, every-40-second-update-on-my-state-of-boredom is on its way out. (A princess can hope, anyway.) I've seen some good blogs fall away, but more of the rough ones are gone, so that was a worthwhile trade-off. My Facebook feed has slowed way down, partly due to my finally discovering how to block fucking Farmville updates, but also because of less boredom updates: see above. I haven't really been able to get into Twitter, so I can't speak to that, but I'm guessing people are getting a little stricter about who they are choosing to follow, rather than trying to keep up with everybody in the world re-tweeting whatever Perez Hilton has to say today.

At least, I have. I've all but quit Twitter, but sometimes one or two friends say something funny on there so I try to go in and check every other week or so. And I only check from my phone. While I'm pontificating, I think smart phones are the only things saving Twitter.

Thus I spake.

Meanwhile I have reintroduced chardonnay to my lifestyle. You were so missed, old friend. You may also be the reason that I could give a hoot about Twitter anymore (damn buttons are so damn small on my phone) but make me want to write again. Clearly I have some work to do, but you have to start somewhere, right?

...

Am I allowed to drink in a socially acceptable way before 5:00 if all of my writing has to occur over Miss Thang's naptime?

Rah Rah Veteranarian!

2011-02-21T11:43:00.003-07:00

Clearly I check my own blog a lot. Didn't even realize that last post had a missing link. (For, what, two months? whoopsies.) 'Tis fixed! Makes a lot more sense now. I like how I replaced writing with linking to mildly humorous YouTube videos for a while there. That's kind of cheating.

What? No, this is totally different. It's informative.

So, I've been struggling with writing because I don't really know what to write about except leaky toddler noses and strong opinions on car seat brands (not really), but I don't really want to be a mommy blogger, so I just quit blogging altogether. Also I was a little tired and having trouble finding uninterrupted computer time. My keyboard responds not so well to juice and markers, it turns out.

Lo, Tatum once again saves the day for all of us by reverting to his goat-like tendancies and eating a rubber band, thus necessitating an emergency surgery one fateful Tuesday night and giving me lots to cry about as well as hey! Non-baby blog fodder! Once I wiped away the tears, received the bill, wiped away a shit-ton more tears, and got the 30-some staples removed from his belly, I felt I had recovered enough to share the story.

So. That was kind of the story. Kitty intestines = not big enough for rubber bands. Take note. Also, cats get depressed when forced to wear a cone for two weeks and are prohibited from running and jumping (Let's see YOU try to keep a cat from running and jumping for a fortnight. It involves sedative drugs and MAGIC and possibly tape.) The sweet part of this otherwise-melodramatic story is that Miss Thang is truly near and dear to Tatum's heart, because he finally purred for the first time since he was taken to the kitty hospital once he got home and Miss Thang was allowed her first supervised visit to his little quarantined area, and got all up in his face and said "HI!"

I'm just the one who brought him his favorite food at the cat hospital after surgery, and sat by his drugged up head, and left my coat for him to snuggle in, despite the fact that it was sub-zero temperatures outside. Whatev. He loves my baby. That is a mother's love. I'm not even jealous he purred for her first. (much.)

So the story has a happy ending, Tatum appears to be back to his normal self. Miss Thang continues to love on him. I continue to love on them both, as well as Sugar and The Funasaurus. (Who lost a bunch of weight last year and has kept it off and looks hawt, btw.)

I don't get the patio set I had my eye on, they aren't giving away midnight x-rays and cat surgeries these days. ... Actually... now that I'm adding it up... I don't get several patio sets. Blerg. But it was worth it. Our odd little family is happily together again, and the cats can just watch us eat picnic style on a plastic tablecloth all summer. It'll be easier to wash up, anyway.

Kisses

2010-12-18T14:43:00.004-07:00

It's funny because it's true.

Of course, I am currently not writing a novel so much as putting postage stamps on crookedly on our Christmas cards. How does everyone else in the world manage to get them on straight? Seriously, am I the only person who cannot get two straight lines to go parallel without a ruler/help from a Funasaurus?

hola

2010-11-11T15:46:00.004-07:00

Hi! I realize I'm probably writing into the void at this point... I have started to write dozens of posts (seriously), because schtuff keeps happening that makes me think "OMG I HAVE TO BLOG ABOUT THAT, SOMEONE MUST BENEFIT FROM THIS a) sleep deprivation b) poor choice of words to use in front of my in-laws c) completely failed attempt at using make-up and/or my rasor d) rash-inducing incident involving a belt and what appeared to be just a pretty leaf," but a certain little princess-in-training always seems to sense when I am about to indulge in something other than diaper-changing, and foils any internet-ing attempts by moi.

That said, I am making time right now to tell you that I slept on my stomach for the first time in a year and a half. It was orgasmically awesome.

Candle in the Water...OR...I Am Busy Expressing Myself in Cliches These Days

2010-07-29T16:07:00.009-06:00

I burn my candle at both ends,

It will not last the night.

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends,

It gives a lovely light.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Or, as The Funasaurus put it, if I've got one foot in two different pools, I can't swim in either of them.

Thus, via extremely overworked cliche, I am here to tell you I'm quitting my job for a little bit to be a full-time mom. Also maybe to sleep a little bit, but I am trying not to get too far ahead of myself.

I'm excited, even though it's a big leap of faith, and I am not very prone to either leaping or faith-ing. I am just loving this kiddo so much, and I don't feel like I'm ever really getting to give her all the attention and time that I want because I'm always so stressed about work. Also not sleeping. Also I miss seeing The Funasaurus.

The plan is to continue to do some freelance work for my employer so that I can keep up with what's going on, and hopefully rejoin my team a little later down the road. Who knows, but for now I am just ready to hang out with Miss Thang without worrying about what she's up to while I quick try to finish one more email. (At least, work email! Muahahahaha)

T minus two weeks and two days.

Shakespeare Sass-ified

2010-07-15T20:40:00.005-06:00

Othello

Hamlet

Romeo & Juliet

And it's not Shakespeare, but still awesome because something about The Giving Tree always bothered me, and I believe this YouTube parody sums it up perfectly, if crassly:

Oh crap, I just realized it's cutting off the right edge of these videos. I highly suggest following the link to YouTube to see the whole thing. So worth it.

Baby Travels and Rap

2010-07-15T20:35:00.001-06:00

Hi! I am hoping I still have a reader or two. Seems a little dusty around here. There may be some big changes in store, which would lead to me having a little more time to write. I’ll post more details once the decision’s been made.

Meanwhile I am discovering just many things about my personality have changed since I became a mom. I have more patience than I thought I would. I need a helluv a lot less sleep than I thought I would. Tangentially, I am willing to scream like Tarzan in my vehicle to keep from falling asleep at the wheel. (I am not driving much these days, until we get the sleep-thing figured out.) Most shocking of all: I like an Eminem song.

WHAT?

I have begrudgingly appreciated the fact that the guy can be a talented poet ever since he appeared on the obnoxious rap scene. (As opposed to my beloved not-obnoxious rap scene. It’s a fine line, sometimes.) However, I have always thought the dude was a whiney douche bag with a shrill, grating voice more suited to punk; which happens to be a genre I have never ever ever liked. Ever.

Yet suddenly I’m in the car last week nodding along to a catchy tune before I realize: a) I’m not asleep! SUPER! And b) holy crap. It’s Eminem and I don’t hate it. He has a new song out about addiction recovery or whatever, [“I’m Not Afraid”] blah, he’s been whining about his life since he started his career, but there’s a nice melody, the chorus is pop-ily dark (which, I realize, is like saying something is kitten-ly sinister), and I don’t know why but I am loving on this line:

I’m strong enough to go to the club
Or the corner pub and lift the whole liquor counter up
‘Cause I’m raising the bar

Well done, Marshall, well done. Now be a dear and tell Green Day to follow your lead, won’t you?
In Miss Thang news: we survived a very hectic trip back east. But she got to meet her great-grandmother, which made me (and her, and great-grandmother) crazily happy, so it was worth it. Despite the flight, the incorrectly installed carseat, the late nights, the complete lack of schedule and thus lack of sleep, the lack of oil in our car, the three-hour trek into Virginia to be eaten alive by mosquitoes, the pacing outside in a thunderstorm because, ho ho, the patrons of the country club apparently do not appreciate screaming, overtired babies, and the power outages in 90 degree heat with 100% humidity. So worth it.

The Funasaurus was back in Colorado (in air conditioning, nonetheless) for the last half of our trip, working some long hours, and I feel I have been fairly explicit in my desire to never travel without him again.

Baby! And Also Me-Stuff

2010-06-04T15:06:00.000-06:00

Welcome EBW #2. I am so very happy you’re here. You’re very, very lucky to have been born into such a wonderful family.

In more personal news…I played hooky about two weeks ago. Maybe it was three. I don’t know, for some reason time is spinning out of control these days, and I haven’t even licked the wrong side of a mushroom. (That I know of. I did manage to locate a missing book of stamps while basically unconscious the other night, apparently I remembered where it had fallen while I was sleeping, so after a 4:00 AM feeding I went and retrieved it…although did not remember doing such a thing right away when I woke up in the morning, and spent a while pondering stamp gnomes before getting a very dark mental picture of kneeling in a nursing bra and feeling around under the coffee table at unreasonable-o’clock AM. It’s possible I also consumed something that would cause an acceleration in space-time, I just don’t remember.) The point is, two-to-three weeks ago there was an eye in the midst of a crazy work storm, it was a Wednesday, I had nothing to do (despite having been up working until 3:00 AM the night before…which gave me about an hour’s sleep before aforementioned feeding) so I said fuck it, and gathered my goggles and skis and went skiing.

Of course, by the time I made this decision, I had about four hours until our nanny was supposed to leave. So I drove quickly, which was freeing in and of itself, I don’t drive fast when there’s an infant car seat in the backseat, raced onto the mountain, and got in about three and half good runs before I had to race back to my car and drive an hour and a half to get home. Happily, coming home is downhill, and I didn’t get stuck in any traffic. Shortest epic ski day ever. It was glorious. And my streak of skiing pretty much every year of my life, minus those early few, is intact.

I have been reluctant to post this because I worry about co-workers finding it. Then I realized that if they found this, they would probably consider the hour at which I turned in my work the “night” before, and agree that a ski day was a logical ying to that yang.

Miss Thang is good, I didn’t get any takers on the offer to expound upon her pooping habits, which is a shame, since I don’t know how to talk about much else these days. Miss Miss is cruising right along, not quite able to let go of our hands, but already trying to run. It’s basically the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Her balance needs a little work, but I think that’s partially due to her head. It’s proportionally quite large compared to the rest of her, so I think she’s just top-heavy. She gets that from her Uncle Chico. Hopefully she’ll grow to fit her head, just like he did. And hopefully she will never grow a prickly mustache, just like he did.

Everyone I know, minus me and my darling Funasaurus who has managed to shed an insane amount of weight anyway, recently, ran the Boulder Boulder this year. Or, if they did not run it, they are training to run something else impressive. I continue to sit around and whine about exhaustion while eating ice cream. It makes me a little sad, I used to run all the time. (Well. Run-ish. Moved my legs in a slightly frantic walk-y way, anyway.) Now I have no muscles, and a bit of extra skin. I would like to work on that, but it is a daunting prospect, getting back into such a habit, especially when there is a new gelato place within walking distance of my home. Does it count as exercise if I am snarfing Nutella-flavored ice cream while I stroll at a bisk-ish pace?

Awesomeness

2010-05-14T13:59:00.002-06:00

I cannot even explain how awesome this is.

Sorry for the slacking, work has been kicking my ass.

Because I have nothing fabulous to tell you about (unless you are interested in the color and consistency of my child's poop? Yes? Email me. I will write you a novella, I have much to say on that subject) I will instead direct you to some other recent awesomeness that I've discovered.

The Rejectionist [heart]

Rhyme, Reason, or None of the Above [Rock on, L!]

Tavi [Sometimes I hate her just a little bit for being more self-aware and eloquent at fourteen than I am at thirtyshmhshm, but mostly I think she's awesome.]

Post Script: Read Tavi's entry about Terry R. post at your own peril. As a vaguely feminist, modern woman, I have always harbored quite a bit of anger towards the porn industry. As a mother, I literally got sick reading that post, and could only think about putting a blanket around that girl's shoulders and telling her I would personally hunt down that vile man and hurt and humiliate him in a way that would never allow him to do the same to another young girl. Then I cradled my own child to sleep in my arms for the first time in a while. It is still haunting me.

On a lighter note, without trying to jinx it, I think I managed to salvage my strawberry plants despite this week's snowstorm. Yay for container gardening! The produce may never be big, but it also got to spend a cozy evening in our balmy living room whilst the snowflakes swirled madly on the other side of the window.

You Tell Me

2010-04-20T22:40:00.002-06:00

I'm not one for conspiracy theories...but I kind of think the makers of the Snuggie have bought my horoscope writting company. Check out my horoscope for today:

If it makes you feel warm, snuggly and as well taken care of as can be, you need to try it -- even if it makes you feel faintly ridiculous at the same time. It may lead to an unexpected purchase, but that is okay. You're after quality, not quantity, and you definitely won't settle for anything less than what you need. It shouldn't be a major effort for you.

Exactly what else am I supposed to get from that? I may not be a vegetarian, but even I cannot justify a mink coat anymore.

Oooh ooh ooh

2010-04-15T11:01:00.009-06:00

Want.

Hoping the Future Will Consist of More Than Diapers

2010-04-13T14:23:00.001-06:00

So, world. I am glad you have kept turning! Life is going well, Miss Thang gets cooler and more engaged in her world every day, and I am slowly returning to parts of my own life that are not directly related to Miss Thang’s survival. I went on my first work trip, and while I missed Miss Thang desperately, I did a) drink wine b) sleep several consecutive hours in a row for TWO WHOLE NIGHTS, OMG, and I felt like I had chugged an entire pot of coffee I was so AWAKE the next morning, but without the jitters. It was awesome. Also reassuring to discover that being a mother has not, in fact, made me completely idiotic so much as exhaustion has. It’s cure-able! Hypothetically speaking. My kid’s now teething. That’s a barrel full of insomnia.

I also went to book club last night and stayed the whole time, and wow, it’s nice to have friends who exist outside of the internets. (Not that you aren’t all lovely. You are.) There was a lot of talk about living and growing up and whatnot, and the things you dream about doing and the things you actually do, and it’s nice to see that in our small group of 30-something white women, we’re fairly diverse, at least in regards to where we are in life. Some are starting families. Some are staring months-long treks into Alaska. Some just got back from Operation Smiles tours in India. Some are starting new jobs, enjoying new haircuts, and raw diets. Personally, I was enjoying the leftover Easter candy while listening to all of this.

I fluctuated between feeling nostalgic for a time when I traveled like that, and feeling exhausted thinking about going anywhere farther than the grocery store. I have hibernated all winter with my baby, protecting her from scary viruses named for barnyard animals and The Wind, which is basically Miss Thang’s nemesis. She does not like a breezy day. At all. But at some point I feel as though we will need to face the world again. I’m going to have to trust her immune system a little bit if I want to go rent a house on the French countryside some summer, and she’s going to have to deal with The Wind if she wants to come with me.

It Is Nearly Spring. Which Is Why We're Due for a Foot of Snow Tonight.

2010-03-18T22:22:00.001-06:00

Despite the fact that it’s totally screwing with my sweet baby’s nice but delicate sleep schedule, I am a big fan of daylight saving’s time. Or, rather, the lack thereof. I like the longer evenings. I like eating dinner before it’s pitch black out. I like having bright sunny afternoons with the kiddo. Yesterday was a good day. Miss Thang and I enjoyed some sunshine and cuddling and playing. I’ve certainly had good moments here and there, but yesterday was a good day all day long. And I can say that now, because yesterday is over and cannot be dramatically changed. (I say, as if challenging the universe.)

Miss Thang is nearly five months old, and she has turned into this really cool little person. The change was recent, but it’s been wonderful. I mean, she’s always been precious and loveable and whatnot, but suddenly there’s this personality emerging. She’s got an opinion, she likes to laugh, and she’s becoming better and better at controlling and maneuvering her own body. Also, she seems to like me for more than my boobs, which I admit is very rewarding and long-awaited.

The other day I went to take a shower, and left her in the care of one Funasaurus. When I poked my head out when looking for a towel (ah, the luxury of having time to towel off!) I heard him talking. I wondered if he was on the phone, but then realized his tone was slow and rhythmic and he wasn’t pausing. I guessed he was reading to Miss Thang. Right then my little book nerd heart swelled and burst into a million little pieces. I rushed to get dressed and brushed my teeth (other things that make my heart happy these days) and then went to join them. As I walked towards the nursery, I could still hear him talking. I began wracking my brain for what children’s book we could possibly own that had that many words. Most of our books, so far, are board books and feature such compelling text as “cow says MOO.” As I got closer I heard him mention something about probing and hanging from a ledge.

