Baby Fish Mouth

Moving

2011-09-15T10:17:00.002-04:00

You can now follow me at: http://twoonlychildren.wordpress.com/

Please do.

Spring Break 2026

2011-07-22T11:23:00.002-04:00

I went to pick my daughter up from school on Friday. (Let me just tell you, she is an angel at school and for sitters. The minute I walk-in the door, she proceeds to have a newkyoulahr meltdown. Her teachers all look at me like Oh, dear and I feel like a complete heel. Of course, I would rather have her on her very best behavior at school and save the Linda Blair antics for the home. Right? I mean, that is better, yes?) When I came around the corner, Mr. Daniel came over to me with a look of absolute astonishment on his face:

Um...we had to put her down for her nap a half-hour early. She um...didn't eat her lunch. She was...um...crying...a lot. She...was a mess. I've...never seen her like this. It was...bad.

I could tell he got a taste of Hellcat (as I lovingly refer to her). And he was beside himself. Poor guy. (I feel sooooo sorry for him. *insert eye roll*)

She seemed fine until 8.30 p.m. when she developed a fever. Of course, then there was a party because she got to take "the purple medicine" which she asks for even when she feels fine, because it "tastes good." Fever showed up again on Saturday around 2.30 p.m. Felt fine until Sunday at 4.15 p.m. when she quit eating her chips and salsa (she MUST be sick) because she couldn't swallow. Great.

I called The Little Clinic at the Kroger which is about 15 minutes away. They would stop taking patients at 4.30 p.m. or 4.45 p.m. I haul ass to get there and arrive at 4.52 p.m. They still took her, thank goodness. She had an ear infection and maybe strep throat, but the ten days of amoxicillin would knock them both out. The Kroger pharmacy was closed, so he had to call her prescription in to Walgreen's which closed at 6 p.m. Driving way too fast, but still just over the speed limit, I made it to the drive-thru just in the nick of time, dear sweet child sleeping the whole way.

She is on the mend. And since we are on the subject of medicine and the taste of it, ALL medicines should taste like amoxicillin. It was white this time, instead of the pink we're used to getting. Daughter claims it tastes like vanilla, but that could be because of the color. Either way, it has taught me one thing: she will be able to bong a beer on the beach in college faster than any frat boy from here to Albuquerque.

Within an Inch of My Life

2011-07-20T21:37:00.002-04:00

Last week, I forgot to roll up the back window on my Jeep. My daughter was sleeping and I got her out of her car seat and carried her in the house. (She never stays asleep. She immediately wakes up and I immediately cry.) Of course, it ended up storming all night long. The next morning I found the seat next to my daughter's car seat soaking wet. My car already has some weird leaky water issues. I was just imagining the huge mold rave that was raging all day and night in my car.

Today, my daughter and I ran into Target near her school for approximately 15 minutes. By the time we came outside, it was lightly raining but picking up speed. Well, that must have been the second go of it. This time, both of my front windows were down. My driver's seat was drenched. I tossed my daughter into the car in the back seat and ran around to the trunk to look for a towel or something. It was locked. As rain was pouring down my back and soaking my dress, I jumped in the back just as my sweet child said, "We are having a bad day, [are] we?"

Today was the one time I was grateful that my trunk area is full of all kinds of ridiculous crap. I reached over and grabbed a blanket that I use on picnics. The blanket is waterproof on one side and plaid something (Wool? Human hair?) on the other side. I jumped back out of the car just in time for what felt like bucket of water to overturn on my head. I covered my seat with the blanket, jumped in, messed up said blanket reaching over to roll-up the passenger window, situated blanket, sat back down and wanted to take a nap. Let me just tell you how absofreakinglutely hot I was. I think I heard someone say it was 105 (with the heat index) degrees today. And when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I nearly jumped. I looked like I'd been beaten by wet sponges. But did that stop me from going to the grocery? No. Did I run into mass people I know? Certainly. Did my daughter say, "Mom. You need a shower"? You betcha. This is how I know I'm a grown-up. I just don't. care. any. more.

Go the F**k to Sleep

2011-07-19T23:52:00.001-04:00

I have a dear friend who is expecting her first child. For some reason, beyond my conscious decision-making abilities, I find it completely necessary to scare the ever-loving shit out of her when it comes to all things "baby." I find myself unable to spare her horror stories about things she won't even have to worry about for the next four years, when that little girl-to-be is walking and talking and bitching up a storm. Tonight, I informed her that her dear daughter will one day be sick, and even though your heart is breaking for her that little girl will get on your last damned nerve. It is one of the conundrums of motherhood. You so desperately want to do everything in your power to make them better, and you want it to happen immediately. "Yes, dear. I am very sorry you're sick. What can mommy do to make it better so she can get some freaking sleep? I mean, so you can get some good sleep? That's what I said. Yes, it is. No, you don't need more water. You just went to the bathroom. I know your ear hurts, that's why you should close your eyes and go nigh-nigh time. No. A Peppermint Pattie will not help your ear feel better. No, you can't sleep with mommy. Because you're miserable to sleep with. Yes, you are. Yes. Yes. You are. Yes, you are. I know that hurts your feelings. It hurts mommy's feelings when you karate chop her neck with your leg in the middle of the night. I know it was an askident. It's okay. I mean, it's okay that it's an accident. Go to sleep. Yes. Now. I mean it. Fine. But I'd better hear pee coming out."

The Times, They Are A-Changing.

2011-07-13T18:58:00.001-04:00

Three years ago, I was about to start classes to obtain my second bachelor's degree. My daughter was about to become a one-year-old. I was planning her birthday gathering (please, no gifts...though no one EVER listens). I was perfecting my flourless chocolate cake recipe. I had purchased some lovely school supplies (Ooh. Bouquets of sharpened pencils....) and backpack (though I would later trade it in for a backpack on wheels, on which my dear daughter would ride to and from our car to her preschool because I couldn't carry her, my backpack, my purse, her sleeping bag, and her lunch no matter how hard I tried).

It's all over. I graduated. My daughter is about to be a four-year-old (HOW does that HAPPEN?). I began and ended a 2+ year relationship. My heart is broken into a thousand pieces and I cannot talk about it without crying. I spent the spring semester subbing in elementary schools. I haven't even gotten an interview, let alone a job. I graduated with a 3.624 GPA, made the Dean's List and the Scholar's List, racked up a load of student loans (which I didn't have the first time around, and if I had actually put some thought into it...I probably would've reconsidered going back to school). All of that for nothing. Wrote an 82-page paper for nothing. Began having panic attacks (which went away after graduation, though was replaced by a four month eye twitch that recently went on hiatus thankfully). And alienated my friends, boyfriend, and child on more than one occasion.

I am sure if I had a job, I would be writing a completely different kind of post. The pain of not having a job outweighs the joy of graduating. The love I have for my ex outweighs the silly arguments we had over things we should have just accepted about each other.

If I could do things differently, I would. But then, I wouldn't be me...would I?

I Would Never Want To Be A Member Of A Club That Would Have Me As A Member

2011-04-18T15:34:00.000-04:00

I am getting so tired of having to have a shopper's card at every darn store. At the same time, I do appreciate the discounts at the grocery store, but the membership is free. What is the point of just signing up for a plastic card so you'll receive major discounts at no cost to you? How does this work out?

I have long shopped at Meijer, but Bigg's started a gas program with the Sunoco station and I have always felt Sunoco gas lasts longest in my car. Of course, they discontinued their partnership with Sunoco. Now, I can only get gas at Speedway or SuperAmerica. I can't remember the last time I ever saw a SuperAmerica.

Well, Bigg's also partnered with a local family-owned grocer in town and now you can use your shopper card at both places. I once got over fifty cents off per gallon with all my grocery points. I was flabbergasted. And I don't get to use that word often enough.

I went to get gas the other day at Speedway and swiped my Bigg's card. Please see cashier. I went inside and was told I had to sign-up for a Speedway card. I just thought it was something simple, they way Kroger does it with their partnership with Shell. Wait a minute.... That's not simple either! You can't even get gas at Shell without swiping the damned Kroger card. I once pulled up and swiped my credit card only to have it ask me for my Kroger card. Back in the car, grab Kroger card, swipe. Please swipe credit card. I JUST DID THAT! Swipe card again afraid I'd be paying twice. Long process...You are not eligible for a discount. Oh, for the LOVE!

So I went ahead and signed-up at the kiosk for a Speedway card even though I was in a real rush to pick my daughter up from school. I asked how I got my discount with my grocery card and the boy said, "Oh, it takes 24 hours for it to activate." ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS? I just wanted gas!

The guy told me I could go online and activate the card and add my shopper points. I did that today, but it didn't seem accurate. I called the grocery and she said there is yet ANOTHER card I need to sign-up for to use at both places.

I am trying to figure out how I can grow all my own food and use the leftovers to fuel my car.

Nap? Cuh. Rap.

2011-03-02T15:35:00.007-05:00

In the hour and a half it took me to get my 3.5-year-old daughter down for a nap, I went from Mommie Dearest to Kathy Bates in Waterboy. My darling daughter went from Rosemary's baby to Sleeping Beauty. In other news, I'm having a really good hair day.

I'm still here...

2010-12-01T21:36:00.000-05:00

but in 17 days I'll be OUTTA THERE! Again.

Summer (or Some 'Er Better Than Others)

2010-06-28T12:59:00.004-04:00

I was enjoying a cup of coffee when I came across an article in the local newspaper about the number of children on the west coast who have died of hyperthermia after being left or trapped in boiling hot cars. Three things: 1) I was immediately reminded why I abhor reading the newspaper, 2) I am a bad journalist for that, and 3) I have discovered my local paper doesn't really seem to have any local news in it.

Clearly, this upset me. I cannot even imagine how awful it would be discover such a scene in your car. I do not judge anyone. You hear of those stories where parents forget their kids are in the car and horrid things happen. I will admit I can see how someone could do that. I have been driving down the highway only to look in the rear view mirror and nearly faint to discover the little one's car seat is empty. Forget the fact that just minutes before I'd dropped her off at gramma's for the day. That split second of "Oh my GOD! I left her in the grocery cart!" zaps through your brain. The only thing that snaps you out of it is Huey Lewis serenading you on the oldies station. The very same oldies station that you would beg your parents to turn off in the car because is was making you car sick. It is, in fact, the one station that your very own daughter loves. Each time Boston or the Moody Blues comes on your daughter yells, "This is my favorite!" as if she knows you just need a little reminder that she's still there. It helps.

Well, my friend and I decided to take our children to the drive-in on Saturday night. It was so retro. It was so exciting. It was so blazing hot. It was nothing short of the worst idea we've ever had. We were told to park in the 7th row or back. I drove down row no. 9 and decided there was no freaking way we were going to park near "those people." Again I don't judge, but seriously.

I parked in the 6th row, I guess, without realizing it. My friend went off to the concession stand since we were informed in about twelve different ways that it is how the drive-in makes its money. I was asked very nicely to move back a row and to tie the hatch of my Jeep down so it is even with the roof. I did it~by myself! It took a couple tries, but let me tell you, there is nothing like the admiration of a couple of toddlers to make you feel like you could...well...tie anything down in an emergency.

Needless to say, at this point, I was sweating like a maniac. My friend returned and had for a split second thought we'd abandoned her. (That would have sucked, no? But I think it would make for a great movie. Take someone to a drive-in and leave her stranded? I'm sure it's been done. Then again, if the movie was anything like real-life, she would be begging to be separated from the rest of the party.) Friend's son and my daughter proceeded to eat popcorn. I think it was my daughter's first foray into such loveliness. They shared marshmallows I had packed and my friend and I shared a Mt. Dew Big Gulp. It was heaven. It was just what I'd imagined. I felt like a little kid again. It was...blazing hot and I was sweating in places I didn't know sweat glands bothered to be.

It was so nice being out in the middle of nowhere. Not a star in the sky. Just the space station! How cool is that? Was I really having anxiety that people are actually living on that thing in space? I had a terrifying nightmare once about winning a contest where I got to fly into space. It was awful. Not even for Bruce Willis would I leave the planet (and we all know how that movie ended).

I was enjoying the movie way more than the kids were. It was actually stressing me out a little. Eventually everyone needed potty breaks and I was glad for the break. I made my way to the concession stand where the bathrooms were. If it was 94 degrees outside, it was 194 degrees inside those disgusting bathrooms. Dear God, people. Learn. To. Flush. Everyone was dripping with sweat and there was no way not to accidentally touch someone. It was horrible.

I found my way back to our spot only to find my daughter post-sobbing, my friend was putting her son's shoes on and they all looked like they'd been beaten with wet hot noodles. So we all trudged our way back to the bathrooms. My daughter refused to use the potty even though it was her idea and she was already sitting on it. Friend's son wouldn't stand to potty and demanded to sit. We're screaming DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING and it was then that I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Holy crap. I thought we were the normal ones at the drive-in. I looked at my friend who was dripping sweat from head to toe, and our disgusting children, and ran out into the darkness as quickly as possible.

When I returned to the car I found friend's son laying on the sleeping bag wrapped in my sarong. Of course, my daughter had to get under it as well. My friend and I just stared at our children as they fought to wrap themselves together under a blanket. Hello! It is 4000 degrees out here! I turned to my friend and said, "We could seriously be arrested for child endangerment right now." Then I looked around. Couldn't everyone at the drive-in be arrested for some form of child abuse? I couldn't even count the number of families packed into hot cars watching Toy Story 3. My crappy car couldn't pick-up the radio signal and we were mooching off all their radios, so I was sadistically thrilled for their stupidity. Our kids eventually gave up, got too tired and buried our sleeping bag in rocks.

We packed up our kids, much to the thrill of our neighbors, and left before the inevitable traffic jam. We didn't get home until almost midnight. We just stared at each other like What the hell were we thinking? Friend and I decided we will go to the theater to see the movie. In the air conditioning. By ourselves. We'll take wine.

Oh, what. ever.

2010-01-10T22:11:00.003-05:00

I went to Gap tonight to spend the rest of my Christmas gift card. If you ever need a gift idea for me, a gift card is where it's at. I don't care where you get it, or what store I have to spend it in; it could be the cheese store at the kiosk next to the fountain in the mall (which would not suck, by the way) and I'd redeem that thing before my birthday without a doubt.

So, I went in for a bra. I need one. I need eleven. I grabbed ten to try on before I saw the sales clerk and asked her if she'd mind measuring me. She told me she would need to grab her measuring tape. She came back and examined it and stated that she doesn't "normally work in this department." I said, "Oh my God. Are you traumatized?" She said she wasn't and that it was completely fine that she was feeling me up in the middle of the store for all to see.

She wrapped the measuring tape around me and asked, "What size do you normally wear?" I said, "Well, the bra I have on is a 36 B, but I think it's too big." She marked the tape and stared at it. She flipped it over and looked very confused. She said, "Let's try this again. I have it as tight as it will go." She undid the tape again and said, "This says here to measure and then add five. You couldn't possibly wear a 40." Oh my God. I have on a 36 and this chick tells me I'm a 40. I am in birthday hell.

My birthday is tomorrow. Could it be more clear? I am going to be 37, but I might as well be turning 40. I hates bras and birthdays. No gifts needed this year. Thanks. And no bras. Never trying on another bra ever. again.