My husband was reading my innocent baby Shutter Island.

‘Twas not quite the literary family gathering I had imagined when I was carefully arranging Dr. Seuss and Pat the Bunny along the wall before Miss Thang was born, but she was happily gumming a pink rattle wearing nothing other than socks while listening to her daddy, so I decided to let it be.

Meanwhile I have my first work trip coming up. I am dreading leaving Miss Thang overnight. It’s only two nights, but I am having anxiety issues when I think about it too much. Honestly, she’ll be fine, and the thought of sleeping through the night is seductive, but I am so attached to that bitty little person I just don’t want to be away from her.

I have been assured she will not forget about me in that time, so I take solace in that. And also in the fact that since I will have to pump and dump anyway, I can probably drink some wine. And by “some” I mean “a crapload more than just a sip, which is all I’ve allowed myself for the past YEAR.”

Not all bad.

I Don' Know Whatcha Heard About Me

2010-02-23T21:54:00.002-07:00

I am tired. I don’t know how you other working moms do it, I feel like I am spread as thin as could possibly be and I get to work from home. There are plenty of nights where I’m up working past midnight, trying to catch up after Miss Thang goes to bed. Then I’m usually up around 3:00 or 4:00 to feed her. And the cycle begins again somewhere around 6:00 AM. That leaves me very little time for the other details in my life, like blogging and personal hygiene.

Miss Thang is proving herself to be rather high-maintenance. I fluctuate, minute-by-minute, from thinking I am completely inept and failing completely as a mother to thinking that absolutely no one else could possibly care for my child the way that I do.

The other day I finally took a small break to run to Vitamin Cottage. I don’t get out of the house every day, so even those small errands feel like a delicious treat. I cranked up the local hip-hop station and found myself singing, “‘cause I’m a mother fuckin’ P-I-M-P” along with 50 Cent.

Then I took a little pause to eat a bite of an organic hippie fruit snack that I bought at Vitamin Cottage as I cruised along in my little fuel efficient sedan and glanced at my breast milk spit up stained t-shirt. I then had to concede that I am not, in fact, a mother fuckin’ P-I-M-P these days. In fact, I’m pretty much the opposite of that.

I think the Girl Scouts should (may already have, given how many showed up at our door this year) buy lists of addresses of recent patients from the hospitals so that they can go prey upon new moms. I cannot resist a) cookies b) cute little girls. I bought a shit ton of mediocre but highly nostalgic boxes of refined sugar this year.

What organization peddles large chunks of dark chocolate? If you come to my house with such a thing, I will convert to your religion. Just saying.

But even if I never got to taste chocolate again, she'd make life worth it. Lord, but tell me that face does not melt your heart.

Giving Up on Transitions

2010-01-27T12:41:00.002-07:00

Anecdote 1: I Bred a Street-Fighter.
The other day I was bent over Miss Thang, making silly noises in an attempt to get her to smile. Apparently she had had enough. She grabbed a fistful of my hair right by the roots and then kicked me square in the jaw when I couldn’t move. Note to self: even babies hate your singing. Perhaps it’s time to turn on a CD.

Anecdote 2: I Care Not for Germs.
My shower puff fell apart the other day while I was using it, thus indicating I was about three months late in buying a new one. So I grabbed one off the shelf at the supermarket when I went grocery shopping. The checkout woman scanned it, then proceeded to throw it at the pimply-faced bagger. She missed, and the poof landed on the floor and rolled away. She retrieved it, only to flirtatiously try to throw it at the guy again. I debated throwing a frozen pack of ground beef at her. How does she not realize that my intent is to use this thing for cleaning myself? I am not really interested rubbing grocery store floor germs all over myself. Thanks anyway. Asswipe. Please hold my place in line while I go grab a bottle of bleach to add to my purchases today.

Anecdote 3: I Do Not Appear to Have Much Left in the Way of Muscles
I realized it’s probably been about a year since I last exercised. A year. So I decided to go jogging over the weekend. A woman from the nearby senior center with a walker almost passed me on the path around the lake. I. Am. Out. Of. Shape. But! Hey, this fresh air stuff is pretty awesome. I had kind of forgotten about it, what with hibernating with my baby this winter.

Anecdote 4: Fantasy Olympics. Because We're Cool Like That.
Some friends have decided to do a fantasy Olympics this year. The draft is tonight. (We are only drafting countries. Once we know our countries, we can start caring about individual athletes. This is not a high-stakes kind of fantasy league so much as a contrive-a-way-to-make-ourselves-get-more-personally-vested-in-the-luge-type league.) I drew sixth place in the draft. Out of six people. The odds are not good that I will get to draft Norway, despite my protests that I should just automatically get it, given my personal ties, plus two other picks. The powers that be remain unmoved by my pleading. Note to self: Learn to plead better. Maybe I should try singing to them. It seems to inspire reaction.

Anecote 5: Miss Thang has had some serious reflux issues. My clothes all carry a permanent eau de milk puke scent on them nowadays. In an attempt to see if it will help, I am trying to cut dairy out of my diet, because apparently a lot of babies have cow’s milk allergies to varying degrees. All I can say is my world is rather bleak without cheese. And ice cream. Leading me to be kind of cranky and whiney in general. See: this entire post. In better news, I learned my local grocery store carries coconut milk! Who knew?

Thus a very disjointed blog post. As you can see, I’ve got some ADD going on. I have things to say and do, and then, whoa, look at that pile of laundry! And as the laundry is being added to the dryer, Miss Thang cries, and when she’s semi-soothed I realize I am dying from thirst, and as I’m pouring water I trip over Tatum who’s trying to tell me his dish is empty, and so I go to give him water and see his food bowl is empty too, so I go to feed him and spill food everywhere so I grab a broom and while I’m not paying 100% attention to her, Miss Thang barfs on me and everything else within a 50-foot radius and so I go to change her and as I throw her wet onsie in the laundry I’m like, HEY! I can add that to the load I started twenty minutes ago since I don’t think I actually remembered to turn the machine ON. And what was I saying...ADD much?

I can haz ice cream now? PLEEZ?

Dors Bien Ma Cherie

2010-01-16T21:41:00.003-07:00

I don't really know what to say in light of the disaster in Haiti. Since becoming a mother, I've found my heart can break pitifully easily and it has been broken over and over seeing the images and hearing the stories coming out from Haiti. I made my donations, but it doesn't feel like enough. For some reason I've always had a soft spot in my heart for that island, though I've never been there. Sesame Street played its part. This was my introduction to Haiti:

MEEEEP

2010-01-07T11:37:00.002-07:00

http://www.nrk.no/nyheter/nobels_fredspris/1.6907010

All sorts of things I love so much. Hip-hop meets Norwegian royalty.

The Princess is HERE, Wyclef, I'm so here....

Where the Wind Takes Us

2010-01-07T10:48:00.002-07:00

Hi. I know I keep disappearing. I don’t know what has happened to my life. Sometimes I look at it and think, Whose life IS that? Certainly it isn’t the one I planned on. By thirty I was going to be sipping Bordeaux daily on the balcony in my chalet in Switzerland, responding to fan mail about my most recent best-seller over Audrey Hepburn-esque sunglasses, listening to my little goat herd bleat below.

I realize that’s fairly specific. I’d certainly have settled for France or Norway or something. I’m not unreasonable.

sigh

To be honest... I’m actually digging the whole mom-thing, but I am almost scared to admit that for fear of jinxing the little glimmer of hope that has appeared in the back of my mind’s eye. Miss Thang sleeps through the night (ish [not counting the regular 3:45 AM feeding, but she does go right back to sleep]) and it’s amazing what a little sleep will do for all of us. She also is seeing the world much more clearly, and spends a lot of time looking around taking in the very interesting doorknobs and couch covers in our house instead of screaming. Which has done wonders for my nerves. She's also unearably cute and has cheeks that I fantasize about gnawing on.

I started back at work this week, and we did find a nanny. She’s kind and teaches piano so there’s some hope for Miss Thang’s musical development despite her parents’ complete and utter lack of ability or knowledge in anything musical-y at all. (Her father’s unnatural fondness for a capella does NOT count.) So the nanny is awesome, but I miss my baby terribly, which is silly because she is just downstairs and I find plenty of reasons to go peek on her throughout the day.

The next step is getting back into the rest of my life. I have yet to figure out how to get to book club when Miss Thang’s bedtime routine involves needing certain pieces of my anatomy to be present at home, and I am not yet sure there’s a reliable way to ski with an infant attached. I remain optimistic, for I am getting sleep.

Waiting on the Wind That Should Come Bearing Mary Poppins

2009-12-15T10:29:00.002-07:00

I am learning how to live on a lot less sleep, and have even managed to cook a meal once or twice. Life is returning to normal…ish. Plus, you know, a baby. My return to work date is looming, and I am both excited for it and dreading it. I miss my co-workers and using that part of my brain. I also do not want to relinquish the care of my precious baby to anyone whose name does not rhyme with Yumasaurus. But it must be done, and thus we have begun the fascinating and grueling process of finding a nanny.

We have posted a couple of ads, and the response has been varied. Some are easy to weed out. One of my first questions is, “Are you allergic to cats?” because, hi, those are our other babies. You cannot avoid the cat fur and love in our house. I’ve had one or two people tell me they’d be o.k. as long as they don’t touch the cats. And I must respond with “How about if they touch you?” because Tatum is very jealous of the baby, and demands equal attention and rubs all over you constantly if you deign to hold the baby and not him.

I also am not interested in smokers, which is pretty common among new moms. And while the correct answer to the question, “Do you smoke?” is “No” that no must be honest. I had one lady tell me, “Oh, no.”

…

“But if I do have a cigarette, it’s only at night. Socially. I would never smoke in front of the kids.”

Needless to say I didn’t invite her over for an in-person interview.

The grandmother who was unable to furnish any references besides her daughter was also rejected, as were all the university students who think they’d be a perfect fit for my 9-5 job, except they are in class during the day so they are only available on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6:00 PM to 8:00 PM, except on the second Tuesday of every month when they have their drum circle that they are absolutely dedicated to and couldn’t possibly give up.

So far the front-runner for me is a Tibetan woman who says she likes to cook traditional Tibetan and Indian food. (Note we are not asking the nanny to cook, she was just talking about what she likes to do in her free time.) I was drooling, while The Funasaurus, who has a real issue with food that is mushy, looked on in horror. He, meanwhile, has a strong preference for the hot, young, yoga instructor who looks like Katie Holmes circa the post-Dawson’s Creek but pre-Tom Cruise era. Except skinnier. And Toned-er. Never mind that she is only available through August, those could be a glorious eight months or so.

We continue to interview.

Update on Some Very Bad Cats

2009-12-03T19:31:00.001-07:00

Thank you for all the supportive comments. I am glad to hear from multiple sources that it gets easier. These days I’m just trying not to be too jealous of a swing…currently my daughter seems to prefer being in it than in my arms. This is both frustrating and also very convenient for getting other things done.

I had big plans to tell you all about the Ordeal of Tatum, but I am tired, so the abbreviated version is: the little poophead disappeared about a week after we brought Miss Thang home from the hospital. We were pretty sure he got outside somehow, and for five days I would sob hysterically on the couch at 3:00 in the morning as I listened to the coyotes howl just outside our front door, convincing myself that I was truly unfit to be a mother if I couldn’t even keep a cat safe. Tatum is cute but dumb, and I believe any sort of survival skills have been bred right out of him. It is also getting cold in Colorado, and Tatum does not possess much fur, so I was sure he had turned into a kitty popsicle for added coyote nibbling pleasure.

We all mourned the little stinker, even Sugar, who started crying at the door whenever we left, which was a habit she had back in the day that convinced us to get her a playmate in the first place. She would never admit it, but she missed Tatum a lot. I was…more open about my distress. The Funasaurus was sent out to troll the neighborhood whistling and offering faux mice to the wind many times.

On the fifth night, around 3:00AM, I thought I heard him cry as I was feeding Miss Thang. I made The Funasaurus get up and check outside. The night was apparently cold, but Tatum-less. Around 6:00AM I was SURE I heard him. So I sprang out of bed half-naked, with Miss Thang still attached, and ran all over calling him. (As fast as one can run with a newborn attached to your boob.) He was in the basement, just sitting on the other side of the door, all, “What took you so long?” He then proceeded upstairs where he snarfed some food and promptly demanded a mouse.

I called the 24-hour vet to see if we needed to bring him in for dehydration, and she asked if he was refusing food or acting lethargic. I moved out of Sugar’s way as Tatum chased her up the stairs, and decided we probably didn’t need to go in.

So he is home, safe, loved, and obnoxious as ever. He’s also quite jealous of Miss Thang, and has developed this habit where he demands to be held whenever she is being held. Fortunately, my parents have been down to help me out a lot, and while my mom helps with diapers and burping, my dad carries Tatum around (when he’s not throwing faux mice for him) and everyone feels useful and loved.

Now we just need to convince Sugar that when the baby finally goes to sleep we all need to go to sleep. Currently she sees it as her opportunity to cuddle with her very poke-y claws.

Queen for a Day..and then Another Day

2009-11-24T13:46:00.003-07:00

Hi hi. I am still here. Barely. I got four consecutive hours of sleep last night, which is the most sleep I’ve gotten in a month, and so I am feeling fabulous and productive this morning.

Motherhood is kicking my ass. We started a blog for family and friends with pictures of Miss Thang. I try to remain optimistic and light there, since we are not trying to strike fear into the hearts of our loved ones. But I plan on being a little more candid here. Overall, I think we’re doing pretty good. And each day IS getting a little easier, if only a tiny bit so. But it’s really fucking hard, too. There are so many decisions that have to be made while running on a nominal amount sleep and major amount stress. Who is it o.k. to whip out a boob in front of? Should I try and force this itty-bitty shirt over my screaming child’s head, or risk letting her freeze to death? Can I keep my mouth shut when yet another random person tries to give me advice that I already have heard fourteen times? Is it o.k. to try and grab a bite to eat when I’m starving if my child is still sobbing hysterically? Should I bother to try and clean the mold off of the dishes that are piling up in the sink, or just invest in paper plates someday when I make it back to the grocery store?

See what I mean? Candid. I am not open to criticism, thanks anyway.

Meanwhile, apparently the world outside continues to turn, but I am not really aware of it. I have lost track of days, but I am happy I get ten weeks of maternity leave to invest in this baby. Each day I learn a little more, and get a little closer to this tiny person. I do not know how women go back to work sooner. Really, my hat is off to you if you have done that. Also, I have a newfound respect for single mothers. That is an inconceivable notion to me. I do not think I could have physically or mentally gotten this far without The Funasaurus. Seriously, if you were raised by or know a single mom, perhaps you should buy her something very expensive and sparkly for Thanksgiving. And then again for Chanukah and Christmas. Also perhaps a crapload of liquor.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, we are actually hosting this year. And by “hosting” I mean, “we will unlock the door to our house and let my mom come in with all the supplies and cook in our kitchen.” Of course, we have a new gas stove, and we are smelling quite a bit of natural gas when we turn the oven on. The Funasaurus and I have blissfully gone about cooking (mostly chocolate chip cookies) in our exhausted new-parent stupor, but my mom is somewhat concerned about the natural gas. She has these silly concerns about blowing up our new little family, apparently that’s not part of her Thanksgiving day plan. So I have tried to call the builder, who told me to call the gas company, who told me to call this other number, who have told me they’d call back sometime to schedule a day to come out and test our oven.

I have doubts about whether this will happen before Thanksgiving. In which case, I am starting to wonder if we are going to have to just start popping little Cornish game hens one by one into our toaster oven starting around Miss Thang’s 3:00AM feeding on Thursday morning. That should be awesome.

Next up, the story of Tatum, the little shit we can’t live without.

OMG

2009-11-09T18:12:00.002-07:00

I am somebody's mother.

Introducing Miss Thang.

I'm sorry posting has been light. (read: nonexistant.) Parenting has been as hard as I expected. It's rewarding in unexpected ways, and this little person is amazingly time-consuming for being all of seven pounds plus change.

More to come, I just wanted to let you know I survived labor (mostly) and there is a new princess in town. I'm not even sorry to share the title.

One Track...zzzzzzzzz

2009-10-09T18:32:00.000-06:00

My brain is dead, making me kind of incompetent at things like walking, let alone writing. I do still want to write, but every time I get the slightest inkling the pregnant corner (is there a corner? I think it might have taken over the whole thing more like a supreme dictator) part of my brain goes, “Or you could nap.” And, really, napping is so amazing it is better than any drug you could ever possibly imagine. I love it so much.

Everything around here is also babybabybaby, and I didn’t really like those people before I got pregnant, so I’ve been reluctant to put it out on the interwebs that I am, indeed, that person now. I am all about the BabyCenter chat rooms, the pediatrician interviews, the measuring my cervix doctor appointments, the buying/borrowing plastic shit that I don’t really comprehend but apparently cannot raise a baby without, the packing my bags for the hospital, etc. I am also trying to stay employed, which is harder than it sounds when you factor in the aforementioned brain deadness, napping, and all-consuming baby lifestyle.

I feel like these are very first-world problems. Whaaa, I still can’t have brie and cabernet. Life is so hard. Also, how do you feel about cloth diapering?

Meanwhile The Funasaurus left for Seattle this morning for work, and I feel like we are perhaps tempting the universe just a little bit by sending him hundreds of miles away when I am less than two weeks away from my due date (and we know how much the universe likes to accommodate my plans) so I am trying not to panic and just squeezing my legs together really tightly for the next three days.

Last night I changed the sheets on our bed, and decided to put down a garbage bag underneath the sheet on my side in an attempt to save our mattress should my water break while I am sleeping. It could happen. I sleep a lot these days. I think I might have mentioned…? Anywhos, I woke up around 1:45 AM, sure that my water had broken, given that my hip (I can only sleep on my side now) was rather damp. I woke up, excited to tell The Funasaurus that his trip was cancelled. Also we were having a baby. But then I got up and walked and felt oddly dry everywhere else besides my hip and thigh. I did not quite understand what was going on, plus it was the middle of the night so I was only semi-conscious, so I decided to go back to bed to see what would happen. I woke up again three hours later, again with a wet hip and thigh, but nothing else, and suddenly a little lightbulb flashed in my brain and I realized that my water was probably still intact, but that I was drenched in sweat because I was sleeping on a plastic bag under nice, warm covers, OMG I AM AN IDIOT.

So the bag was removed and I remained dry for the rest of the night and The Funasaurus left and now I’m wondering what to eat for dinner that has the least likelihood of causing labor. Any suggestions?

Once Upon a Funasaurus Marrying a Princess Pregnancy Idiot

2009-09-23T23:16:00.002-06:00

Today The Funasaurus and I celebrated two years of marriage (when did that happen?) by eating burgers and chocolate cookies for dinner. We like to stay sophisticated like that.

Remember how I told you that my child seems to favor Beyonce, particularly the “Single Ladies” song? That was well-proved again after watching tonight’s episode of Glee, and its many iterations of that song, making my child sit up and wiggle each time the uh-oh-oh comes on. (Yes, I totally watch that show, just like everyone else. It is unexpectedly living up to the hype. Way to make musical theater mainstream, Fox. Who knew you could pull it off?) Apparently my child is not the only one.

I seriously cannot get enough of this video. Feel like my child is doing more or less the same thing on my bladder these days. I only hope she is that cute.

Speaking of the child…I am 36 weeks along. I am due in late-ish October, but potentially she could come sooner. Since we haven’t gotten around to getting a car seat yet (I hear we might want one of those) I’m hoping she continues to just stay where she is, abusing my bladder, for just a little bit longer.

The symptoms only get worse from here on out, though, including my pregnancy brain. The thing which led me to believe that it would be a good idea to try and catch a wasp that was in my house and save its little life by putting it outside today. Let me just tell you now so that you do not make such a silly assumption, wasps are indeed fucking ungrateful little bastards. Ungrateful little bastards with very pointy, venomous butts.

The full story starts with Sugar making some very excited noises in the stairwell today, and after a few minutes, I got curious as to what had made her excited enough to leave the Pooping Pigeon Show for such an extended amount of time. I find her and Tatum staring and pawing excitedly at the stairwell where a wasp is casually wandering along like he owns this ‘hood. As trips to the emergency vet clinic danced through my head, I waddled as quickly as I could to the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel, and decided to try and capture the thing and release it outside. The capture went well, the cats’ disappointment was palatable, and I waddled quickly to the front door, where I shook the towel…but nothing fell out. Feeling fairly badass by this point, I blithely looked around the towel instead of running for cover like one should know to do when one has captured, terrified, pissed-off, and forcibly removed a wasp from its ‘hood. Naturally, the little fucker was still clinging to the towel, looking for someone upon whom to unleash his rage.

Look no further, wasp! I am here, bloated and stupid and poking my sausage-like finger nearly in your face. Merry Christmas.

So that stung a lot. The towel is still outside, and I panicked, sure that I had somehow damaged my unborn child forevermore. I called the doctor, but only got a voicemail. So I called urgent care, but they said they couldn’t help unless I came in. I wasn’t sure if I was dying or perhaps overreacting just a little. I called my pediatrician friend, left a I’m-trying-to-be-cool-but-please-help! voicemail, and finally turned to Google, who assured me that unless I was having an allergic reaction, I, and my baby, were probably fine. Love u, Google.

This evening I went outside to collect the towel, and I’ll be darned, but the wasp’s corpse was still on the thing! So I tried to wipe it off, but wasp corpses are very clingy. Except it’s not really a corpse, because it suddenly sprang to life, not very excited about being wiped against the cement step.

Pregnancy brain is a very real thing, folks. It makes you something beyond moronic. Even morons tend to understand the concept of “once bitten, twice shy.” Take note. Also, please send Benadryl.

September? When Did That Happen?

2009-09-18T16:06:00.003-06:00

Fucking pigeons and their pooping habits. I have enough pink onsies, if someone would like to send me a BB gun as a baby gift, I will gladly accept it. Currently the pigeons seem to enjoy taunting my cats, and are pooping at least once an hour on my window and it makes me throw up a little every time it happens.

Speaking of windows, we still do not have window coverings. I wear a baseball cap to work, now, because the glare from the windows behind my computer is so bright. I also am still not so fond of showering (although to his credit, The Funasaurus did apply window frosting to our bathroom windows, so we are no longer giving nudie shows to potential neighbors every time we shower, so there goes that excuse for lack of hygiene) and between that, the baseball cap, and the three t-shirts I have in rotation that still fit over my enormous midsection, I am a sexy, sexy sight to behold. I am also so bloated that I had to wrench my wedding ring off because of circulation issues, and while I am very emotional about not getting to wear those right now, The Funasaurus really has nothing to fear as far as my lack of marital status symbol goes, for the few times a week I do venture out into public.

Meanwhile at work my boss has given her two week notice, and they have brought on a new director to our division, so I am subtly trying to ingratiate myself to him (fortunately, he lives in another state, or I might have baked him cookies) because I feel like taking off several weeks and delegating my work to other competent people is kind of spectacularly crappy timing right when there are huge shifts in management going on. At least there’s still work to do.

On that note, I should probably get back to it. That and/or a strawberry popsicle. Work and popsicles are (happily) not mutually exclusive concepts.

Blogging. That Thing I Used to Do.

2009-09-10T22:42:00.001-06:00

I know, I suck, it’s been weeks since my last entry. At first I was procrastinating writing because a sudden glitch came up with our new house. Our lender almost blew the whole deal for us, and I was a bundle of superstitious nerves and decided not to share with the internets, lest it jinx our plans.

Then the loan did go through, and suddenly it was like, oh, hey, we need to pack an entire house. Naturally work blew up for both of us at that exact moment as well, so we have been super busy. Plus, I don’t move as quickly as I used to, what with the enormous growth in my midsection. As a neighbor kid recently pointed out I am “GETTING REALLY FAT!” and I think I would have bitten his head off and eaten it had I been able to waddle over there fast enough. But then I decided to forgive him because the kid doesn’t seem to own pants. I’ve only ever seen him in oversized adult t-shirts that he likes to wear as dresses. Middle school’s going to be rough enough on him, I’m afraid.

We spent last weekend moving, and it was a process of organizing boxes, mediating between my mother and mother-in-law who…are very different people, and trying to ignore hearing the movers say, “Just risk it!” in Spanish, as they lifted my desk over the top of the stairs. Happily, my desk, computer, and files made it, the family is more or less in tact, and I did not go into early labor, which all bodes very well for our future in the new house.

The pigeons, on the other hand, are less awesome. They like to poop. A lot. Right onto my office window. Which I’ve had to keep open because we don’t have air conditioning and it’s fricking hot, especially upstairs. I’ve given up nursing a healthy paranoia of H1N1, and have reverted to the more retro Avian Bird Flu, as I’m sure that if it exists in any form in Colorado, it’s smeared in greenish-yellow gobs on my window screen. And Sugar has licked it.

Sometimes I fantasize about curling up in a ball under a clean, soft blanket with a bucket of organic chocolate ice cream and perhaps a bottle of antibacterial soap for the rest of my pregnancy.

I also fantasize about curtains, because we don’t have window coverings yet, so every morning is a bit of an adventure getting showered and dressed in our spacious new home with tons of oversized windows. Fortunately, the house right outside the windows of our bedroom and bathroom happens to be vacant, but it’s always a bit of Russian roulette with when the open house tours starts for the day.

On that note, I should probably go to bed. Or I will be tempted to sleep in in the morning. … I say, as though I am not tempted to sleep in every morning. I really hope this baby will continue to let me sleep 10+ hours a night when she is out of my womb. That would be nice.

Cross-Wired

2009-08-17T22:13:00.002-06:00

Today I called a service that I like to call StupidCast to set up a new phone and internet line at our new house. It was a typical conversation with them, involving lots of emphatic NOs from me, lots of uncertain math by them, and a general desire to poke out my brains with a blunt object through my right eyeball by the end of it all.

Somewhere in the middle of that gawdawful conversation we had to come up with an installation date, and it just so turned out to be the same day as the birthday of the daughter of the lady I was talking with.
Her daughter is turning 13.

Fine.

She still acts like a little girl.

Fine. Can we talk about what eight-hour time span I can expect a technician to show up and butcher our wiring?

She still has kittens on her walls.

FINE, did you remember to include my precious DVR in that order?

She just got her first period.

Fi...WTF?

It’s about time to have THAT talk with her. You know, the one where…

YES, I KNOW. The things we don’t think about when we decide to have a baby, ha ha. (Except for now I am thinking about it. Thinking about talking to my unborn child about bleeding and mood swings and teenage pregnancy and OMG I really need a fucking rock to crawl under about now.)

In less-traumatic news, I have been hearing about people who play their kids classical music. Early start learning and all that. There is much controversy over volume levels, are earphones on the stomach effective, and the advantages of Mozart over Beethoven. I have chosen to eschew all of the above, and instead, when I rediscovered my iPod the other day, had myself and my engorged belly a little dance party to “Put a Ring on It” by the classic artist, Beyonce. Tonight, when Beyonce’s song “Halo” came on, the kiddo started kicking. Possibly coincidence, possibly my influence condemning her to a lifetime of poppy hip-hop. Here’s hoping she’ll have a little more rhythm than her mom.

Also, if you are looking for a very awesome baby gift, look no further: Sushi Booties. You’re welcome.

Down the Rabbit Hole

2009-08-06T17:43:00.002-06:00

We have started attending baby classes at the hospital. There’s a special kind of birth control! So far we’ve learned about the many, many things that can go wrong, and this is all well-before the kid’s old enough to start lighting up in the bathroom shrouded in an ever-subltle cloud of incense and patchoulli.

In one exercise the instructor had all the expectant mothers get together and write a list of the best and worst parts about being pregnant. We made a valiant effort to come up with a few things for the “Best” side, so that the paper wouldn’t be completely uneven. Our “Worst” side was definitively longer. Although one smug woman looked up over her perfectly round little belly and finally admitted, “Gee, I just haven’t experienced any of that. I was never sick, I still sleep through the night, and I haven’t had any heartburn at all.” I thought the fact that the rest of our little group managed to not attack her for that little comment like a pack of savage heartburned dogs shows just how civil our society has become. There’s hope for our children.

Then we got back with our partners and the instructor read off their list of “Best Things About Pregnancy.” It began with “Huge boobs.” Hope may have faded just a little.

I have also started having yet another completely new symptom of pregnancy. It feels almost like…longing. For…

wait.

for.

it…

running.

So I know I am officially crazy. I have jogged, off and on, for about 15 years. Never once have I really felt a sense of enjoyment from it. I was not built to run, I never got endorphins or whatever that good stuff is that you atheletic-y types speak of. It was shit the whole time. Jogging was convenient, free, and something I could force myself to do before I had completely woken up, and therefore it stuck. Not for any sense of feeling good about it. And now, all of a sudden, seven months into pregnancy and lumpy and bloated and waddle-y, I am like, Hey. Remember when I used to be thin and could move quickly? That was kind of…nice.

WHO HAVE I BECOME?

I am chalking it up to Restless Leg Syndrome. We now have two body pillows in between me and The Funasaurus to help keep his shins intact through the night. This’ll all be easier when the baby comes, right?

Le Cinema

2009-08-01T09:43:00.000-06:00

It’s Friday already—hooray! Too bad I still have a lot of work to do. But! If you don’t have anything else going on this weekend, I highly suggest going to see 500 Days of Summer. The Funasaurus and I saw it last weekend, and we both really enjoyed it. For some reason it was only playing in the indie movie theater around here. I didn’t really understand that, there are previews for it all over regular television channels. And it had a very similar feel to Juno and Nick & Nora’s Infinite Playlist, which were both very hipster and whatnot, but still major motion pictures. In any case, I am not complaining. I love a chance to go to a slightly gothic theater that serves alcohol (even if I cannot partake in said alcohol) and stand in line with people who are obviously much cooler than I am.

There was a torrential downpour coming down when we came out of the theater last weekend, which would have been very romantic had I not been feeling so pregnant and cranky and cold. But we made it home, soggy but pleased with ourselves for having ventured outside the neighborhood for the first time in what felt like a very long time.

This weekend I was kind of hoping to see another movie. I heard Up was good but sad. I am not sure my very pregnant nerves can take intentionally sad. Any other recommendations?

Speedy Summer

2009-07-28T17:49:00.001-06:00

The move is looking more and more official, which is both awesome and completely overwhelming. I do not care to pack while I am pregnant. Come to think of it, I do not care to pack even when I am not pregnant. Pregnancy is just an awesome excuse for everything. Fortunately, though, once our massive amounts of crap are collected into boxes, those boxes can go into our new basement (WHOOHOO) and stay there, unpacked, forevermore, should I so chose. Or should apathy so chose. Whichever.

I am so excited for a basement I cannot even tell you. The views of the mountains and two sinks in the bathroom are also very awesome.

Yesterday I got to go to the doctor and drink what basically tasted like the syrup form of Tang to test my body to see how well it could process sugar, and thus see if I was at risk for diabetes. Happily, my body processed it fine. At least my pancreas did. The sugar kind of went to my head and I got wretchedly light-headed, so I got to spend a pleasant forty minutes resting horizontally on a little table in a doctor’s exam room, trying not to faint. Just how I like to spend MY Monday mornings. But, as I said, no sign of diabetes, so I had an ice cream sundae to celebrate last night.

Tatum has become disgruntled as the amount of space on my lap seems to be dwindling, though that doesn’t stop him from still trying to sleep there. Today he got a kick in the face through my stomach, which woke him up. While it wasn’t that much force, (I’m not sure he bothered to open his eyes completely) I was kind of excited. Get him, little girl! He plans on chewing on you when you get here, so I say it’s never too early to learn to kick him in the face.

Otherwise, life is much the same as usual. The Funasaurus is playing a lot of volleyball, Sugar is too good for the rest of us, and the liquor store seems to be managing to stay open, even without my weekly withdrawals of chardonnay. Now if the tornado sirens would just stay off for a couple of days….

Getting Fatter and Sleepier

2009-07-22T23:06:00.000-06:00

If I owe you an email or a phone call or a kick in the pants and have neglected to do so over the past two weeks, I am sorry. I had great intentions to get back on the blogging train with more regularity once the pregnancy was public knowledge, but my work had other ideas. Ideas which have kept me up until 2:00 AM, burning comma-shaped holes in my eyeballs and making me deliriously mourn the days of hour-long naps. On the plus side, I do feel more productive than I’ve felt in a while!

I do not feel that pregnancy is a valid excuse to buzz off early, after I discovered that my boss was conducting a conference call while hemorrhaging. As in, losing massive amounts of blood whilst navigating the temperamental world of WebEx. She claims she has not yet had time to go to the doctor. I claim I could not make this shit up if I tried.

Were that not enough, The Funasaurus also got a bee in his very expensive bonnet and we’ve been in the process of refinancing our house and/or deciding whether to up and move to a bigger house before the baby’s born. As in, you know, the next two and a half months. Because we don’t have enough going on, already. We’ll have extra money to pay for this move because babies don’t cost anything and we get lots back in taxes, right? Right? Hello?