I went into the dressing room and tried on the first bra. I think maybe it is just Gap bras. They suck. The sales girl came back and asked me if I needed anything. I said, "You can come in." I am pretty sure she quit after I left. Poor thing.

Happy New Year

2010-01-01T21:28:00.001-05:00

I cannot believe it. It just keeps happening.

Please, slow down.

Bright Lights. Big Fit.

2009-12-09T21:55:00.000-05:00

My child threw the most giant fit in Target last night. She refused to put her coat and hat on. I have to say I was surprised by her outburst. Only ten minutes earlier she had been so enthralled with the strategically placed toddler level Turbo Tax software. "Oh, mama. Look at dis." Yes, sweetheart. That is lovely. flipflipflip "Look at dis one, mama. So pretty."

Mornings

2009-12-05T21:28:00.003-05:00

My daughter is not a morning person. I have described her many times as a feral cat. She's a Leo. And she's 2 years old. Someone hold me.

But today she woke up. Sweet. Somewhat happy. After snuggling for a bit she slid herself over the side of my bed and said, "C'mon, Mommmmm." I laughed. "C'monnn. C'monnnn, Mmmmom. Come on, mom!"

How does this happen? Who is this little person? Every time I hold her I picture her when she's 16 and that I won't be able to walk from room to room of the house carrying her, nor will I be able to carry her, my purse, wheel my (yes, I had to resort to such humiliation much to the delight of my back) book bag, her lunch, and her bag of blankets and pillow for daycare across campus. I won't be able to hike with her strapped to my body in an Ultimate Baby Wrap. I won't hold her like a tiny baby and tell her everything she's going to do the next day before I lay her down in her crib for nigh-night time. She won't ask for a paci. I'll be able to understand every word she says, though I may not comprehend teenage talk. Will she grow out of her "curtsy" phase and willingly wear pants and tee shirts ever again? How much will she remember of these days?

At least I'll be out of school by then (God willing) and when she wants me to leave her alone she won't say, "Go 'puter, mommy." And when she wants me to stay home she won't say, "No. Stay here and do homework."

Avoidance

2009-12-03T15:42:00.003-05:00

Christmas is soon approaching, as is finals week. I have been MIA this whole semester. I have wasted what little free time I've had on Facebook. I am currently sitting in Starbucks at school staring at the computer screen and people-watching. I just compiled thirty-three pages of notes for a Powerpoint I have to present in my integrated science class on Wednesday. It's concerning hand-washing vs. hand sanitizers. Riveting, I know. You'll be even more upset you won't be there too witness it when I give you this juicy detail: it has to be ten minutes long. Jaysus. I haven't spent ten straight minutes doing anything in nearly five months.

Nothing Gets Past Her

2009-08-15T22:07:00.003-04:00

The baby had her first bank sucker today. They have always asked me if she could have a "you know" and I've always said no. Today, the woman didn't even ask me. Baby girl was crying her little eyes out and had been for about twenty minutes. It doesn't help that the bank is behind Gramma's house, so she knew we were close and yet...so far away.

So, I opened the container and inside was a little sucker. So I gave it to her. She looked at it...put it in her mouth...and said, "Mmmm." It was lovely. And she ate it like she'd had a million suckers.

Went out with Gramma to the mall. I never go to the mall, but I had a coupon for JCPenney and thought I could use it. And to think...I used to browse Barney's. Anyhoo...when we were walking out of the store she was overstimulated by all the lights and signs in the inner-area of the mall. She immediately caught site of the fountain. "Mama! Splash splash!"

Baby fell asleep whilst perusing the President flashcards on my iTouch. She was woken by a woman who was pointing her out to her own baby girl. The first thing she said upon waking was "Go see splash splash."

An hour or so later, we stopped by Target. In the aisle where Post-its and tape are found, baby kept saying something like "sies kid...sies kid." Gramma said, "I don't know what she is saying." She took baby closer to the shelf and she pointed to a magnifying glass. I said, "Oh my gosh. Sid the Science Kid." This kid doesn't miss a beat.

Two Years

2009-08-14T13:40:00.007-04:00

It's hard to believe, but two years ago today I held you in my arms for the first time. I never knew I could love someone so much. You were such a beautiful baby. Perfect. As you grew, I couldn't take you anywhere. Strangers were always coming up to me to comment on your flawless skin or your gorgeous eyes or your exquisite mouth. And people are still saying those things about you. Only, now...you're not in a carrier strapped to my body. You're begging to walk and "do it" by yourself through the store aisles or down the street. You're growing up so fast.

I had pictured you running through Central Park and wrecking the MOMA, but you seem to be enjoying walking Gramma's dog and running in the small front yard outside our door. I love that you love being outside. You get that from your grandmother, I like to think. Lately, you've developed a distaste for bugs. Not quite sure how that happened, but it's my goal to make you love them. And as my gift to you, I will try my hardest to learn to like birds as much as you like rocks and Sweet Gum fruits.

You've developed a love of Sesame Street, cell phones, string cheese, books, babies and dolls and plums. You also have some sort of innate ability to take to any musical instrument that is put in front of you. You got a harmonica for your birthday and somehow you knew how to play it without my having to show you. You have a little piano at Gramma's house that you love to play, moving one finger at a time. You know all the words to "Do-Re-Mi" and you know where "birdies go nigh-nigh" and how to put on lotion and that some things can be "frustrating." You love bacon and coloring. You love sockit-sips (chocolate chips), sippy sips (sippy cup) and chippy chips (white corn tortilla chips). You love to drink all of my jo-jo (orange juice) and eat all of my salmon.

You like to close the door and play 'knock knock' and you even know to walk into the room and say, "Nice to see you" as you shake my hand. You say, "Bless you, mama" when I sneeze and give the best Huddy hugs. You always tell me you love me, and it is music to my ears.

You have the most vivid imagination. And the greatest sense of humor. You don't put your fingers in your mouth immediately whenever you're having your picture taken. You, instead, say "Cheeseburger" and make the clicking of the camera noise with your tongue afterward. Adorable.

You have developed an intense love for musicals. For quite some time you were hooked on The Sound of Music. Then it was Mary Poppins. Then Annie. Then Enchanted. And now it's a toss up between Follow That Bird and Singin' in the Rain. I am very proud of that last one, as your dear old mother had a serious crush on Gene Kelly in her younger years.

Everyday I spend with you is another day when I learn something new about myself. I am learning more about how to let go and let you discover the world as you teach me what it means to be your mom.

I am so proud of you. And I am so grateful everyday that you are healthy and happy and strong. I am so looking forward to your next milestones in the coming year. It saddens me to think that one day soon you may not want to snuggle with me for as long as I want you to, and one day you might even be embarrassed to be seen with me. At least I know that all of these days and these past two years, I have been your biggest cheerleader and your number one fan.

You are my hero you brave, brilliant, generous soul. Happy Birthday!

Another Reason to Move Back

2009-08-08T09:24:00.002-04:00

Vacation was pure delight. Got to spend the night in Chicago. We took the train in from Michigan. It was quite nice. I miss taking the train everywhere. I cannot stand having to have a car. Cannot. Stand. Seventy-two dollars a month for an unlimited pass is still way better than gas, insurance, car payment (not that I have one) and maintenance. And speeding tickets. Boo. Yes, I passed a cop who pretty much set-me-up. He was driving slowly in the right lane. So I got over. He got over quickly into the passing lane and then swerved back over into the right lane. I passed him because I didn't know what he was doing. Unmarked Mustang. I got over in front of him and he got me. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it now. Except dream my life away that I live in a city with a subway system that can take me anywhere I want to go within minutes and leave the entrapment to someone else.