Completely unrelated, I am terribly flattered that PassionSearch.com has singled me out as their latest target market worthy of unreasonable amounts of spam, but I feel I must warn them that their marketing research did a terrible job. If you do not come bearing cookies & cream ice cream I have no passion for you.

And if I have not already told you, I am spending my days enjoying my last bits of solitary princess-dom, occasionally sharing with Sugar. There is a new princess on the way, the ultrasound did show girl parts, and I am getting the impression that she will be getting more royal treatment than I will. Le sigh. I am not sure I am ready for the Queen Mother title. I don’t really want to wear those kinds of hats.

Family Gathering

2009-07-06T21:06:00.002-06:00

The Funasaurus has a Crazy Uncle. Crazy Uncle is a unique soul with a Master’s degree in poetry from some fancy university, which he has forsaken on his quest to idealize the downtrodden working class. He has spent the last thirty years or so as a janitor, to be among his people. He also has decided not to drive and does not own a car. That’s all well and fine, until some family function inevitably comes up, and everyone is all, “I suppose we should invite Crazy Uncle” and then we have to draw straws for who has to go fetch Crazy Uncle and give him a ride to said function.

Enter: Fourth of July, 2009. Location: Funasaurus extended family’s farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The Funasaurus’ mom volunteered to pick up Crazy Uncle (seeing as how it’s her brother) and then managed to somehow shirk that responsibility me and The Funasaurus, adding, “Oh, and he is bringing some friends.”

Super duper. Because Uncle Crazy’s friends are always an interesting set. More often than not they are homeless, much younger than he is, and full of baby mama-esque drama. Up we pulled to the little apartment that Uncle Crazy is sharing with his friends from Ohio (they took the Grehound) who are, indeed, homeless, and madly in love. And very eager to display their love in the front lawn of said apartment. They piled in, and The Funasaurus and I attempted conversation. “So how do you guys know Crazy Uncle?”

“Through my wife,” explained Homeless Dude, who is busy fondling the woman who is, apparently, not his wife.

“Ah”

We are still unsure as to how they know each other.

We got to the house, and we went in to start preparing potato salad and other traditional 4th-esque food. The rest of the extended Funasaurus’ family is quite normal, and very friendly. They even invited my parents down so that we didn’t have to choose between families, which makes life very easy.

Eventually it was time to eat, and after selecting the perfect hamburger with slice of American cheese, I waddled out to their fabulous deck (I say “waddle” because I have gained ten pounds in the last week or so. TEN. POUNDS.) where one table wass full, with people like The Funasaurus and my dad sitting around yukking it up, and the other table is half-empty, only hosting Crazy Uncle and friends thus far. I sucked it up and took one of the empty seats at the table with Crazy Uncle & co.

Moments later, The Funasaurus’ mom came out of the house, followed by my mom. I watched them both assess the deck situation, and eyeball the one remaining seat at my table. “Oh, here, I’ll let you sit with your daughter!” exclaimed The Funasaurus’ mom benevolently to my mom, as she darted off towards a lone deck chair. And thus my mother got to join me at the Table of Incomplete Sentences. At least my mom got wine.

There were a few false starts at conversation, but eventually we mentioned something about the radio, and Homeless Dude got all excited about a local radio station in Ohio. “Do you work at the radio station?” asked my mom.

“No.”

…

“So, then, what do you do, if you’re not at the radio station?”

“A lot of things.”

At least he was consistent in his curt, useless answers.

“He does landscaping with his dad,” Uncle Crazy offered, appreciative of our attempt at conversation.

“Not that much. We do more roofing,” countered Homeless Dude.

Uhg, that must be hot in the summer,” I said, polishing off my lemonade.

“Not really,” said Homeless Dude. “I take off my shirt.”

We weren’t quite sure what the appropriate response was to that, so I looked around for more lemonade, while my mom studiously nursed her Chardonnay.

“I used to be a stripper,” added Homeless Dude, when apparently we did not respond to his shirtless comment in the way he wanted.

I watched my rather prim mother nearly choke on her Chardonnay out of the corner of my eye.

Coincidentally, the conversation died shortly after that, so we excused ourselves to go admire the flowers at the far end of the yard. “I wish I could give you some of this,” said my mom, swirling the dregs of her Chardonnay as we walked. That is why she is my mother, and why I love her very much.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. We got to give Crazy Uncle & co. a ride home, and then a ride to WalMart, where they decided they would prefer to be for fireworks viewing. The Funasaurus and I drove home, comparing notes and watching the fireworks across the horizon from our vantage point on the highway. When they’re that far away, going 75+ miles an hour doesn’t really make a huge difference. Among other things, we agreed we should probably get our child a very large car seat. Safety first, and all that. If it just happens to be chauffeuring-prohibitive, that’s just an added bonus.

It Always Comes Back to the Goats

2009-06-30T22:57:00.001-06:00

My favorite maxi-dress that has been a staple of my pregnant summer wardrobe shrank in the wash. I am…devastated. Also, continuing to wear it in all its shrunken glory because I just don’t know what else to do. I hate pants.

Recently I have found myself working late into the night, and yet somehow just falling more and more behind. (I haven’t even been napping all that much.) It has gotten frustrating, and the downside of working from home is that you’re never removed from work. So while The Funasaurus watches his beloved True Blood, I sit upstairs in my office snarling at my computer and cursing invoices everywhere for not being able to process themselves. This has led to near anxiety attacks, and because I now have a new life priority (Try Not to Birth Crazy Baby) and cannot resort to old calming techniques (boxed wine) I decided to Fuck It today and went swimming with a friend this afternoon, and then out to dinner with some neighbors tonight. (Happy birthday not-Wassie, as I had you in my phone for so long. I did finally change it.) Then I watched TV with The Funasaurus for the first time since we’ve been home from California. I feel very Zen. I will not feel Zen tomorrow when my boss asks how far I’ve gotten, but I am not thinking about that for now.

I find myself fantasizing about my goat herd, and thinking this would be an awesome summer to be a pregnant herder, because I wouldn’t have to walk very far because we’ve gotten so much rain there’s a ton of grass and green growth everywhere. Including noxious weeds. And the goats would eat all my stupid pokey thistle and that’d be great because I really hate bending down to pull those suckers out. Goats would solve everything.

I wanted beehives too, but it turns out I am not as loving towards the bees as I professed to be, because I hacked back this huge bush in our alleyway that was just swarming with happy little fuzzy honeybees because it was scratching my car’s paint. Stupid bush. Fortunately, there’s a ton of these bushes growing in the vacant lots to both the north and south of us, so hopefully the bees will find their way there and not die off causing me all sorts of traumatic post-bush-hacking-grief.

I get traumatized easily these days. This is valuable information to share, actually. Please think about dropping a) kittens b) rainbows c) unicorns d) thistle-eating goats into any conversations we might have in the next couple of months. You are much more likely to get a non-hormonally-charged response out of me.

This Post Brought to You By My Old Friends, Exhaustion and Panic

2009-06-24T17:42:00.000-06:00

We are back from California. We got in yesterday, just ahead of some massive thunderstorms. Thank goodness for small blessings. After five nights sleeping in five different locations, four nights of late-night partying (or just delays in travel), driving all over San Francisco and Napa, and a wedding full of incredible wine that I was not allowed to drink, I do not think my nerves would have handled turbulence well.

Happily, the wedding went well, I managed to squeeze into my bridesmaid dress and keep my bouquet strategically placed over the alteration-oopsie for all the pictures, and got a lot of cuddling in with old friends. And now I am back on terra firma for a good long while.

But a big congratulations goes out to my Tweedle-Dum, you were a gorgeous bride, and I know you will be just as gorgeous in England for wedding number two. I continue to be insane with jealousy.

Work piled up while I was gone, and I have spent today alternating between panicking, working, and napping. Which doesn’t really help the panicking so much, but sometimes I am unable to stay awake. Somewhere amidst the chaos, I have also discovered this website: http://www.lets-panic.com/ and jeebus, but where have YOU been hiding my whole life? Or, at least, the last five months? If you have a baby, or have ever thought about having a baby, or have ever stumbled across someone who might have a baby in you life, go read and laugh until you get uncomfortable at how something so tongue-in-cheek can hit so very close to home.

And now I really should get back to work. It’s going to be another late night. At least my toothpaste is now back in a logical spot in the medicine cabinet instead of buried deep in the nether-regions of a much-abused suitcase under a pile of dirty laundry.

Progress Brought to You Mostly Via Ice Cream

2009-06-18T15:06:00.001-06:00

I’m running out of time, we leave this evening for California. We’re going to another wedding, and this one should be extra-fun because a ton of our college friends are all flying in for it, so we are going to have a mini-reunion in Napa. Sadly, there is no wine tasting for me, but pregnant ladies get first crack at the buffet, don’t they?

For anyone who’s curious, I’m 22 weeks along, meaning we’ve passed the halfway mark. I can feel the baby move now, which is exciting because it just about killed me to go a month in between doctor’s visits where she’d tell me yes, everything is still going o.k., you’re o.k., the baby’s o.k., please stop worrying.

The second trimester has been a cake-walk compared to the first, although there are still some adjustments. For example, I only just realized that I am probably not going to fit into the bridesmaids dress for this weekend. Dilemma. And not being allowed to climb all over my stomach does not compute in Sugar world, so there are a lot of late night battles about cuddling, not with my poor husband, but with my love-sick pokey cat. I get a lot of purring in my ear mixed with, “Why don’t you love me???”s. If you think this is bad, cat, wait until I shut you out completely, because somehow I am not confident that you will not climb all over the baby. I am also a little nervous about Tatum chewing on the baby. He’s very into chewing these days. Especially on exposed skin for some odd reason. The cat’s not normal.

I know a lot of people love pregnancy and have magical experiences with it. I’ve had a few glittery moments, but there have been just as many whacked-out, oh-my-god-I’m-pubescent-again-and-can’t-control-my-emotions moments, leading me to wake up my husband just to pick a fight, and post obscure Sylvia Plath quotes on my Facebook status, hoping that someone out there in that cruel, cruel world will understand my pain. It just runs so deep. Sometimes. Sometimes I'm totally normal.

The fascinating thing, though, is with this time around (as compared to when I was fourteen) there’s actually a part of my brain that clings to the real world and is like, “Holy obnoxious, woman, snap out of it. You are bat-shit crazy. I cannot even compute what is wrong because, actually, nothing is wrong.” I drown that part of my brain with tears and more cookies & cream ice cream.

On the upside, The Funasaurus is very awesome about picking up more cookies & cream on a regular basis and listening to me go bonkers without laughing outright at me. Or divorcing me. So that’s nice. Plus, I don’t have to clean the litter boxes anymore! SCORE. 10 points in favor of pregnancy! I like feeling like I have a little buddy everywhere I go now; I’m never lonely. Especially now that I can feel movement. I just can’t believe how fast it’s all going.

Hard to Top That Last Post

2009-06-11T20:51:00.001-06:00

So, yes. I am pregnant. Am with Funasaurus child. We are super excited, although I will admit to a couple of weeks of shock as this was not exactly planned. At all. I like to think of it as a testament to the fact that we have a really awesome sex life. Or, at least, did, right up until I got knocked up and my libido shut down like an American auto factory. Nothing is sacred when you are pregnant, as you shall find out.

On a more sincere note, thank you all for the outpouring of support. I have to say, one of the best parts of this whole thing so far (besides, you know, adding to the Funasaurus gene pool) is getting commenters out of the woodwork. Hey y’all! It was very cool to hear from you. Thanks again.

Pregnancy is a wild ride, and a very awesome trump card. If The Funasaurus wants to go out to restaurant X and I want to go to restaurant Y, we go to Y. I AM CARRYING YOUR CHILD. Also: CRAZY. Don’t fuck with a pregnant lady. He wants to watch an action flick and I want to watch Pride & Prejudice AGAIN, we buckle up for some 19th century repressed British love.

Work now knows, so I felt comfortable putting this information out on the intrawebs. I survived the first trimester and did not get fired, so I call that a success, even though I have had mountains of work to catch up on, thanks to my new habit of napping three hours a day.

Hopefully this explains the recent slowness in posting; it is hard to remember anything, anymore, that isn’t very baby-related. I miss wine, I miss sushi, and I miss sleeping on my stomach. Although the first two have saved me a ton of cash, and the sleeping thing probably explains some of my need to nap all the time, so I am not as lame as you might have first thought. Maybe.

Otherwise, things are pretty much the same. Sugar is pissed that I’ve been traveling so much. Tatum continues to chew on everything, including our most recent ultrasound pictures. I have almost made my way through the Twilight series, instead of my most recent book club books. And The Funasaurus is trying to convince me that it’s totally a good idea to name our firstborn child after Disney’s The Little Mermaid. That, or Thorkill. So far, a consensus has not been reached on names. We are open to suggestions.

Mother...

2009-06-08T21:35:00.001-06:00

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Moving Right Along

2009-06-02T15:58:00.001-06:00

I’m back in Delaware, and while most of the sights and smells are right and good…there is no strawberry pie. Which is tragic. That’s what happens when grandmom moves into an assisted living home, I suppose. It’s probably best for my ever-expanding midsection, but not so great for nostalgia’s sake.

On the other hand, I get to stay with my aunt and uncle in a nice queen bed from this decade, so that’s a plus. And I went and bought a bag of cookies to stash under said nice queen-sized bed so as not to tempt them from their Weight Watchers regime, but still get my refined sugar fix.

My grandmother is as feisty as ever, and still interested in playing bridge, but she’s more forgetful than I have ever seen her, and more tired. She still gave me a hard time for leaving even though she was falling asleep for her afternoon nap. And apparently ratted me out to my aunt that “she knows I have a busy social life and need to see my friends,” even though I explained to her I have to work on this trip, and had to get back to for a conference call. Nothing like a little guilt to make you feel right at home.

Still, the weather’s warm and we had a yummy summertime rainstorm this afternoon. I love warm rain. If it rains in Colorado, it gets really cold. I’m seeing my friend and her new baby for dinner tonight (grandmom wasn’t totally wrong about my social calendar) and quite likely driving through the old Dairy Queen on the way home. And maybe past my old house. Then I need to figure out the rules to cribbage, because my forgetful grandmom is kicking my ass at bridge.

Is It Really Summer? Because It Feels More Like November. Maybe December.

2009-05-26T14:26:00.002-06:00

I spent the weekend in San Francisco freezing my ass off, because although I have LIVED in the Bay Area and spent much time in The City, I forgot to bring my coat when I left Denver last week because it was EIGHTY DEGREES. Surely, I thought, the sweatshirt I packed would be enough. I was… incorrect. So I spent the weekend borrowing vests, coats, scarves, and wraps from various friends, and feeling ridiculously unprepared.

But otherwise the weekend was fun. I saw high school friends, college friends, and my brother and sister-in-law. I ate a ton of good food, and didn’t drink nearly enough wine, and only lamented that fact a little bit, since I was so busy stuffing my face with more fresh strawberries. One of my best girlfriends from high school got married at a gorgeous venue amongst the redwoods in Los Gatos. She’s now in Jamaica at the exact same resort I was at just a year ago. I nearly cried in jealousy. Then I ate more strawberries.

This week The Funasaurus is gone, playing volleyball in Minnesota because, why not? I will spend the week doing laundry, going out with friends, and repacking so that I have time to pick The Funasaurus up from the airport on Saturday night in time to have him turn around and take me back to the airport on Sunday morning to fly out again. That should give us just enough time to be like, oh yeah, you’re cute. We should hang out sometime. Maybe when I get back the following week.

Now I’m stuck trying to meal plan for myself. It’s a pain to cook for just one person. The meal plan may include a lot of Chipotle. Any other suggestions?

Donut Love

2009-05-20T11:31:00.001-06:00

An old friend I just reconnected with via Facebook is an up-and-coming celebrity (?) in the donut world. Apparently Dunkin’ Donuts had a contest to create a new kind of donut, and my friend is a finalist!

Here’s the link if you would like to see all the fabulous new potential concoctions:

https://www.dunkindonuts.com/Donut/?icid=don_000027

If you’re inspired to vote, my recommendation would be to vote for my friend’s donut, Frozen Assets. It sounds yummy.

Here’s a little article about her:
http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=84504676251&h=SiRZt&u=ehN3Q&ref=mf

I’ll stop the deep fried pastry pimping now, and we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow—when I’m in California. Oh, California. I am so conflicted about you. As I recently said on Twitter, going back to California is like going back to an ex-boyfriend. Familiar, alluring, even sexy, and oh so totally wrong for me.

OMG. I'm, Like, One of Them

2009-05-13T20:34:00.003-06:00

I did it. Curiosity killed me, or whatever. I joined Twitter. I am kind of feeling overwhelmed by technology these days, and didn’t really need another reason to push work even further into the wee hours of the morning because I am too busy toodling around on the internet during normal working hours. But some co-workers recommended it, and I am inclined towards things geared towards an ADD mentality, so I signed up.

This will be a trial period, however. I am not so enamored of Twitter as I have been of Blogger, or Facebook, or other unnamed internets-y distractions. So I’m giving it one month before I cancel the account and get back to my regularly overscheduled life. In the meantime, if you’re on Twitter, let me know! I assume it’s more entertaining the more people you follow. Or if you have any suggestions of clever, witty people who are capable of expressing themselves in a sentence or two, that’d be great. I have not yet mastered the art.

Now I need to get back to work. I suppose I am also taking recommendations on self-discipline techniques. That, or preferred caffeinated beverages.

Full Musical Disclosure

2009-05-12T12:08:00.001-06:00

This weekend while driving around The Funasaurus and I had our usual battle of the radio. I always veto sports radio. The Funasaurus always vetoes NPR, especially when they start playing world music. Then I veto a station playing The Eagles, and The Funasaurus vetoes the station playing commercials, even though they have promised Duffy when they return. And then we inevitably settle on the local hip-hop station. And as fate would have it, it was a flashback weekend, and so the next song to come on the radio was “Set Adrift on Memory Bliss” by P.M. Dawn. Memory bliss, indeed! Possibly one of the awesomest songs to come out of the 1990s.

Which has set me on a feeding frenzy of all things early-90s hip-hop to reheat my iPod, which I haven’t touched in about a month. Today, I rediscovered Color Me Badd. Go download “All 4 Love” right now. Thank me later.

I also suggest “Don’t Walk Away” by Jade, “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe, “7” by Prince, “Don’t Be Cruel” by Bobby Brown, and “Snow” by Informer. Are you horrified, yet? I have plenty more where that came from, oh yes, I do.

I realize about 90% of my readers (hypothetically speaking. Not sure I have any left.) have now lost all respect for me, whatsoever. Which is fine. If you read this blog, you are probably aware of the fact that I am fond of sharing humiliating personal anecdotes on a regular basis. However, the other 10% of you can email me for the full playlist.

It totally includes “Motownphilly.”

A Unique Job

2009-05-06T11:18:00.002-06:00

Ya, I know, I kind of checked out of the blogosphere there. Mostly it involved working too much and dressing up like a panda.

And then giving a presentation whilst wearing a panda mask that I altered with a pair of kiddie scissors so that I could see out of the eyeholes, and apparently when you do not pay top dollar for a panda mask, you do not get top quality. Nay, you get acrylic fur haphazardly stuck to mesh, and when said mesh is cut, you get faux panda fur in your nose and eye sockets, which you will then proceed to pull out in furry eye boogers for the next 72 hours. I’m sure that was healthy.

But I survived. And the panda mask kind of survived. And my job survived, despite the fact that I was so delirious from lack of sleep that I had to ask for help in the middle of my own presentation. You know, the one I put together? Awesome.

In feline news, Tatum has taken a turn for the old, and is suddenly much less eager to get up, even for mice, in the mornings. And then he cuddles on my lap all day, and makes himself so happy he just purrs and purrs and snots on my white pants and that…is not cute. He has also not slowed down in his eating, despite slowing down in his energy level, so his already-significant posterior has gotten much more FAT. Causing me to have to dump him from my lap every now and then so that I can get some feeling back in my legs.

Sugar, meanwhile, has taken up Tatum’s goat-like tendencies, seeing as how he’s too busy sleeping, and ate all of the little arrow stickers The Funasaurus was using to mark up a document the other night. If we leave salmon or steak out her highness wants nothing to do with it. But neon blue post-it stickies? Nom nom nom. We’re waiting to see how this plays out with her digestive track.

The fun times never end around here.

Pandas and Bad Metaphors

2009-04-22T11:18:00.000-06:00

Let’s say my job has taken a turn for the more…creative and I am currently in need of a panda costume. For a work event. Or, at least, I could do with a panda mask. Any suggestions or previous Halloween costumes I could borrow out there?

On a completely different topic, my sister-in-law has become obsessed with romance novels, and has recently convinced me to read one. It felt very much like a King Sized Milky Way bar for my brain. It had no redeeming nutritional or literary value whatsoever, in fact, I perhaps feel slightly lazier for having digested it, but dear God it felt so good going down. I had no idea such an abundance of soft core porn had its own section in Borders! How did I miss out on this genre in my angsty, honry teenage years? This seriously could have saved me a lot of lame poetry-writing. Or perhaps induced more dirty poetry. I don’t know. Either way, the world would have been better off.

I feel so unfaithful to my book club. I think I am supposed to be reading some Pulitzer Prize-winning Icelandic author right now. Instead I am snorting literary crack in the back alley where commas are poured liberally and without structure, like powder on a mirror.

It just tastes so sweet.

Drivel

2009-04-17T11:20:00.002-06:00

Hi, I’m still alive. (barely.) Life has been a weird combination of boring and busy. Busy as in, I feel like I don’t have any free time any more, boring as in I’ve been doing absolutely nothing with all that time that’s worthy of a blog entry.

On Monday I had this bizarrely realistic dream, wherein I was driving a friend’s stuff across the country. The “stuff” included one dog and one full-sized alligator in their respective crates. I was not happy about being roped into this task, and at one point in California I got out of the car in a parking lot to take a little break and let the animals out. I was drinking out of a water bottle and looked over at the alligator and thought to myself, “Don’t they usually live in the water? I bet the poor guy’s thirsty.” So I poured a little water into his mouth, and he seemed to like it. And I remember having the distinct thought, “Well, at least THIS’LL make a good blog entry!” as I gave an alligator little sips of water from a water bottle in a parking lot in California.

Then I woke up and briefly pondered writing that blog post, but then quickly deemed it Too Lame because, hello, it’s a dream, and went on waiting for something better to happen. Clearly, my week has not gotten more exciting, so you get the dream. Happy Friday.

I worked a convention downtown two days this week, and while it is very exciting for someone who normally works from home to see: People! Coworkers! Clothes that are not pajamas! It is also very hard for that person to get up early enough to be completely showered and dressed and make-upped in time to DRIVE somewhere to begin their workday. How did I ever used to do that on a regular basis? How do you people do it? Two days later I am exhausted and still wearing pajamas at 11:00 AM.

In less-pitiful sounding news, it is snowing here AGAIN, and really, when we’re halfway to May, I have to ask, what’s the point? I am not skiing this weekend, and half of everyone I know is flying in or out of Denver today, and it’s really all quite inconvenient. Happily, I only have to run to the grocery store and am comfortable driving in the snow (should it ever start accumulating on the roads) but I have now added Emergen-C to the grocery list, gearing our immune systems up for the battle that I know is to come with the pending 70-degree weather.

Cumple-ing Some Anos

2009-04-08T23:08:00.001-06:00

I can hear The Funasaurus watching T.V. downstairs. Either our sound is fucked, or American Idol is slaughtering a perfectly decent Kylie Minogue song. Like, brutally.

In happier news, today I put decade # 3 under my belt. Facebook has boosted me into superstardom with its birthday reminder, and I have never felt more popular or remembered. Plus, also, my brother is the awesomest brother ever, and has a memory like an elephant. Remember this post? He definitely did. Today an enormous box of Voss water was delivered to my doorstep. It is not just any sibling that will hunt down overpriced Norwegian water and send you a crate to celebrate making it through another year. Awesome.

And then The Funasaurus sent me flowers that look like a very large cupcake. I don’t have a picture, yet, but trust me, it’s coming. And it will be awesome. Because there is not much more I love in the world than cupcakes and flowers. Except, perhaps, for sparkly earrings. Which The Funasaurus also gave me and much like a bird, I have spent most of the evening transfixed by the sparkle.

Super rad birthday. I hadn’t even noticed that I’m getting old and my hair’s turning gray and there are definite signs all around that I am becoming a grown-up and whatnot.

I Guess It Rains Popcorn in Aaaaaaafricaaaaaaaa

2009-04-01T22:48:00.001-06:00

The problem with a) being sick and b) having crappy weather is that I don’t leave the house much these days. Around 1:00 today I finally broke and went to Panera for a quick soup in a bread bowl, just to see some people. I don’t think the people were very excited that I proceeded to hack all over their restaurant because the cold aggravated the tickle in my throat. But the soup was good and I got to pretend like I was a member of society for about ten minutes.

Tatum and Sugar, on the other hand, love the sickness and the cold. Because they don’t get sick or cold, what with different immune systems and a cozy little house that I have kept at a balmy 72 degrees recently. They just get a very lethargic Me, who is willing to take naps with them just about daily. Of course, napping is not great for my work schedule, and has thus led to a couple of late nights as I scramble to not fall too far behind on work projects. Which only leads to more napping the following day. It’s a bad cycle. For me. For Tatum and Sugar it’s a very awesome cycle.

In other news, a good friend who just got back from Egypt sent me a lovely Ankh pendant from somewhere near the pyramids. I have always had a thing for Egypt. (Could any country be more the opposite of Norway?) When I was very young, I obsessed about Cleopatra and King Tutankhamen, and in grade school I decided I wanted to be an Egyptologist and go about digging up pyramids in the desert. I practiced my archaeological skeelz in the schoolyard and found some burnt bits of corn. At the time I supposed there had been a large popcorn party or something, and those were the remnants that had been microwaved too long. In actuality, I think I learned later it had been a corn field that had been burned down and covered in asphalt to make the playground. I think a massive, field-sized popcorn party is a better story, but I digress. I am very excited about my new little pendant, and I need to find a silver chain to put it on so I can wear it as a necklace. Anyone have a good suggestion as to where to buy a silver chain?

Giving My Immune System the Finger

2009-03-30T15:45:00.001-06:00

This weekend was awesome and not-so-awesome, in a you can have your cupcake, but you can’t eat it, too kind of way. My parents celebrated their 45th wedding anniversary on Saturday. My brother and his wife were in town, so we drove up to the mountains and met them (after a gorgeous day of skiing, apparently. We got an insane amount of snow on Thursday.) for a mind-blowingly delicious four-course dinner. And given the fact that I have inherited my fondness for the pressed, fermented grape from the ‘rents, we were not without Very Delicious Wine for the entire weekend.

Or, so I deduced from the miniscule sips I pilfered in between feeling woozy from the Superman-strength cold medication I was taking and a heedful of snot. (Note: Superman-strength medicine and alcohol still do not mix in a happy way, for me.) I also heard the food was excellent, and it certainly looked pretty, although I really couldn’t taste much due to the fact that my taste buds were swimming in mucus.

Anybody still reading?

I am not letting any lady-like tendencies get in the way of my descriptions of agony and want. I need you to know how crappy my immune system truly has been this winter, if I am to garner an appropriate amount of sympathy.

Sunday was another ski day, and while the plan was to ditch the un-skiing-inclined Funasaurus in the hotel room and make some glorious, glorious turns with the fam, I instead spent Saturday night hacking up a lung, and could barely make my ears pop going down the stairs. I decided jumping on a ski lift might make my head explode, and so instead we went to the movies while my family skied without me.

I Love You, Man was about as funny as the previews led us to believe, so it wasn’t a total waste. But it was hardly a powder day on the mountain, either. Sunday night was a repeat of Saturday, with another gourmet dinner and some incredible wine. Which I again heard was divine. Le sigh.

But once again my father proved his awesomeness by tipping heavily and procuring the restaurant’s jar of honey so that I could take it back to the hotel with me after I spent the whole meal pounding tea. I seriously chugged that shit straight out of the bear’s head, it felt so good on my throat.

The Funasaurus again proved his awesomeness by not divorcing me after I snotted out the window of his car when I ran out of tissues.

But all sickness aside, we had a blast with my family. There was laughing and surprises and talks of the future, and there may even be a chance that my brother and sister-in-law will make it out for a holiday this year. Which would be really, really awesome. Here’s hoping.

It's Not Hard to Entertain Me

2009-03-23T23:44:00.000-06:00

Today I invented hats. As I have gotten quite used to the 70 degree weather we’ve had around here the past two weeks, today’s sudden drop to 50 degrees felt like an arctic blast. On my way to the store, I was lamenting the fact that neither my sweatshirt nor my jacket had a hood. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” I thought, “if there were such a thing as an independent hood. Something that I could put on my head to keep it warm when none of my apparel came with a hood attached.”

Then I realized I had just invented a hat, and swore to myself never to tell anyone the story of how stupid I could be. Clearly that resolve lasted about five hours.

This weekend I took a photography class with my boss. It was not a work-related thing, so much as a we just found out we have the same camera and no real concept of how to use it-thing. I’m not sure what I was expecting from a class called “Photo Safari” but it somehow came as a surprise to me when the teacher explained that we would be spending the afternoon walking around outside taking pictures. I was not wearing good walking shoes, and I had not applied sunscreen. Nor did I have a hat. (But you can’t blame me, there, I hadn’t invented those, yet.) So I am now sunburned, blistered, and sore, because I also didn’t think to leave my heavy purse in the car, so I lugged it around on my shoulder (along with my makeshift camera bag) and now my back hates me.

Bonus: my boss thinks I’m a big, fat pansy because I kept having to sit down and rub my shoulder and feet. Brilliant idea, all around.

In better news, another good friend of mine had a baby on Friday, so I have been scouring Facebook all weekend for pictures of various newborns. I think the part I like the most is how deliriously happy all the parents look (if you can see past the dark circles under their eyes). It’s nice to see your friends so blissed-out, even when they’re exhausted. Congratulations, H, N, and M. Little S is darling.

Your First Lesson: Do Not Eat Lysol

2009-03-18T23:11:00.001-06:00

Some of our very best friends in the whole world just had a baby on Monday. I still cannot believe we are now of the age where people are getting knocked up intentionally. But if any two people should have ever procreated, well, go K & E. She’s the most darling squishy-faced thing I’ve ever seen. At least from what I can tell in the two pictures on Facebook. I am desperate to meet her, but am not holding out good odds that it will be anytime soon, because The Funasaurus is sick AGAIN and I am not sure a) he will be completely well by the time it’s convenient to visit or b) that I won’t have caught whatever variation of the plague seems to be mutating around our house these days.

Every day after my darling husband leaves for work, I Lysol every doorknob, light switch, and handle in our house. I love him, but I do not kiss him these days. I feel we are both slightly grumpier for this alteration in our habits. (But I’m not sick! … yet.)

Meanwhile, I don’t think it’s a good situation for Tatum, either, as the knucklehead is fond of chewing on our toilet handles. I imagine he’s consumed more than his fair share of Lysol recently, as much as I try to keep the bathroom doors closed.

He’s developed an interesting habit, though, and I’m not sure if it’s a Lysol-induced trance or just his own newest quirk, but I’m still trying to decide if it’s endearing or annoying. It’s a fine line with that cat. He is still obsessed with his faux mice, and has become deeply interested in playing fetch at the most inopportune times. (Try EVERY SINGLE TIME I’m on a conference call.) He brings me the mouse, and when I do not respond in a timely enough (1.6 seconds) fashion, he starts howling, and pawing at me. Then the pawing turns to clawing. And soon enough, he finds himself caught in the fibers of whatever pants/shirt I am wearing. But instead of backing off and trying again, he goes for the lazy (?) way out and leaves his claws where they are and just hoists himself up to them. Which usually brings him to my lap, wherein he immediately is like, HEY! SOFT! and throws himself down and falls asleep. So Tatum has turned uber cuddly, and takes about 20 naps a day in my lap. Which is cute. Until the howling and clawing start again. Fortunately, it doesn’t take him long to get caught again and then excited about his next nap, so I’ve learned to just wait for it to cycle through until he’s snoring peacefully on my knees so that I can unmute my line.

Welcome to the world, EGM. I’m totally o.k. with it if you ever want to chew on my stupid cat. I’m not sure he’d notice.

God Bless You, Buddy!

2009-03-15T12:40:00.001-06:00

I Was Almost Waiting for the Bunny to Gag from the Ridiculousness of It All

2009-03-10T22:16:00.002-06:00

There is nothing in the world more adorable than kittens. Except maybe baby deer. I am a sucker for those really oversized eyeballs. Thus, I give you something so sweet it will rot your teeth:

Who Have We Become?

2009-03-08T23:05:00.003-06:00

I spent Saturday scrapbooking and playing cards with my mother because I’m apparently skipping my young adult life and jumping straight into middle age. Today I drowned the loss of my youth in cheesecake at The Cheesecake Factory with a girlfriend, and felt oddly happy about the whole thing…there wasn’t even any wine.