From See to Shining C

2009-08-02T21:55:00.002-04:00

So, I got a C in my math class. Ugh. I except it. I am thrilled I don't have to retake the class. I wish I could have gotten an A. I know that people shared notes from previous semesters, and some students had graphing calculators (duh!), and I did catch the girl next to me cheating off my final. She saw my answer for a question about a shape that has five rotations. She looked at my paper, turned straight to that page and erased everything she had written and copied my answer. I'm sure it wasn't verbatim what I had written, but I was pissed. I worked my ass off in that class. I deserved every point I could get on my own and she took some of those points away from me. Whatever.

I also haven't had a panic attack since the day of my math final. Go figure.

I'm off for a week's vacation with the two loves of my life: my brilliant child and my wonderful boyfriend, both of whom have had to put up with my being a total psychopath off-and-on these past seven months. I'm so grateful. (I hope he knows that.)

I can see graduation even though it is illuminating next December. I'm looking forward to the adventure that follows and the rest of my life.

I am the luckiest girl in the world. I hope my daughter is proud of her mother.

To Do

2009-07-17T12:52:00.002-04:00

Plan meals.
Utilize all of my lovely cookbooks.
Learn to make five soups without having to consult a recipe.
Start walking.
Purge.
Get organized.
Go on a trip.
Start writing again.
Watch old movies.
Stay organized.
Perfect the soft-boiled egg.
Learn some good jokes.
Read. Read. Read.
Remember my pre-motherhood sense of style.

Mosquitoes fear me.

2009-07-16T22:31:00.003-04:00

Today was the last day of my last summer class. No daily obligations for another month. I am thrilled. I am also exhausted and honestly...a bit disappointed. I don't think I did very well in my math class. Math has always been hard for me. My mother even enrolled me in Sylvan Learning Center when I was in high school, which I believe ended up being a huge waste of money for her. I am fine when I have time to concentrate and don't have the urgency of a test in front of me and a clock ticking away the seconds. I was in geometry, trigonometry and pre-calculus in high school...um...19 years ago. I did well in math on my ACT...um...20 years ago. I got a B in Statistics two semesters ago, yet I got five As, a B, and a C in math last semester. I just don't understand why I get so freaked out when it comes to numbers. I won't even show you my check book. I didn't even learn how to count back change until I was in college. Nope...not kidding. I can cook and tell you how much I owe on an item that is $26.99 and 33% off, but don't ask me to remember formulas or what they're for or how to use them. Math to me is like being told something in Spanish and having to answer back in French whilst writing in Gaelic.

I know one shouldn't shoot for a C, but I am praying. What saddens me is that my professor is so fun and terrific and if I weren't in her class I think she would be a great friend. I know my friends would love her. Too bad it would be too awkward to invite her to things, especially since she would know what a dolt I am when it comes to numbers. I can't even give good directions.

I did miss three classes this summer. I went out-of-town for the Fourth of July (which is when I discovered that the body which once was a feast for mosquitoes now repels them with fervor), and I had a panic attack on the way to school one day. It was horrible. I thought for sure I was dying and that I would die on the side of the highway and little Huddy would be stuck in the back of the car in the emergency lane until someone thought fit to pull over to inspect my car. So I can't even blame my confusion in class on laziness or slacking-off. I would just freak myself out so much over the tests that I couldn't concentrate on the material.

She was so sick on our vacation. Something told me over and over again not to go on the trip, but I didn't want to miss it. Now, she's been going to bed at 10 p.m. or later and still getting up at 6.45 a.m. I am exhausted. I could really use a vacation, but I can't imagine leaving her. The conundrum of motherhood. No one needs a vacation more, yet we can't stand to be away from them for a day.

Sometimes, I still wonder what the hell I was thinking going back to school. Poor baby has had such a crazy little life being rushed here and there so I can make it to class or my practicum or a study group. I just don't want to have to take the class over again. It would put me back a whole semester. I just don't have it in me. I'm already feeling too old to start over again. My teacher is my age (I thought for sure I was older than her) and already has her Ph.D. I look at her and think...Huh. So I could have done that already? Good to know.

I just wish the tests came as easily to me as writing a paper. Or massage therapy. Or figuring out how many outfits I can make out of eight shirts, four pairs of pants, and two skirts.

Eleminnowpee.

2009-06-18T22:42:00.002-04:00

Go Fly a Kite

2009-06-17T21:54:00.004-04:00

Catch Up

2009-06-16T21:24:00.003-04:00

Okay. So in this house resides one slightly obsessed toddler. "Mouse" is the first word she says every morning, and usually the last word she says every night. She loves loves loves The Tale of Despereaux, which I am not completely proud of but I do jump for joy when I am in the kitchen and she's on the couch watching the movie and I yell, "You okay in there?" and she replies, "I watchin' the mouse, mama." Yes. She's 21 months old. OMG. She's not. She's 22 months old. Holy crap. Honest to God, I just realized I missed it. Now I'm going to cry.

Today is Tuesday. So it was Sunday. I had no idea. We were in the ER on Sunday from 9.30 a.m. to after 2.30 p.m. She was dehydrated for the second time in her life and had to have IV fluids. She didn't even flinch when they put in the IV, and only after the fourth blood sample did she even look at me and clearly want to cry. She would have if she'd had any tears. We slept together and she had two apple juice boxes. I am really hoping she is on the mend, because my psyche cannot handle falling madly in love with her over and over again every second of every single day. I am exhausted. Every time I look at her I want to scream my lungs out. My heart literally swells up inside my chest and I can hardly breathe. This is not unlike how I usually feel when I see her gorgeous face, but it is that times 1000 when she is ill.

School is fine. Math is hard. A girl in my class, Carly Wilson (not sure if that is spelled correctly), was told by the teacher that her name sounded familiar. She said, "Yeah. Maybe because of Carnie Wilson (not sure if that is spelled correctly either). Teacher said, "Oh, yes." Someone said, "Who is that?" Carly said, "She's like the daughter of a Beatle or something."

oh mah gawd

It was then I realized this year's college freshman was born when I was a college freshman.

I've been doing a lot of crying lately.

Status Update

2009-06-01T21:20:00.002-04:00

I chose The Tale of Despereaux. Cried. I chose The Underneath. Bawled. Had to stop reading because I couldn't swallow my sushi.

Daughter is talking like a four-year-old. How did this happen?

Had first day of children's literature today. Teacher read a book I knew baby would love. Went to gigundous library book sale. Found said book. Brilliant.

Back into Pilates. Make that five people in four weeks (including today's Pilates instructor) who have asked me if I am pregnant. I hate people.

May have found a bag that can potentially carry all my books for the fall semester. I so do not want to use a wheeled suitcase-like book bag. Please, baby Jesus, don't make me have to do that.

Have become a burger-making genius.

Am desperate for a pedicure.

Would love a new wardrobe.

Need air conditioning in my car. It's bloody hot.

Need to get my hair colored.

I love coffee. And Cracklin' Oat Bran cereal.

Can't believe what "Family Guy" gets away with and I love it.

Old School

2009-05-14T14:52:00.003-04:00

I'm taking two summer classes, one starting June 1 and the other starting June 8. Okay. Moment of truth...I got three As, a B, and a C this semester. Ugh...C...mathematics for elementary grades. You'd think 2+2 would be easy, right? Wrong. Not when there are fourteen different ways to teach a child that. Amazing the advances that have been made in methods since I was in elementary school. Math is definitely my weakest subject. Unfortunately, my other five classes (one was Pass/Fail and doesn't affect my GPA even though it was about ten hours of work a week and was my practicum/pseudo-student teaching and was still only a two-credit hour class) took up so much of my time (three or four assignments due every week and one class requiring minimum six hours of work every week just on one assignment), I wasn't able to spend a great deal of time studying my math homework. When I have time to study, I can actually get all As. I am determined to do it next semester. I missed an A in the B class by four points. Very frustrating. And honestly, I may not have even deserved the C considering how little studying I was able to do on the first two tests.