Shit, supposedly I’m not even thirty for another month.

I am, quite seriously, contemplating a nose ring. I feel as though working from home would allow me the flexibility to experiment with this typically questionable workspace-appropriate form of self-mutilation. I’m thinking a little blue sparkle above my right nostril. Something a little more permanent than the aftermath of sniffing my blueberry scented glitter pen. (As unintentionally effective as that is.)

I am also feeling robbed of an hour of my weekend with this whole spring forward B.S. Why can’t they ever do it at, like, 4:00 on a Monday afternoon? Because then it would *POOF* magically be time for happy hour! That would be ideal. I shall put a letter to Mr. Obama on my to-do list, as I’m sure the nuances of daylight savings time comes a close second to our tailspinning economy on his list of priorities.

In other less-exciting (to me) news, The Funasaurus beat his post-apocalyptic game tonight, wherein he has spent the last many nights and weekends of 2009 attempting to liquefy half-naked people wielding small knives with his super-soaker-esque automatic weapons and heavy artillery. I did not…approve, although it seems to make him quite happy, and he’s still trying to convince me they were out to kill him. He told me he saved some children somewhere along the way, so I let him continue to play. The win was bittersweet, though, as somewhere in the excitement and remote-hurling the sound function was lost on his Playstation, and so the ending came in silence, and if there was a song of victory, he missed it. I would ask for a moment of silence for his loss, but I think The Funasaurus is OVER silence, and is looking for some action-packed soundtrack music, already.

Baby, this one’s for you.

You really should read my blog more often.

Eastern Philosophy

2009-03-03T14:35:00.000-07:00

I spent Saturday meditating with my boss. We actually drove to Boulder for a little retreat thing-y. I feel as though it would have gone better had I not A) fallen asleep and B) thought to eat something before I went. A rumbling stomach in a room full of Very Serious and Very Silent Hippies is akin to a frat party in a graveyard. I was a little nervous Buddha himself was going to come back for another life just to sush me.

Happily, my boss is forgiving, I think the fact that she had a raging case of pinkeye led her to be slightly less judgmental overall, and the day was deemed a success. I sped home with all of my newfound nirvana to hit the bars to celebrate a friend’s birthday that night. Gotta ying that yang.

Global warming is upon us here in Colorado, and as I read the news about all of my beloved East Coast being blanketed in several feet of snow, I have opened up the windows to let some of this glorious 70+ degree sunshine right in. The house was getting a little stale. While this is devastating for our snowpack and mountains, I have decided to be very zen about the whole thing (maybe Buddha did make an appearance?) and embrace this t-shirt weather. It makes it easier knowing that I have been too busy throwing baby showers and channeling Buddha to ski recently. I think if I was up in Summit County I’d probably cry.

Royal Baking Lessons

2009-02-24T21:54:00.002-07:00

Apparently if you leave shit in the oven too long, it not only cooks to be very well done, but it mutates into something brand new, entirely. I was…not expecting that, when I discovered the oven had been left on yesterday. Who’s hungry for overcooked rolls? Apparently I wasn’t, as I had forgotten all about my damn baking project, and only realized perhaps something’s wrong when an odd smell finally made me gag, whilst sitting in my office.

Crisis somewhat averted. The damage to the oven is still unknown, but it appears to be in normal working order, so that’s good.

Meanwhile I’ve taken to eating string cheese and microwaveable things. Fortunately, The Funasaurus is a good sport and just laughed at me, instead of divorcing me for nearly bringing the house down with toxic fumes.

We are strong, if somewhat ill. At least it was warm enough today to open some windows and get some fresh air in the house.

Tatum and Sugar seem to have not noticed, happily, and continue to be obsessed with a new toy I brought home from the pet store. It kind of looks like a raccoon tail at the end of a string. What’s funny is Sugar has gone all jungle cat on it, and pounces about frantically, and gleefully drags it all over the house, raccoon fur flying everywhere. Tatum, on the other hand, has gone metrosexual on us, and when he manages to extricate it from Sugar’s Fangs of Death, he just wraps his legs around it and washes it and washes it and washes it, until the colors are just so and the tireless grooming finally makes the raccoon rings line up neatly. I’m debating getting him a man bag the next time I’m at PetCo and/or Nordstroms.

I Had a Life This Weekend. That's Something.

2009-02-23T14:56:00.001-07:00

How is it not still Friday afternoon? This was one of the fastest weekends of my life. I’m not quite sure where all the time went, and I’m pretty sure I was awake and sober (enough) for most of it. I went out for dinners, I went to game nights, I went to surprise parties, I hosted a baby shower (no chocolate was injured on my watch), and all-in-all, had a nice time. I just wish I could have sat down somewhere in there.

My cold is mostly gone, my back is feeling much better, I just now have some wretched, wretched cramps. So help me but if you try to tell me that PMS is a social construct I will cut you.

In happier news, I ate at an awesome restaurant on Friday. Fresh, affordable Indian food—super yummy. If you live anywhere near I-25 and Arapahoe, I highly suggest going to Bombay Bowl. They are basically an Indian version of Chipotle, and I haven’t been so excited about a new restaurant in a very long time. Go! Thank me later.

Mmm, Wine

2009-02-19T22:28:00.001-07:00

As I headed into week three of my head cold, I decided that I could no longer use The Sniffles as an excuse to be a complete and utter lump, and finally made it over to run on the treadmill at my sister-in-law’s house. About seven minutes into my jog, I felt an odd sensation. My entire back was seizing up. I jumped off the treadmill (and here I use the term “jump” loosely, because what I did really more resembled “bailing in an exceedingly ungraceful way”) and limped home like The Hunchback of Notre Dame, were he more petite and muscle-less.

By the afternoon I had exhausted my supply of people to whine to in the middle of a weekday, so I sucked it up and went to the store for some extra-strength Alleve. Which I’ve been popping like candy ever since.

I have taken this as a very serious sign from the universe that I am not to jog ever again. I wish the sign wasn’t so painful and long-lasting.

Um. Mostly that’s it. This week has mostly been about whining and canoodling back rubs out of my husband. I took a break from the pills yesterday to go to a happy hour with a girlfriend, and found that enough Pinot Noir can hold its own against any sort of OTC painkiller. I was relaxed and happy and more flexible than ever last night!

Sadly, hangovers are kind of not really great at all for back pain. I found solace, again, in the Alleve this morning.

Also, this I decree: I think I am giving up on The Office. It’s a funny show, but I’m really fucking sick of them only bothering to air a new episode every third week. I don’t love it that much. I hear 30 Rock is better, anyway.

Cuteness Prevails

2009-02-16T17:19:00.002-07:00

Further evidence that the handful of functioning synapses in Tatum’s brain don’t always connect: today Tatum fell twice and ran into at least one wall. Once fall was this morning, into the shower, while it was on. Tatum does not like it when we get in the shower, and makes his disapproval known by sitting on the bathtub edge in between the shower curtain and the liner and pawing at your shadow. And then licking the liner. As I don’t feel this is the most nutritionally sound decision he could be making, I often yell at him, which causes him to pause momentarily and then go back to pawing harder. Today he pawed so hard I felt him land on my feet, just as I was rinsing shampoo. He was gone before I could rinse the suds from my eyes.

After I screamed, I peeked around the curtain to find him looking very surprised and a little damp. It took him about ten seconds to recover before I felt him pawing at the shower curtain liner again.

This afternoon he fell off my desk while attempting to clean himself while balanced on my day planner. It was not a normal cat fall, where they somehow manage to land on all four feet and sulk away to wallow in their I-meant-to-do-that recovery. Tatum fell on his butt, taking a mess of papers and day planner with him, and then sat there looking surprised, again, for the second time today.

At least he’s cute.

Speaking of awesomely cute, I saw Coraline this weekend. I am a sucker for gothic-y, stop-animation movies anyway, (love me some Tim Burton) but this one was one of the best I’ve ever seen. I was nervous about getting vomit-y with the 3D glasses, not having the best equilibrium in the world, but my eyes adjusted quickly, and I am excited at the advancement in 3D technology from the blue and red glasses days. The movie totally tapped in to some long-lost little girl fantasies, other worlds and all that. I loved it. And I love the animations. And I love a heroine who doesn’t need a romance to make a good story. (As much as I like romance, I’ve read enough Twilight recently to get my fill.)

I will also admit that I saw Confessions of a Shopaholic this weekend. It was…not great. The book was only o.k., and the movie was nowhere near as good as the book. It was choppy, the romance was not very well developed or understandable, and I don’t understand why they kept dressing Isla Fischer in dead bits of Muppets. Even she looks horrified. She knows she’s prettier than that. The clothes (dead bits of Muppet aside) were fun to look at though, and Jeebus but let’s put THIS GUY in more movies with lots of slow close-ups, hmm?

Why I Love the Internets

2009-02-10T21:13:00.001-07:00

If you like to watch good commercials:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3d3KigPQM

If you are a word nerd:
http://savethewords.org/
(There was a stiricide incident on a recent episode of the office. I just had no idea there was a name for it!)

Mostly I love this site for their usage of the words in a sentence.

Perantique: adj. very old or ancient
ex. Your momma is so perantqiue, she knew Burger King when he was just a Burger Price.

HA! So. Awesome.

If you are looking for more koalas and or news-ish stories, (although this one made me cry):
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25038852-2862,00.html

Um. That’s it. I thought I had more, but I am still weepy over the little thirsty koala. Also, I can't shake this cold, and am kind of digging day 12 of the Dayquil. It just gets better and better.

Stories That Would Be Better with Less Explanation

2009-02-06T18:01:00.001-07:00

I got an email today that I really wish had not been a “reply to all” so much as “New Title"d because it would have been way awesomer out of context. It came to me from somebody I don’t know (Did I mention I joined the homeowner’s board for my little corner of the neighborhood? Because I did. Which vaguely translates to a watered-down version of high school student council for everyone who was so not cool enough to actually get voted into a nominal, gossipy position of almost-no-power-at-all 20 to 40 years ago.) and the entire email read:

Thank you Jeannette.
Thanks you! Mark.

It was a thankful email, full of names I don’t know. It just made me feel like the universe was encouraging the appreciation of random strangers. Hello, you, person! Thank you. Thank you Ginny, Alistair, and Edwina! (Apparently the strangers in my brain are all about eighty-nine.)

In truth, it was a thank-you note to a contractor sent from a person who’s also on the board, whom I have yet to meet, who forgot that his automatic email signature would provide a nice parallel structure to his message.

Totally not as awesome a story as the universe's sudden interest in gratitude.

I also feel like I was violated a bit by not one but TWO cats today. First, I went for a jog on my sister-in-law’s treadmill. Being worn out from almost ten full minutes of doing something that looked like a drunken power walker, I sat briefly to cool off. Her normally aloof cat came running over to stuff her nose into all my sweaty bits, including my crotch. After four years of running in crazed fear if I got within her twenty-foot comfort zone, I felt like this was maybe rushing our physical relationship just a tad.

Then, as I sat here typing, I felt the gentle kneading on my scalp that The Funasaurus knows to break out as foreplay because it feels so good it’s practically orgasmic. Except then my giddy little brain was like, “Um, Funasaurus = not at home.” So I glance at the back of my chair and come weirdly close to the uber-dialated, googly eyes of Tatum, going nuts in my ponytail with his paws. It felt so wrong. And I had to re-do my ponytail, so double loss right there.

This post took a weird turn. Come back next week.

Squeeeeeeeeeeeee

2009-02-04T22:38:00.001-07:00

http://jezebel.com/5146381/happy-hump-day

That does it. I'm moving to Australia.

Don't Worry, I Read the Second Book This Afternoon

2009-02-03T20:33:00.002-07:00

It was a busy weekend from going to jewelry parties (no thanks, I’m here for the free wine, quit with the sales pitch, already) to going to baby showers (anyone who thinks that it’s a good idea to waste a perfectly good candy bar in order to make it look like fecal matter in a diaper that will only end up in a landfill anyway does not share my affinity for candy bars… or my affinity for not discussing poop) to watching the Superbowl (yay for good friends, I did not even have to bust out book #2 of the Twilight series to keep myself entertained) to playing bridge with my parents (Jeebus, I’m old) to kissing The Funasaurus.

That last item may not seem monumental to you, but I typically do a lot of Funasaurus smooching, and I have cut myself off for the last WEEK because he came down with a bit of a sore throat and a cold and I had no desire to partake in that crap. Sunday we deemed him “fine enough” and got back to the kissing already. Monday I woke up with a sore throat. Happily, this germ has not been debilitating so much as annoying, so I’ve been chugging tea and eating soup for lunch. Wheee. My life is awesome.

Actually, it did get pretty awesome last night when I went out for Ethiopian. Good lord, but I love Ethiopian food. It was really well prepared, too. I wanted to go back tonight. But we’re refraining, and waiting until next week to go back. My friend who joined me for dinner was headed to trivia night at a bar afterwards, and I was invited. Because of the annoying cold-ish like thing I have festering in my throat, I decided to decline. Also because I suck at trivia and hate feeling like a moron who does not retain useless (nor useful, really) facts. Then I found out that one of the categories last night was The Muppets.

Opportunity came knocking, and I turned it down for tea. GAH.

My Husband Tolerates This Only Because He Knows I Know He Loves American Idol

2009-01-28T23:09:00.002-07:00

Today, instead of exercising, I went out for a sushi lunch. Then I had a cheesesteak for dinner. Then, because we were out of our typical cachés of refined sugar, The Funasaurus and I dropped everything and went to the grocery store at 9:00 to buy cookie mix. One stick of butter and one egg and one oven preheated to 350 degrees later, we had a heaping pile of gooey chocolate chip cookies.

And I blame winter for my current state of icky-feeling.

I am impressed with the number of people who’ve commented on the Twilight series, both in and out of my comments section. Diane, you’re totally in the minority. Everyone else who hasn’t read it, I suggest you bury your inner feminist and literary critic deep, deep in some flannel pajamas and channel your inner angsty teenage girl and just enjoy the story. That’s why we read fiction, right? For the delicious feeling of imperfection perfected? Blood-sucking angel-of-the-night aside, the romance is impossible. It would be creepy and possessive and shallow in real life, but enveloped in an over-romanticized small town in the thicket of the Pacific Northwest rainforest in 14 point font, it’s just lovely. Think of it as bon-bons for your brain. There is no substance to it, and you might feel ridiculous for ingesting it, but dear God it feels so good going down.

Um. That’s it. Mostly it’s cookies and young adult fiction and body image issues around here these days. Pretty much I’m back in high school without the PE uniform. At least that’s something.

Monday Night Is a Dark, Dark Time

2009-01-26T21:43:00.002-07:00

1) I did. I’m not even sorry. I read Twilight this weekend. It was awesome. I squashed any feminist inklings I had deep into my pink slippers and singed them shut with chamomile tea and have ever since been fantasizing about unhealthy, passionate attachments to very pale and strong Funasauri with sharp teeth.

2) Sugar has been uncharacteristically playful and talk-y today. And I realized that sometimes I like it a lot when she is a little more feisty and less-lounge-y princess-y. I like it when she does something with her life, when she doesn’t let these four very small walls bear down on her and turn her into a slug and instead reaches out and creates action of her very own, turning her slightly crazy-eyed and purr-y.

I would like to be crazy-eyed and purr-y.

I became obsessed with the idea, and finally, after much grumping about work, I decided to put a plan into action. I would do something. I was off on an adventure. I managed to take about four steps outside this evening before The Universe was like, “You don’t want an adventure, you big pansy,” and I was unable to breathe because it was, like, four whole fucking degrees outside and this princess got chilly. The tea is being re-heated as I type.

I told myself I would wait until next weekend to read New Moon, but this is already turning out to be an extraordinarily long week. I may not make it.

Geriatric-like Hope

2009-01-20T23:58:00.001-07:00

I went skiing with my parents this weekend. Skiing with your parents has multiple benefits. Hot chocolate, and often lunch, are free. Your ego is stroked. My, your technique looks lovely, dear. After nearly 30 years, that shit doesn’t get old. You’re not so tired at the end of the day because really, you took a couple of easy slopes at a mellow pace with a couple of 60-somethings and then called it a day around noon because their knees were hurting.

Except for the fact that I am so out of shape that I was actually very tired. And my knees hurt for the first time. When did I get so old?

I found out a friend’s sister qualified for the Boston marathon today. I qualified for discounted rates on car insurance, I think.

On a different topic, I was surprised at the interest generated from the internets in seeing my debut as an unkempt grocery store rep, so I promise that if I ever manage to find said video, I will be sure to post it for your viewing pleasure. Don’t hold your breath. I am not sure King Soopers posts much to YouTube.

Also and P.S. Congratulations Mr. Obama. I’m very happy for you. And very glad I got to watch the inauguration from the warmth of my house (well, to be technical, my neighbor’s house, seeing as how my frickin’ cable [hate you so much, Comcast] went out at a particular key moment) and was not standing outside in the blistering cold trying to catch a glimpse of a Jumbotron somewhere. Though I probably would have tried to if I lived anywhere near D.C.

I Could Have Showered

2009-01-19T12:32:00.005-07:00

The other day I realized that I had not been to the grocery store in about two weeks, and was kind of over the whole living off of tuna fish and stale tortillas-thing. So I decided to take a quick break from work and make a dash for, at the very least, some cereal. I actually contemplated throwing on some makeup, but figured there was likely no one worth a few strokes of mascara at King Soopers at 2:00 in the afternoon on a weekday.

(Fore*shadow*ing. See definition of:)

I made my way through the aisles pretty quickly, and was gazing at an end display of paper towels when I noticed a woman who had bothered to make the effort to appear decent before she went out that day, sort of standing behind me, pointedly. I tried to subtly squeeze my cart over, giving her room to pass. She did not pass. I glanced over my shoulder and immediately made eye contact with her. Probably because she was staring at me.

“How are you today?” she asked through a perfectly lipsticked mouth.

“Fine, how about you?” I mean, what else do you say to that, even if it is odd that a woman in heels in a grocery store, lacking a grocery cart, is making idle conversation with you in front of the paper towels?

“Good! We’re filming a commercial,” she replied cheerily, nodding at a large camera, professional lighting, and multiple artistic-y people dressed in black scurrying around near the vitamins right in front of me, which I had somehow missed up until that point. Apparently, paper towels can be quite riveting.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I’ll get out of your way!” I made a mad dash into the closest aisle, horrified that I had just parked my grocery cart, complete with new mop handle, in the middle of a King Soopers commercial.

The lady with perfect lipstick followed me in her high heels saying, “Actually, I want you to be in it.”

The attention whore in me had about half a second of joy at finally being “discovered” before my brain kicked in and was like, “Dude, NO makeup. Also, perhaps, maybe you could have brushed your hair this morning?”

“Oh, that’s o.k.,” I told her, walking away quickly. There is no way I would let anyone take my picture looking that crappy. I also am not fond of how I tend to look on video, ever. It’s never quite what I see in my mind’s eye.

“I’ll give you a $25 gift card,” the woman said.

I turned around and wheeled my cart up to the camera, ready for my close-up. As they lectured me on what to say “We’re looking for more than yes/no answers, here,” I took a cue from Scarlett O’Hara and pinched my cheeks and bit my lip to try and bring a little color to my winterized, ashen face.

With the cameras rolling, they asked me what I liked about King Soopers. I froze. It was not, really, a shocking question. What did I think they were going to ask in a commercial about King Soopers? But my mind went blank. I stared blankly, proving that one does not need to have much more than an IQ of 4 to be a shopper at said grocery store. “uh.” “erm.” I glanced at my cart. The mop handle did nothing for me. The organic peanut butter, on the other hand….

“Organic!” I peeped. The cameraman, the interviewer, the lady who had recruited me, and everyone else who was watching all looked at each other like, “Wow, that totally does not make any sense. At all. Way to pick ‘em, lipstick lady.”

“Organic stuff. King Soopers has a nice selection of organic…(produce? Meat? Seafood? Yogurt? Cereal?) stuff.” Was all I could think of to repeat. “Also, it’s close to my house. I’d really just shop at any place that’s close to my house.”

Apparently, that was not the answer they were looking for. They kept prying, so I went back to my first phrase and just repeated “organic stuff” a couple more times. Look at me go! I am so organic! I’m practically a hippie, as far as they are concerned. Too bad I forgot my canvas totes and would be taking my wholesome pesticide-free-range food home in plastic bags.

“How about in these economic times? Have you had to make any changes to your spending habits? Has King Soopers been able to accommodate those?” asked the interviewer guy, gently leading the moron to the type of answers he was expecting.

“Oh. Uh. Yes. Also, your prices are good. Um. So, like, when I lost my job (ed. note: this was almost two years ago and had nothing to do with the current economic crisis, but I decided not to bore them with those details) we had to cut back and I was able to find cheaper alternatives in the store. The generic stuff is just as good. Also I like your organic stuff.”

I watched the interviewer guy try not to roll his eyes.

“Also, you’re cheaper than Safeway,” I threw out, in a horrifyingly desperate attempt to appease lipstick lady so that she would still give me my gift card.

It was brutal, but they did finally give me my gift card. Then they took my picture. I bit my lip one more time to try and bring some color in, and I think I managed to make it bleed. That should be a fantastic photo for their campaign.

Look for a bleeding princess on your local television, eschewing normal grooming habits for going out in public, or listen for her on your local radio station, promoting the proximity of King Soopers to her house and stuff.

Do Your Thang

2009-01-14T15:43:00.003-07:00

So I may not write much anymore, and I don't have much to show for my time. Mostly I've been sleeping. Sleeping insane amounts of hours. I am pretty sure I'm turning into a koala. Sleep, and also, the Cupid Shuffle.

I've become obsessed with this weak, modern version of the Electric Slide! I got the song in my head out of NOWHERE, and it won't go away. I downloaded it to my iPod, I've Cupid Shuffled across my (oops) work papers in my bitty office, I've been singing Down down do your thang to The Funasaurus as he wakes up in the morning; nothing is helping.

Though I have found a tutorial by Cupid himself, wherein he teaches his latest dance craze to you via hand-held recorder in what appears to be a Burger King, focusing on his upper torso and not so much his feet. I get it, Cupid: left, right, kick. I am rhythmically challenged, not fucking stupid.

Sometimes I wonder if I am, perhaps, understimulated on a day-to-day basis.

Bringing It On Home

2009-01-08T16:15:00.001-07:00

The plague has descended upon my conference, and while many of my colleagues rally through, partying until the wee hours of the morning, supplemented by heavy doses of Sudafed and Dayquil, I and my weaker counterparts resist the peer pressure and are turning in around midnight to be able to drag ourselves, and what's left of our immune systems, out of bed in time for breakfast at 7:00 in the morning.

Happily, I get to go home tomorrow. Unhappily, I have to strategically drug my sinuses into submission in time so that my head doesn’t explode on the plane.

Tonight there’s a formal cocktail hour, sit-down dinner for 1,000 of my nearest and dearest coworkers, and a dance. I am hoping to make it through dinner. I am also taking a cue from grandmothers everywhere and donning sneakers to walk over to the other hotel, whilst dressed in my cocktail dress. Klassy. My sense of balance is just swimming in too much snot to attempt anything more than standing (preferably while leaning on something) in heels.

Hi, I’m now old and crotchety. Nice to meet you. I’ll write again when I’m feeling less whine-y.

Have a magical, snot-free day until then.

I Think I Can

2009-01-06T09:49:00.000-07:00

Internets, I have some news. I am going to have a new job! Same company, new title, new division. It’s a promotion in that I’ll finally be doing what I want to be doing. There is no financial promotion, though. At least I’m finally back on a career track, of sorts. I am super duper excited, and while I have known about this pending possibility for months, I wasn’t sure the economy gods wouldn’t jinx me if I announced it too early. But I start on Monday, and it looks like things are underway. Yay!

So last night I ditched my current boss for dinner (technically, he didn’t invite me, but I assume he would have had I made poor-pitiful-dinner-less sounds around him, as I am apt to do at these things) in favor of going to dinner with my new boss who issued an invitation with exactly NO prompting from me! I feel good about this, already. My new group is full of smart, sassy women, and I am totally intimidated and totally in love. I kind of feel like I’m in a new relationship with a cool, older person who hasn’t realized just how dorky and awkward I can be. I’m trying very, very hard not to make an ass of myself. It didn’t help when I started the evening off by calling the VP the wrong name. Also, when I proclaimed loudly that I LOVED maracas as we heard a rattling sound in the middle of dinner at a Cuban restaurant. And then a busboy walked behind me lugging a crateful of clanking glasses. Please don’t dump me.

My throat is still sore, but the sun is shining and I got at least six hours of sleep last night, in between the resort finally deciding to take down the Christmas decorations and vacuuming the hallways around 12:30 last night, so all’s not lost. So far, 2009 is off to a pretty good, if sleepy, start.

It's a Small, Drunken World After All

2009-01-04T20:59:00.001-07:00

New Year’s Eve went well. We hosted our traditional party and I got trashed, just like I said I wouldn’t do, then I woke up and flew to Florida for work. On the way there, I tried sleeping on my tray table on the plane. Unfortunately, the lady in front of me also tried sleeping, except she did it the normal way, by putting her seat back. Her seat back collided with my sleeping head. Her seat back won. (I'm not even sure it knew there was a battle.) If my head had not been aching before, it certainly was after said collision. I have a lump.

My coworkers were completely unsympathetic to me and my lump, having drunk more and slept less, so they greeted me with a yummy cocktail including a floating, glowing ice cube. They are much more hard-core than I am. And I do not turn down floating glowing ice cubes. After working, we drank our way through EPCOT, (managed to find and pound alcoholic beverages in five countries before they closed the park) and then continued on to a dueling piano bar where we drank drinks of unnatural colors.

Then yesterday we worked and managed to squeeze in a trip to Magic Kingdom. Odd, after a week of drinking too much I started feeling a little ill. But that did not deter me from getting on Splash Mountain. In January. At night. Wearing a t-shirt. As a kid, I disliked roller coasters. I was scared of them, and refused to even try. Last night, I looked at them and was like, “Could be fun.” I was unaffected. And so I went on roller coasters for the first time in my life. I had a blast. Space Mountain may be the coolest thing ever, and it only took me twenty-nine-ish years to figure that out.

Today I was all-out sick. But the show must go on, so I worked and partied and schmoozed, and drank Sprite and told people it was a gin & tonic. And popped throat lozenges between the chicken skewers and tri-colored tortellini. Then snuck back to my hotel room while my coworkers debated between Disney karaoke and a dance club with no DJ. I feel I am not missing out on too much this evening.

A Day Spent Surfing the Internet

2008-12-30T16:57:00.002-07:00

Last night was an unintentionally late night. I had to work, and so The Funasaurus was on his own with the T.V. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to watch anything on the DVR, knowing that I’d just make him re-watch it later, and the same goes for watching season 2 of The Wire, which we’ve recently gotten into.

So while I slaved away at work (read: minesweeper) The Funasaurus rented himself the first couple episodes of Heroes. Does anyone out there watch it? I don’t know what I was expecting, but it is turning out to kind of be like X-Men, without the awesome costumes, hairdos, and bat-mobile-type vehicles, but with more graphic sex. I got sucked in soon enough, and then *BLAM* it’s midnight, and I am a sliding down the slippery slope of cranky-pants-in-the-morning.

Is it worth renting the next couple of episodes tonight?

In other news, Mike Shanahan is gone. It’s probably time for a change, but it's sad because he’s the only coach I’ve known since I moved to Broncos territory. Hopefully this’ll be a good thing for the team.

…

That’s about all the energy I could muster for football. Anyone want to talk about something more pink and/or sparkly? I heard YOU got engaged, congratulations!

I Couldn't Write; I Was Busy Doing Not Much

2008-12-29T11:09:00.002-07:00

A blog. I has one. I forgot about it, but then I was reading through other blogs I like and thinking, “They really need to update more often,” and then I was like, Oh. Hai. Has it really been two weeks or so since I last wrote anything? Oopsie.

So Christmas was a success, merry holidays to you and yours, etc. I hope you drank some alcohol. I know I did. Every day for the last week or so in some form or other. I tried to moderate it but then I’d get called “weak” and, well, we can’t stand for that, can we? Yoga kicked my ass this morning. Between the alcohol, red meat, and copious amounts of sugar I’ve subsisted on this past week, I’m basically a lumpish bag of toxins emitting a vague stench of hangover. For some reason The Funasaurus was un-inclined to wake up to my kisses this morning.

Speaking of waking up. Sugar has developed this intensely annoying habit of trying to wake us up around 4:30-5:00 AM every day. She thinks it’s funny to paw on our blinds or scrape plastic bags around making the most godawful noises that I cannot possibly ignore. I think it’s funny to punt her like an angry little feline football right out of our room. But she has caught on to my semi-conscious crazed punting maneuvers, and has taken to hiding under our bed the second I make a move to get up, and then she’ll wait until I’m back asleep and start the whole racket all over again. I have always, always let Sugar sleep cuddled up with me in bed. And The Funasaurus is a good sport about letting her stay there. However, she is getting dangerously close to a being-locked-out-of-the-room-all-night precipice. And that would suck for everyone, including Tatum, who actually sleeps like a sound little monkey right up until Sugar gets up. And if she leaves the room, he follows her, dedicated to his goal of gnawing on her mercilessly, even when he is exhausted. Nor rain nor sleet nor hail… he’s kind of like an old-fashioned postman. Who delivers bits of Sugar fur and faux mice.

I saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button over the holiday. I am still unsure as to how I feel about it. It was long, but not painfully so. The premise is clever, and the CGI effects are amazing. Like, unbelievable. The acting’s o.k., and the music is pretty. I know there are people (ahemmysister-in-lawahem) who vehemently disagree with me on this point, but it reminded me quite a bit of The Notebook. I predict that people who liked The Notebook (or The Titanic, for that matter) will like Benjamin Button. Granted, the ultimate points are completely opposite, everything in life and love is ephemeral vs. love can overcome and outlast everything; but the feel is the same. If you like romance crammed down your throat to pretty music in an idealized southern Americana setting, this movie is for you!

That said, I think I liked it. What can I say? I’m a sucker for violins and Brad Pitt and grits.

Keeping Busy

2008-12-22T23:53:00.001-07:00

I spent my weekend not shopping for others and sharing the Christmas spirit so much as getting pampered and meditating at super awesome spa in Santa Fe. It was really fabulous. I got a facial and promptly a new zit, as facials are apt to cause. I sat in a overheated hot tub, sautéing my skin to a lovely bright pink with some girlfriends. We were joined by Naked Guy, who was allowed to be naked seeing as how it was bathing suit optional. But still. He was like, “traveling with my dog blah blah blah” and all I could think was “PENIS”!

After a bit of conversation with naked guy, we left to go sit in the meditation room. I was all into my om mani padme hums when Naked Guy made a reappearance, though this time cloaked in his kimono. He settled into a corner apart from us, and immediately reclined. The snoring started about thirty seconds later. The hot tub had apparently exhausted Naked Guy. I took that as the universe excusing me from further meditation. We left and packed for our ridiculously long drive home.

Tonight we went to the Nuggets game. Our friends won tickets in a contest, and the only caveat was that one of them had to appear on the Jumbotron wearing a t-shirt of the sponsor while rooting for the Nuggets to wine six points in the first minute of the fourth quarter so that they could win $10,000. Selfishly, the Nuggets did not have my friend’s financial interest in mind and they only managed to score one point. At least she got to keep the sponsor’s t-shirt. And the Nuggets won.

Now it’s almost midnight and I have work to do. Goodnight.

'Tis the Season for Lowering Expectations

2008-12-17T23:47:00.001-07:00

The Muppets Christmas special was tonight. I raced home, my eyes all a-glow, to see what Santa brought tonight. Truthfully? I was… underwhelmed. There was so much potential. They had some good guests, but Uma Thurman? For shame. You are given a choice character called Oh! Joy and the best you could do was fan yourself with a bit of blue paper and make weird, googly eyes over your frosty pink lipstick? Blegh.

The best bit was the shrimp with his Guido black turtleneck and gold chain. And stalkerish picture of Halle Berry in his pocket. Awesome.

Animal was missing completely, and the big Muppet monster is supposed to eat Kermit, not deliver mail and Christmas trees. The new writers are pansies compared to the originals.

That said, I’m still in the holiday mood, despite the fact that it looks like our Christmas tree threw up all over our living room, what with the wide array of ornaments strewn about amongst the packing paper and outdoor lights, which are not, as yet, outdoors.

If you haven’t gotten a Christmas card from us yet, it’s probably because we haven’t sent them. We’re aiming for Easter at this point. Ho ho, no one will be expecting one then! Especially one with a sparkly snowman on it! (Yes, we’re totally those people. The ones who send you a card filled with glitter that you must then vacuum up after reading our generic greeting. Merry holidays to you!)

But that’s o.k. I’m forgiving our seasonal delinquence. We’ve been busy seeing friends and having fun and occasionally working when we can squeeze it into our busy schedule. I feel like anymore, getting to hang out in person is a better gift than most of the crap I can afford, anyway. And less wrapping paper! Huzzah! I am filled with holiday cheer and spirit, if not motivation and organization.