So, anyhoo, my summer classes are the second-half of the math class (which I am determined to get an A in) and children's literature. So exciting. Here is my required reading for the class:

Group 1:
The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
Savvy by Ingrid Law
The Underneath by Kathi Appelt

Group 2:
Because of Winn Dixie by Kate DiCamillo
Bridge to Teribithia by Katherine Paterson
Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine
The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman
Holes by Louis Sachar
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
The Tale of Desperaux by Kate DiCamillo

I have to pick one from each group. Pick! Pick!

It's That Old Sweet Song

2009-05-12T09:58:00.002-04:00

I think we're going to go to Savannah today. We were thinking about checking out Paula Deen's Lady & Sons restaurant. But then we discovered these:

Mashed potatoes from heaven. Tasty sweet lemonade. Yummy bbq riblets. The best buffet I've had... one of the worst reservation systems/policies known to man.
For anyone whose ever seen her show, you know Paula Deen uses entirely too much butter in her recipes. And now I am pretty sure they run butter through the air vents and even the air is buttery and fattening here.
I believe they really did start every dish just as Paula says - with a stick of butter. Therefore by the time you start working on your 2nd buffet helping, you may notice your stomach beginning to rumble. If you keep eating, an aching churn is on its way. I suggest telling everyone at your table that you forgot the mashed potatoes immediately after you inevitably emit some southern fried methane, excuse yourself and leave before anyone knows it was you.
My arteries are still clogged. The options on the buffet were butter, oil, and grease. Yes, I expected some unhealthy vittles, but I didn't expect fat-broiled fatty chunks of fat swimming in fat. The recipe for Paula's Deep Friend Butter Balls on her website makes so much more sense now.

Oh well. I would like to visit the gift shop. Supposedly there's an apron there that reads: Put a little South in your mouth. I think my mother needs that.

How Fast Can They Run?

2009-05-11T21:23:00.002-04:00

So, finals are finally over and I have been stalking my school's website for days now waiting for my grades. Come on, people! GRADE! You're killing me. There are so many assignments that haven't been graded yet. I would love to remind them of all the deadlines they placed on us this semester. Um...hello?

I am on my first vacation in a few years. We're in Hilton Head and I was promised by several people I would not come across any alligators. Well, 'tis not the case. I was sitting outside on the deck with the baby girl blowing bubbles (really good bubbles but they're flavored and colored which sucks). I hear this guttural growl and immediately grab the baby and run into the screened-in porch. The Boy came out and I told him I heard an alligator. He said he was sure I didn't. And then we spotted it in the swampy pondy thingy behind our villa. Yes, I said villa. There are freaking gators at a Westin Hotel! omg

Not happy.

And now I can't stop stalking the gator. Where is he? What's he doing? Most importantly...is he hungry?

Help...me....

2009-04-16T23:25:00.000-04:00

Buried under school work. Will get back to you soon. Perhaps a guest blog? Check back soon.

xoxo

Good Mornin'! Good Mor-or-or-nin'!

2009-03-26T21:51:00.002-04:00

It was raining today. I didn't have an umbrella so I had to borrow one. It was a giant golf umbrella. My mother got me an umbrella like this for Christmas my freshman year in college. It was a tradition in my home every year for me to pick the most interesting looking present under the tree and vow to open it first on Christmas Day. My mother would wrap a present and inside that one present would be fifteen other tinier wrapped presents. I loved it! So, when I'd spotted this particular present, I was more than intrigued. It was long. Heavy. Distinct. I thought for sure there were hundreds of wrapped gems inside a long tube made of old paper towel rolls. Imagine my surprise on Christmas morning when I'd grabbed said present, ripped-off its paper, only to find...a giant umbrella. A giant umbrella with my school mascot emblazoned upon four of its sections. I was...mortified. There was no way I was going to carry that damned thing across campus! Was she crazy? Where was the jewelry? Where was the makeup? Where were all the quarters I was sure were stuffed into that enormous tube? Boo, I say. Boo, to giant umbrellas.

Well, today, I had to carry a giant umbrella across campus. Now you might think at my age, I wouldn't really give a flying fig what people think about me. You'd be half right. I don't care what people think of me, unless those people are practically de-eyed by the metal prongs of a humongous killing machine doubling as a water barrier. I nearly wiped out five people walking across campus to grab a coffee. I looked like the most ridiculous egomaniac.

I cannot have even one drop on my person. Under no circumstance is precipitation to touch my body at any time. Nor shall it touch anyone within a five mile radius of me.

You Are 19 Months Going on 91.

2009-03-18T21:00:00.003-04:00

I don't particularly like letting my 19-month-old watch television but as a single mom, if I have to potty or shower or, um...I don't know...get shit done...into the ExerSaucer she goes and on comes the television.

My concern is...she has developed a deep and abiding love for...Christopher Plummer. Yes. The father from The Sound of Music. The whole thing played twelve times last week. She will normally play when the TV is on and virtually ignore it, instead reading her books and looking at magazines and making a general mess of the place. But if Julie Andrews and those kids are on, she is nearly glued to the screen. She will honestly sit and watch the entire movie. And if she wanders into the other room to follow me and hears a certain part of the movie come on she will RUN into the living room like, "Yeah...mom...hold that thought. The hot dad is about to sing," and she stands in front of the television (much too closely) and drools, literally, over him.

Her favorite television show? Lawrence Welk.

I am pretty sure I gave birth to an old lady. If she starts knitting soon, be afraid. Very afraid.

Tis the Season

2009-03-17T23:26:00.000-04:00

...to let hair air dry.

Fa la la lala. La lala. La.

Happy Bubble

2009-03-12T23:12:00.002-04:00

I watched ER for the first time tonight in years. I wouldn't have even noticed if suddenly I hadn't flipped past the channel and caught a glimpse of George Clooney in scrubs (hubba hubba, homeboy) and Susan Sarandon (peace, sister). I ended up watching the last twenty five minutes of the episode and, of course, cried about thirty seconds into it. Susan did a really good job. I smell Emmy.

It got me thinking about the last time Ms. Sarandon made me cry. It was last week when Thelma and Louise was on cable. Man. That movie pisses me off. What the hell? I swear it's like My Best Friend's Wedding. I saw that in the theater four times. It ruined my life for about a month after the first viewing, but I went back. It's been the same the twenty times I've seen it since: I guess I'm really just thinking, "Certainly it will end differently this time! I just know it!" I like to be entertained at the movies, not made to want to hurt some poor innocent bystander. Happy things happen at the movies! If I wanted reality, I'd just stay home and watch the news. Which I don't.

Yeah. T&L really makes me mad. Every time. How about...go to the police...The End...done?

The only thing that kept me interested this time was Michael Madsen. Holy hell, he is h-o-t-t. Yeesh. I reminded myself to imdb.com him and promptly forgot, per normal anything that I want to do and don't immediately get up and do it.

Well, when I was up at some ungodly hour with the baby a few days later, an old episode of MTV Cribs was on and lo and behold, there was Mr. Madsen. Only his hair was bleached blond. Not a good look for him. So I imdb-ed him just now: 7 movies completed, 9 in post-production, currently filming 3 movies, 5 in pre-production, 1 announced and 2 in production.

Wonder how many of those will piss me off.

Best Laid Plans

2009-03-11T15:57:00.003-04:00

Baby has been sick for a month today. Started off as teething. Turned into a runny nose. Then a stomach bug. Trip to the ER. Dry cough. Wet cough. Runnier nose. Fever. Wet cough. Runnier-est nose. Incessant all-night dry cough. Runny nose. I kept her out of school today. She woke at 4.30 a.m. and didn't stop coughing until after 9 a.m., which was a blessing. She's been waking up at 11.30 pm., midnight or 2 a.m. or ten times in between. She slept for two and a half hours today which is unheard of here; those naps reserved for Gramma's and usually last more like four and a half hours. When she woke, I quickly got her ready and all my stuff and ran to the library to return a couple of things and get some free help with my taxes. What a great thing!