Christmas Miracle

2008-12-11T21:10:00.001-07:00

OH JOY!

Christmas has come early this year!

http://www.nbc.com/Movies_Specials_More/Happy_Holidays/video/clips/muppets-christmas-north-pole/861542/

Thank you, Santa, from the bottom of my weirdly-obsessed little Kermit heart.

Christmas Conundrum

2008-12-11T09:37:00.002-07:00

We typically decorate for Christmas. Not that you would know, seeing as how we’re well into December and I just threw out some orange and yellow flowers leftover from Thanksgiving, yesterday. That’s about all the decoration we had going on. This weekend, though. This weekend there will be mulled wine and Christmas carols and tree trimmings and The Funasaurus can just suck it up and because I know it’s not his thing but rest assured, darling, your life will be so much pleasanter if you just let me drink my hot spicy wine and pierce your ears with my rendition of “Deck the Halls.” No, seriously.

Also, I have an outdoor problem, and this is where I am hoping to garner advice from the dear internets. We have these lovely white columns outside our house. And last year I found this awesome wide red velvet ribbon that I wrapped around the columns to create a candy cane-ish effect. Unfortunately, the columns are made of plastic or something (read: not wood) and are not so easy to attach things to. Like winding bands of red velvet ribbon. So I, being well into the mulled wine by that point last year, decided that the best way to stick them on the columns was to literally stick them. With tape. With Scotch tape. Because apparently Christmas decorations fall somewhere between grade school art class and Mailboxes Etc. in my world.

Needless to say, they did not last the night. So I added more tape the next day, and they stayed... sort of. We had very droopy candy cane columns. I’m sure our neighbors were thrilled with our addition to the neighborhood adornments. So my question to you is, do you have any brilliant ideas for sticking ribbon to hard, plastic-y columns? I mean, besides Scotch tape? Because that really didn’t work so well. And the columns are white, so I don’t really want to go with duct tape, as wonderful as it is, because it doesn’t blend so well.

Or should I just dip back into the eggnog/hot toddies/mulled wine and forget about the dumb columns, already?

Why I Miss the East Coast

2008-12-09T23:20:00.002-07:00

The east coast totally blows the rest of the country away when it comes to autumn.

You just don't get these kinds of colors in Colorado, as pretty as the aspen are.

I spent a lot of time being nostalgic for these places, they feel like home in a deep part of my (albeit wine-soaked) heart.

Happily, I had a Funasaurus calling from Colorado, reminding me that the snow was coming. (I love snow.) And that I had a family to come home to, complete with kitties who needed dental work, stat. Nothing I love more than driving hateful cats to the vet thirty miles away in a snowstorm!

I did miss them, and I am glad to be home. And we have gotten quite a bit of snow recently.

But I still think the fall on the east coast is one of the most magical combinations of time and place.

Dirty. And Awesome.

2008-12-04T10:51:00.001-07:00

You'll never look at Teletubbies the same way. (Not that I really think you were looking at Teletubbies all that much to begin with.)

http://unrealitymag.com/index.php/2008/12/03/12-of-the-best-kids-showrap-mash-ups/

Lap of Creepy Luxury

2008-12-01T22:45:00.002-07:00

The Funasaurus and I spent a decadent weekend at a fancy hotel in Colorado Springs. We had received a gift certificate for two nights there as a wedding present, and for whatever idiotic reason, had not managed to find a weekend to properly enjoy it. Me, postpone free luxury and room service? Obviously, my princess skeelz have gotten rusty.

We actually took a little vacation from TV, which was just divine. We each had a good book (grammar issues overlooked) and spent a day just cuddling and reading and watching the flurries come down over Pike’s Peak. We were there for the lighting of an oversized Christmas tree, and spent a lot of time pondering the intricacies of what, at first glance, appeared to be a darling gingerbread village. But upon further inspection turned out to be kind of ghoulish and creepy. It was all Nightmare Before Christmas-y, complete with mortuary, coffins, monks with gremlin-y pointy ears, and a gothic church on a cloud. It was awesome, but a somewhat risqué choice for the conservative older patronage that place gets. Props to the Broadmoor for their icing-encrusted shout out to Tim Burton. I’m just sorry I only got pictures of a corner of it. The creepier stuff wasn’t even documented, sadly.

To make the weekend perfect, we got the news that one of our dearest friends finally had her baby. And she picked the prettiest name ever. And the baby is one of the prettiest babies ever, but we are so not surprised, given who her parents are. I’m really, really happy for them. And I’m in complete awe that people my age are intentionally getting knocked up. When did we get so…responsible? Want to hear what I had for dinner tonight? EGGNOG.

So it was a good weekend, with only a minor blip on the radar of happiness. That blip being a huge fucking snowstorm that caused a normally hour-and-a-half drive to turn into three and a half hours of snow-packed misery. But, hey! ‘Tis the season.

It is now winter, thus the universe spake.

Grievances

2008-11-26T11:15:00.002-07:00

If I invite you to dinner at my house, I am not inviting you to do my dishes. Please bring wine. That is the best way to show appreciation. If you insist on doing dishes, it will only make me uncomfortable and mad. You are inevitably doing them WRONG and I will just have to redo them after you are gone, and in the meantime you are making me look like an asshole who makes her guests clean her house while she lounges around continuing to drink wine. If my conversation sucks so badly, feel free to leave. More wine for me. But please get the fuck out of my kitchen if I kindly ask you to stop.

We had our Thanksgiving early. Last Saturday. Guess who got a wee bit frustrated over her extended family refusing to get out of her kitchen. I don’t want to do the dishes at your house. I don’t. I offer, because it’s socially required, and if you are appreciative and need help, it’s not a big deal. Many hands light work and all that. But that is not the case in my house. I do not want your help, because it’s really not helpful so much as getting in my way.

I’m over it. And the meal was good, and the conversation wasn’t bad. We were missing a grandmother and that was very sad, but it was nice to have the rest of the family together. And now we’ve got a four-day weekend to look forward to without the hassle of cooking another massive feast. I anticipate much reading.

And I need the time, because there are a lot of things to be read. I just finished Mating, by Norman Rush. And am now starting in on All the Pretty Horses, which was last month’s book for book club. I’m only a little behind. Mating was excellent, even if it was completely pretentious and required a little bit of brain power. And now that I’ve started All the Pretty Horses, I can tell you something about National Book Award Winners. They are above grammar.

Quotation marks? Oh, that’s so… mass market. Should you wish to be considered literary, apparently you need to eschew something so base as two bitty dots to denote when someone is speaking. If someone is brilliant enough to be reading your masterpiece, then surely they will be able to divine from your supremely awesome writing style when a character is actually saying something without such a crutch as a common quotation mark.

I’m headed back to chick-lit after this. Chick lit with all its lovely commas and quotation marks. I’m a peon in the masses, baby. And I’m o.k. with that.

Bon Appetit!

2008-11-21T21:08:00.003-07:00

Eggnog is a partisan issue. I don’t know too many people who are very meh about eggnog. (side note: meh was recently added to Merriam Webster! Who knew?*) You either love eggnog or you hate it. I love it. The Funasaurus hates it. Naturally I buy lots of it the second it appears in the stores (last night) and keep it there until it curdles sometime in March. It makes my husband cringe in a sweet way. I didn’t realize it was so divisive until recently, and so now I am curious. Which camp do you fall into?

A) A) Yummy, creamy holiday love drink

B) B) Old man fart goo in a deceptively milk-like box

On that note, my house looks lovely! The cleaning ladies were so much better than my grandmother’s! I love them. And as one wise sage I know said, “The skill of a cleaning lady is inversely proportional to their fashion sense.” It’s true, the two who cleaned our house were rocking very awesome mullets. Both of them.

I literally danced around clapping my hands when they left, examining things that have never, ever been so clean. Like the floor trim in our bathroom. With such an empty, sparkling clean counter beckoning me, I decided it was time to get a head start and prepare the brine for the turkey we’re having tomorrow as an early Thanksgiving with family before they go out of town. Naturally I spilled honey all over my newly-mopped kitchen floor. Then I stepped in it. Then Sugar raced through. I’m pretty sure there’s now honey in our carpet.

I’m saving up to have the cleaning folks come back as soon as friggin’ possible. Also, if you’re coming for dinner tomorrow, be sure to wash your socks when you get home.

Cheers!

*I recently learned that the dictionary, since, like, 1961 has been descriptive as opposed to prescriptive. That is to say, it gives the definition as used in the common, current evolution of the language. It is NOT, necessarily, the authoritative resource on correct useage in formal English! Oh! The madness!

The Eight Most Underrated Muppets

2008-11-20T17:38:00.004-07:00

.

I miss them all.

Polishing Off Bugs

2008-11-19T10:15:00.003-07:00

So I’m back in Colorado. I decided I wanted to look pretty for The Funasaurus when I got home, plus I had time to kill at the airport, so I decided to get a manicure. My hair was crap and I forgot makeup, but surely a bit of nail polish would cure all that. A *bit* is actually a quite accurate description. That was the shittiest manicure I have ever gotten. It wasn’t even a manicure, just a polish change. They didn’t even have to take any old polish off, just slap the new stuff on. She rushed through it, used her own nails imprecisely to scrape off sections that she went outside the line on, and in doing so scraped part of the polish that should have stayed on my nail, off.

I was charged $12 for polish I could have done better myself. So I left a really bad tip. I just couldn’t justify the normal 20% that I am accustomed to just doing for most any service. It was a terrible job, it was rushed and overpriced. But I’ve been feeling guilty about the bad tip ever since. Of course the polished chipped the next day, and I can’t decide if it’s the universe punishing me for tipping badly, or if it’s a sign from the universe to show the bad tip was justified. Or maybe it just means I shouldn’t have been trying to take a price tag off a plate with newly-polished nails. The universe is a mysterious thing.

So are space station science experiments. Rogue spider on the international space station!

Meanwhile back on the ranch (aka our little house in our cookie cutter neighborhood) is a disaster zone. Between two weeks of a couch-surfing Funasaurus and me returning from a long trip and feeling the need to spread out the unpacking process into every single room… we’re a big frickin’ mess. Plus, we are supposed to host an early Thanksgiving for 14 of our nearest and dearest on Saturday. I have decided to make the fiscally prudent decision to hire a cleaning lady for a one-time gig. She’s going to ignore our upstairs, and just try to help get our livingroom/kitchen/dinning room/bathroom area in shape. I am excited but also apprehensive. I need the help, but I am squeamish about letting someone else touch my stuff. My grandmother’s cleaning lady came once while I was visiting, and despite my saying “I just got here two days ago, no need to go into my bedroom on this trip,” she went into my bedroom, rearranged everything, and threw out all my little dental floss head-thingies because I guess they looked too messy to her. Grrrr Never have I felt so possessive over little bits of plastic and string.

On the other hand, I don’t really feel like cleaning out the moth that died and smeared his carcass (I suspect some help from our feline roomies) all over the inside of the white lining. Here’s hoping the cleaning lady is less squeamish about incredibly large dead bugs than The Funasaurus and me.

Space. The Final Frontier... For Women, Apparently

2008-11-14T20:53:00.002-07:00

I am excited about the Endeavour shuttle launch tonight. I somehow knew about it in the back of my brain, even though I haven’t seen a newspaper or listened to StarDate in several days.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27718900

I was a huge fan of space as a kid. The Challenger tragedy is one of my earliest memories. It is the first time I remember crying for total strangers. In college I actually enjoyed my astronomy class, and ultimately had to make a tough decision between hanging around in Colorado Springs to help a group of physics majors put a huge telescope up on top of Pike’s Peak or go to France for the millennium. Either, I felt, would have been a defining moment in my skimpy life resume of Awesome Experiences thus far. I actually considered skipping the millennium in Paris. I didn’t. (And it was magnifique. But that something even competed with that event in my life is fairly noteworthy.)

I think it’s also fair to say that I was a major contributor to the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum’s funding several summers running, what with my buying them out of freeze-dried ice cream on more than one occasion. It’s basically Styrofoam with a slight medicinal chocolate flavor. I loved that crap. And I liked seeing the inside of the space capsules and moon rock samples. I was, and am, a fan.

What I am NOT a fan of is fucking let’s-be-a-downer-for-all-women blondie on the Fox channel this morning who was supposed to report on the Endeavour launch this evening who was all blasé about it and then has the audacity to turn to her co-host and go, “Eh, I’m just not that interested. Space is really a guy thing.” And, of course, he nodded agreeably and made some borderline chauvinist comment.

?!

Fuck you, lady. Maybe you should uncinch that corset and stick it up your ass in a welcome-to-the-millenium-even-your-precious-Mrs.-kill-‘em-and-drill-‘em-Palin-might-beg-to-differ kind of way.

Whoo. I’ve been saving that up all day apparently. I like being here with family, but I seriously cannot take too many more days of the whack-o-ness that comes out of Fox “news.”

Plus, you know, I miss my husband. See you soon, love. There are so many Daily Show episodes I need to catch up on.

The Best of Intentions Always Result in Chocolate

2008-11-13T08:59:00.003-07:00

I met a friend at The Melting Pot last night, where I proceeded to eat my weight in cheese. Then we ordered chocolate fondue for dessert and had to order extra marshmallows for dipping because the two of us are huge marshmallows fans. (We survived Girl Scouts together. There is a lot of psychological comfort derived from marshmallows in our world. Marshmallows and, more recently, martinis. I often think girls camp might have been more bareable had their been cocktails available.)

I waddled out to my car with my pants unbuttoned to make room for all the cheese and sugar expanding in my stomach. And decided that, no matter how cold (it has been cold the past couple of days!) I would run this morning. I went a couple days last week and it felt good.

This morning I scrounged up a hat in my grandmother’s closet, put on long pants, a long sleeved t-shirt, and my running shoes. To walk out into the rain. GAH.

I promptly turned back around and debated what to do. Naturally, running was out. But I could, perhaps, spend a little quality time with my grandmother. So I wandered back into her house just as she was settling happily into the Fox news channel. (It plays about 12 hours a day there.) I resisted blowing my brains out and sat down to try and have a conversation. Mrs. Palin then came on to do a press conference, and all conversations were hushed.

I sat, transfixed, as she forgot the second sentence of her speech and had to look at her notes. To be fair, she was quite a ways in. The woman doesn’t really believe in periods. She just starts talking and keeps going and then says some more and then throws in an “Alaska!” and a “GOP” here and there and it’s just one long painful never-ending steam, OMFG.

Then, after a couple minutes of all but giving the verbal equivalent of a lap dance to the Republican egos in the room (it was a convention of GOP governors, or something like that) she opened it up for questions. The first question was about her campaign. She gave a little snort, and said, “The campaign’s over,” and was applauded for stating the obvious. The reporter persisted, and she said something to the effect of, “It’s in the past, so I’m not going to talk about it. What I am going to do going forward is take questions from the media.”

Forward from right now? Because to me, it kind of sounded like she answered a question from the media by saying, “I’m not going to answer your question, because I’m now going to answer questions from the media.”

I gave up, walked out, made myself some hot chocolate, and went back to work. It seemed like the only reasonable thing to do.

There and Back Again

2008-11-11T15:43:00.001-07:00

I spent the weekend in Virginia, and am now, more than ever, in love with that place. The fall on the east coast is just breathtaking. I took a million pictures, but can’t post them until I get home, so you will just have to take my word for it until then.

After a week of pies and cookies and tea in Delaware, I went straight into a delicious lunch made from an artist’s take on a Virginian farmer’s market. Never have I seen cucumbers sliced in such a darling way. (Sadly, they still tasted like cucumbers. The only time I like cucumbers is when they’ve been drowned in vinegar for quite some time.) But the rest of the salad was delectable, even if I can’t pronounce the name of the leafy green I mistook for “lettuce.” Which was, apparently, blasphemy.

There was fresh artisan bread, real butter, and Chablis to wash it down. In short, it was a dreamy lunch. Then there was a walk in the park where my dad used to go sledding as a kid. The trees are the same, though just a little taller, according to my aunt.

Lesson learned: dirt trails covered in leaves were not meant to be navigated whilst wearing clogs and looking through an itty-bitty viewfinder.
Sincerely,
My Ankles

I had crepes for brunch here, and a snazzy dinner here. (Named for Marvin Gaye, and his self-imposed exile in Belgium. Who self-imposes exile in Belgium, I ask you? All that beer hardly seems very hard core exile-y.)

When I got back to work yesterday, there was an exciting email waiting for me in my inbox. Nothing’s official yet, but there may be good things in store. This has been a good trip so far.