Turned-in items to the front desk. Seemed to have left the DVD in the DVD player at home. Went into meeting room and sat down with baby. A woman walked past all the tax people and said, "May I help you?" [This kind of thing really annoys me. Like when you walk into a shoe store and the salesperson says, "May I help you find something?" Oh, I don't know...shoes perhaps.

The lady informed me they wouldn't have time to get to me today and to come back next week. She could've just told me that when I walked in.

Oh, Bloody Hell!

2009-03-08T18:29:00.002-04:00

A woman came over to me at church this morning to comment on my gorgeous daughter and how absolutely lovely she is when she is sleeping. She is gorgeous all the time (Duh.) but when she is asleep, her look changes completely. So the woman said, "She is getting so big. When are you due?"

What the effing EFF! This is never appropriate to ask someone unless maybe you're a taxi driver and a woman is screaming her lungs out in the back seat. Not until the baby's head is coming out of the vagina should this question ever be asked. Ever.

Yikes

2009-03-06T19:58:00.004-05:00

Go figure. Baby has been having night terrors for the past three nights. Dammit. I bet she sees dead people. (No. She was not up when it was on the other night.) Or dead Elmos. Or Mommy giving her half-broken bits of cracker over and over again. Or a world with no bananas.

The first night, she woke at 11 p.m. screaming MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! She has never done that, and while it touched my heart, it was horrible to hear. I stood and rocked her and tried to put her back in her bed. No go. Rocked her again in the glider for a bit, back to bed...hell no. Took her in and sat on the couch. She just laid on my chest and stared at the wall. Tried to put her back...forget it. You see where this is headed. I attempted to put her back in her bed seven times. The seventh time I had to walk out of the room. I went to my bed and the tears immediately poured out of my eyes and then suddenly *poof* dry as the desert. It was very strange. Like my body knew... hurry up and get this over with because you've got a long night ahead of you. I went right back in, took her back in bed with me (which I'd already tried) and she didn't fall asleep until nearly 4 a.m. She probably could have fallen asleep sooner if she hadn't been laying on her side and reaching all the way behind herself to rub my eyebrows.

The next night, she woke at 1:50 a.m. and was up until 4 a.m. Both nights she was physically terrified of her crib or room or both. Night terrors work that way, leaving the poor little baby unable to discern from reality fully expecting a beheaded Elmo to jump out from behind the dresser yelling, "I've eaten all the Keebler Garlic and Herb Toppers in the universe and you will get NOTHING!" Okay. Now I'm scared. And they say night terrors are hereditary. Great.

This morning she woke up at 4:50 a.m. I got her back to sleep in my bed, only to hear her yelling NO! NO! NO! She was sound asleep. So these terrors can last a few days to a few months. Not good for baby and so sad. Not good for student mommy, either, who has four tests, three projects and oh...I don't know...a child to take care of after only four hours of sleep.

Oh wait. I forgot. I did this for 16 months. How soon we forget.

Put Your Boobs Away, and Step Out of the Car.

2009-03-03T20:45:00.004-05:00

A woman in Ohio was pulled over and cited for driving whilst talking on her cell phone...and nursing. WUT? Yes. Driving and nursing. Whoa. Is she from Louisiana? Did her car exceed such a speed limit that it raced into a portal through time? Did she somehow drive herself into the 1970s?

I can understand talking on your cell phone while driving. I don't do it when I have the baby in the car, but I do talk on the phone when she isn't with me. I will admit, there have been times when I've said, "Where in the hell is my phone?" only to realize I'm saying that into the phone to the poor person to which I'm talking. That is, how do they say it...not good.

I am not judging this woman for talking on the phone with her baby in the car. I'm sure there are moments when you would really need to talk to someone. I get that. But holding a cell phone, driving and nursing said baby simultaneously. I'm thinking this is a horrible terrible idea.

In the past, I have seen some things I wish I'd never seen. On two different occasions, men exposed themselves to me; one was performing some type of oral pleasure on a giant root vegetable and the other one was performing some type of five finger pleasure to himself. The second man must've done yoga or something, for he was able to really get his entire torso up out of the seat and above the steering wheel while still driving. Now THAT is something I would pull someone over for, especially if he was chatting on his cell. I mean, I hope he had hand sanitizer in his car. Or wipes or something.

I nursed for fourteen months. I didn't take my first road trip with the baby until she was sixteen months old. I didn't have to stop to nurse, but I did have to stop for lunch and a diaper change. The Ohio woman--who lives in Michigan and asserts she should only have to abide interstate by Michigan law--claims her usual seven hour drive would turn into a nine hour drive if she had to stop. That is a long time for a baby to ride in a car seat, I agree. The woman had the baby in her lap on a pillow and was nursing when a man saw her and called the police to have her pulled over. It would be really difficult to have to stop and nurse, especially if you were alone and there wasn't a nice safe place to feed your baby.

I know people got sick of seeing my breasts when I was nursing; I know I certainly did. And don't think for a minute that I didn't wish I could nurse in the car. I'd nursed everywhere else; Target, restaurants, the movies, book stores. I miss it. I'm all for women being able to just whip it out whenever they feel like it, but let's save the highway nudity for semi drivers and college frat boys. Just sayin'.

I See...Myself Not Sleeping for a Month

2009-03-01T21:04:00.005-05:00

When I was in college, my roommate and I were the very fortunate recipients of free cable. We had lived in the apartment for a few months before I had the notion to hook up my grandmother's old television to the little cable hook-up coming out the wall in the hopes it would act as an antenna. It worked. Oh, did it work. Free cable! We almost called to make sure we weren't being charged, but then realized that was just the Lord wanting us to turn ourselves in.

I'd never had cable before that moment. I didn't grow up in a house where cable was even available to be had. No no. My parents waited until I moved out of the house to get cable. They never did get call waiting. Something about the probability of them never receiving a single phone call stopped them from getting it. Like I would really have clicked over and told a friend of my parents' "You know...I'm on the other line talking to my friends about this girl who was talking about one of my friends and my friends are all like 'You can't talk about our friends and we're all like...well, you know...can I just have my dad call you back?" Yeah. That would've happened.

So needless to say, we were excited. Until...that fateful day when...I came across...Robert Stack and his fucking Unsolved Mysteries. For crap sake, put a warning on that stuff. Good God. I was so completely terrified. It was an episode about a little girl who would occasionally ask her mom if she could go outside and play with someone; someone who turned out to be a dead man who had lived in her house or something. He showed up at the door with a bloody hand. And then a mean ghost showed up. They moved. Yadda yadda. I'm sure that girl is a freaking MESS today.

I finally changed the channel and my roommate came in from class to find me curled up on the couch watching the television through the holes of a quilt.

"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Trying not to watch this show," I informed her.
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's scaring the shit out of me."
"So, change the channel."
"I did. But it's still there. When I'm watching Young and the Restless it's still there. Just because I changed the channel doesn't mean it's gone away. It's there."
Blank stare.
"I have to know what happens."

Well, The Sixth Sense is on right now. I saw this in the theater with a guy I knew from the bakery where I worked during massage therapy school. I ruined the movie for everyone around me fifteen minutes into it. "He's dead. No one else is talking to him and he's got the same outfit on." People were...pissed. And even though I figured it out straightaway, I couldn't sleep for a month. I had to call my date and have him walk up to my place and sleep on my couch. That's how afraid I was. Sadly, I'm letting this show air right now in my home. Even though I've seen it, it's on regular television, there are commercials and a lot of the stuff has been cut out I still cannot look at the screen half the time.

I have laundry to do tomorrow. It's in the basement of my building. My building is haunted. Everyone who lives here/has lived here confirmed it. In our basement is a closed off tunnel to the Underground Railroad. The inspiration for The Great Gatsby lived here. It's a beautiful creepy building. Every time I'm down there doing laundry I can feel someone staring at me. And when you run up the stairs, it sounds like someone is running after you. Fright. En. Ning.

I hope to one day get over my fear of basements and the dark. My dad used to say, to family (hopefully not to his friends) "If we didn't keep some toilet paper upstairs, she'd just go without." My babysitters' children used to scare the crap out of me when I was a kid and tell me that The Boogeyman was wherever we weren't so they didn't have to chase me. I want to be strong and brave for the baby girl. I certainly don't want her to come into my room one night saying, "There's something under my bed," to which I would reply, "Yeah, I know. I don't know what the hell you're doing in there by yourself."

In on the Secret

2009-02-26T07:46:00.002-05:00

So, it's that time of year again. When my mother calls me up and asks, "So...what'd you give up for Lent?" Only, now she's going to a Baptist church and I don't think they give a crap about giving stuff up. Except maybe dancing. Which I would NEVER give up, even if the only time I get to dance is in the morning when I'm making baby's breakfast and I'm trying to make her laugh....which is hard because I pride myself on my dancing ability so if she laughs it's ten minutes in the corner for her.

Well, Fat Tuesday sneaked up on me and I had to make a rush decision about what to do without for the next forty some-odd days. I went with beer, which is my usual M.O. In 1998, I gave up beer for Lent, and then I took up tequila. Those were good times. But now giving up beer isn't a real stretch because it's not something I need. And when you go out to eat, it does save about seven dollars. At least for my part of the bill, since I'm a bit of a beer snob. I've given up beer the last three years, though 2007 may not count since with was with child, which brings me to another point: If I'd had a looking glass I wouldn't have given up beer in 2006.

I also gave up Facebook. Watch out! My friends are a little upset by this. The Boy said I shouldn't do it and that when I go back I'll only have 137 friends. That may not be a bad thing. Somehow I've accumulated a crap load of people, or "pseudo-friends" as someone likes to all them. A lot of them have played huge parts in my life at one point or another. It's really wonderful catching up with them and not having to call them and chat on the phone. I would never do that.

My friends tried to get me to give up coffee instead of beer because St. Pat's is coming up and trust me, the two years I went out on St. Patrick's Day I made it three hours and fifteen minutes the first year and much longer actually when I was pregnant. But coffee doesn't cause me to lose hours in the day. Beer doesn't either. Okay. Yes, it does. Who am I kidding?

So I guess you'll be seeing more of me. Which should make my friends happy! ARE YOU EVEN READING THIS?

Happy Jesus' something to all of you!

No Fair. I Want Some!

2009-02-20T19:56:00.002-05:00

I went to my practicum today. I have to make-up two days since I missed Monday and Wednesday last week with the sick little babykins. My little first-graders are the sweetest most hug-hungry children I've ever come across. They are always coming over to hug me; boys and girls. On Wednesday (they were off school on Monday for President's Day), one little girl said, "You look very pretty today." Yikes. She is already on to me. I had given a little more effort--okay, that's a lie...I'd actually given some effort finally--than usual and she picked right up on it. I really like her. She gets in trouble a lot and cries at the drop of a hat, but she is adorable and whoever dresses her in the a.m. has superb style.

Today, I walked into the class in the middle of their writing assignment. I put my bag down and took off my coat and jumped right in to help. I made sure to bend down so they wouldn't have to stare up my nose. As I was helping one girl (who is very bright) the girl next to her pointed to her own paper and DUDE! she had on a full-set of acrylic nails. She is SIX YEARS OLD.

At least it was glitter polish.

It Really Was No Miracle/What Happened Was Just This

2009-02-14T13:58:00.002-05:00

Baby got sick last Saturday in the car. Nothing worse than a baby throwing up in the car seat while you're on the highway going 65 mph. Poor little mite. The Boy was driving so I climbed into the back and wiped her little tears. He and I were on our way out to dinner with his family. My mother was keeping baby overnight. I called Gramma and alerted her to the situation and she met us in the driveway, swooped up the baby girl and whisked her off to a warm bath waiting in the very nice ceramic utility sink. The Boy and I want a square bathtub that comes up to our eye level. Sad to be so jealous of a baby's ability to look so tiny in a sink, but it's possible.

I chalked up her vomickin' to being car sick, as I get car sick very easily...especially so if I have to face backward like on the LIRR or subway. Egads. Look out stranger next to me...and open your briefcase.

We went to dinner and I picked her up the next morning at 7.30 a.m. She had gotten sick twice during the night. Okay. So, not car sick. She ended up puking up the entire contents of her breakfast all down my tee shirt and velour zip-up hoodie. It is times like that when you realize, yes, I do love this person. I didn't even flinch or blink or nearly gag. But I am quite certain, had it been anyone else's child, I probably would've have fainted right there in a pile of not-quite-half-digested vegan waffle and banana bits.

I took her home where she proceeded to throw up three more times, but not again after 3 p.m. I called the doctor-on-call and he said it was probably just a bug and to keep her hydrated. Duh. So I did. She didn't have dinner, but woke up at 2.15 a.m. Monday and ate an entire container of applesauce and kept it down. Later that more at the real wake-up time, she ate a whole banana and was fine. That afternoon, she asked for applesauce and threw it up. So I took her to the doctor. They said she wasn't dehydrated and to feed her normally, continue the fluids, give her a bottle (soy formula) and not the legendary BRAT diet.

I gave her a bottle that evening and she walked into the other room and barfed up nearly all of it onto the tile floor without missing a beat. That was the thing. No fever. Ever. Yet, she couldn't hold anything down. And after throwing up, she was the most cheerful child you'd ever seen.

Wednesday morning was a different story. She threw up six times in an hour and a half so I rushed her off to Children's Hospital. Emergency rooms are the Goodwill's of health care. No matter how dressed up you are--which I wasn't and I hadn't bathed since Monday night's semi-traumatic shower right after baby looked up at my dear friend and said, "I go two potties"--you look like a crazy homeless person and if you have a nice handbag they look at you like you shouldn't be shopping there.

Baby ended up getting an IV of fluids. Her glucose level was a 47; normal being 60-120. She has kept everything down since, demanding two bananas for breakfast and has eaten 400 puffy stars. I tried to get her to only have a few pieces of bread after I brought her back to The Boy's house but she was having none of it. With every handful of puffy stars and banana and crackers, I just KNEW she was going to puke it all up in mere seconds. But she did not. And, of course, she wasn't the least bit interested in drinking anything since her liquid cheeseburger at the hospital.

The wind outside had started to pick up. I'd heard it was going to be fairly windy that night. (I was hoping it wasn't going to be like the Hurricane Ike winds we'd inherited back in the early fall. The winds that ripped off my sunglasses and had me trapped against a planter for 25 minutes on my four minute walk to work.) I kept looking out the windows. Some trees were blowing and some weren't. It was very strange. I noticed a giant evergreen in the backyard of the neighbor's home and wondered how it had never fallen over. It is sooo tall and precariously placed on a hill.

About 45 minutes later, I put baby down and went into the kitchen to do some homework online. I wasn't in the kitchen ten minutes when I heard a sound I've never heard before. Suddenly the power went out and I was pretty sure it was a tornado ripping apart the house. From the bruises on my knees I'm quite certain I crawled my way out of the kitchen. I rammed my head into the banister when I'd made it out into the front room. I was screaming for The Boy and was desperately trying to climb my way up the stairs to the bedrooms. He has been sick for two weeks and had been asleep since the late afternoon.

I thought for sure the house was going to be swept away and that he and baby were going to be gone forever. My legs were Jell-O. I crawled into the baby's room and felt around for her bed. I couldn't see a thing. I tried to walk back downstairs but remembering how I'd already fallen down those stairs with her before I just sat down in the hall and cried. He came running downstairs and said, "It's okay. It's just the power. It's just the power." I said, "No! Something came into your kitchen." He walked past me and a few seconds later came out and asked, "Were you in the kitchen? Were you in the kitchen!?" I said, "Yes." He gave me a hug and said, "A tree came through the roof. It's just a tree."

A 65 foot tree fell onto his house and burst through his roof four feet from where I was standing. I am pretty sure I'm very lucky. I know I am very grateful that The Boy and the baby are safe and sound. I can't imagine what I would have done if it had truly been what I'd imagined.

The next morning while the tree parts were being cut out of three spots in his roof, we decided to go out to breakfast since the tree had knocked down the power lines and the kitchen was unusable. I went to start my car and...nothing. My fuel pump went out. Just talked to the service station and it's going to be $300 or so to fix. Great.

I am beginning to think trees hate me. When I moved in with my ex-husband, the 100-year-old tree in his front yard died. We moved and the 15-year-old tree in our front yard died. And now this. Maybe it's because of my stationery addiction. I'll try to be better.

Ready? Set. Stop.

2009-02-04T11:17:00.002-05:00

This semester is a bust.

I was off school last week from Monday to Thursday. My practicum therefore was canceled on Monday and Wednesday, as well. Only, I didn't realize that the county had called off school. I was up at 6.20 a.m. on Monday for some reason...can't remember why.... The only schools that were called off were an hour and a half away. They still get our local news and Lexington's news. So I figured it was just bad weather to the west and south of us.

I suspected baby was teething. She had a temperature of 100.4. Oh yeah! That's why I was awake at 6.20 a.m. Duh. Anyway, I didn't want to take her to daycare, so I called my mother and asked her if she would come down and watch her. It was about time for her nap and I didn't particularly want to take her outside if it wasn't necessary.

I drove out to my practicum with no problem whatsoever. I pull into the parking lot...empty. WTH? I didn't see anything on the news about it. It had snowed a tiny bit and was pretty cold but it wasn't unbearable. There wasn't even any snow on the roads. I still don't know if they'd been let go early or if school had been called off altogether.

I ended up using the few minutes of pretend free time I had and stopped by a consignment shop. I found some really great jeans; two pair of Gap and one pair of Banana Republic all for under $3.99. They were marked 50% off. I can't figure out why they were still there. I also found the greatest sweater ever invented: cable-knit cream sweater with a hood, no buttons, and a belt. Also in the 50% off room. There were only two other things on the rack with it, so it wasn't like someone needed to search through a hundred sweaters to find it. It was just there begging to be purchased. I bought it for $3.50. Crazy.

When I went to pay my card was rejected three times. Card error. I left my stuff there and went home. My lovely mother was headed out to the grocery which is right next door to the store and picked up my clothes for me. She's so wonderful. I can't wait to do things like that for baby. I love getting little gifts for my mom. Things she wants that she would never buy for herself, like Chanel No. 5 Body Creme, which has replaced Chanel No. 5 Body Lotion. (If you remember...everything I like is eventually canceled or discontinued. I do not lie about these things.)

I went home and checked my balance through the bank's website. Plenty of money. One of my resolutions is to only write checks for things. Hope you don't end up in line behind me. My mother writes checks everywhere she goes. Remember the fit she threw at Gap Outlet? She threw the same fit at IKEA. I think it is very important and a great way to keep track of expenses. I just suck at it.

Friday, I went with The Boy to a store downtown to buy us stainless steel water bottles. Card error wasn't the message this time, but something more elitist. Finally I had the sense to call my bank.

Baby Fish Mouth: Something is wrong with my debit card.
Teller: Account number?
BFM: *waiting*
Teller: Oh, this card has been canceled.
BFM: Uh...nuh uh.
Teller: Yes, it has.
BFM: By whom?
Teller: Well, the company who owns your card had a security breach so your card was canceled.
BFM: How was I supposed to know this?
Teller: Well, it was on the news last week. Don't you watch the news?
BFM: No. I don't. I quit watching the news when I saw a bank teller had been strangled through the phone. (I didn't really say that, but I wanted to say it.)

I'm sorry. Do I have to rely on the local news to tell me important information from my bank? They can't even freaking tell me when the schools are closed.

You've Lost Me

2009-01-29T23:25:00.002-05:00

So, Facebook has taken the place of another site that I couldn't get away from for a few years. I've been there recently and not here and I apologize.

Recently a Poll: went around asking people to name 25 random things about themselves. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. And after reading everyone else's list, I remembered a ton of things that I forgot to add to mine. It was very stressful. I considered myself to be very boring, but I will refrain from redoing my list. I cannot be such a freakazoid anymore. I must let things remain as they are, mistakes and all. Ooh. Dang. I should have put that down.

1. I wish I still had all my Seventeen magazines from the 80s and that my parents hadn't thrown them out when they moved. I also wish I had a lot of things that are gone and that every time I ask "Whatever happened to my yearbooks?" my mother wouldn't say, "We told you if you wanted something you had to come and get it."

2. I love my daughter more than I've ever loved anything in the world, yet I can't stop thinking about what I'd do if anything ever happened to her. It's not an enjoyable thought.

3. I am addicted to stationery and office products. If there was a 12 step group I'd probably join it but then I'd just end up meeting a bunch of people with really great stationery.

4. If someone handed me $1000 and told me I couldn't keep it and I had to spend it by the end of the day, I'd blow it all on books, Moleskine journals, magazines and CDs at Joseph Beth. And a latte in Bronte.

5. I have turned into one of those mother's who hopes her daughter does everything she never got to do.

6. For one day I'd like to be able to sing like Joni Mitchell. I'd take my guitar to NYC and sing on the subway platforms.

7. I wanted nothing more than to live in NYC. When I lived there, I missed Kentucky for the first time in my life. It's so beautiful and green and lovely. i never appreciated it before then.

8. I've worn glasses since the third grade. I still remember walking into class and Becky Pike clapped because she was the only other person in our class who had glasses.

9. I cheered for an arena football team. I could have met the man of my dreams if I'd paid really close attention to the equipment manager.

10. The best job I've ever had in my life was at Wildflour Bakery when I was in massage therapy school; it ruined me for all future jobs.

11. I had a spinal fusion when i was 16 years old. I broke my rod and had the surgery again when I was 19 years old. My doctor had never had to repeat a surgery in his entire career until I came along. Go figure.

12. I am getting my second bachelor's degree because I want to teach elementary grades. I could have gone for my master's in teaching but I would've only been able to teach middle grades. I'll still have to get my master's.

13. I am addicted to coffee but cannot finish an entire cup when I'm at home. I especially love the first sip.

14. I won a bike-a-thon in the third grade. The prize was a bike. I was so excited. When we went to pick it up I was so upset. It was a boy's bike. It had lightning on the seat. I never rode it. Not once.

15. My eyes were so dark brown you could hardly see my pupils until my sophomore year in high school when they turned hazel.

16. The girls on my floor my freshman year in college forbade me from watching "Little House on the Prairie" because I would sob for an hour each morning.

17. My dream job is to be a writer of fiction.

18. I wish I could go back in time.

19. My favorite teacher growing up was Mrs. Kearns. Our class was in a trailer in the back of the school. One day, a guy came into the class. He was in college and had her as his 2nd grade teacher. He said that she had told him years before that if she had a rocking chair she would read to the class all day long. He brought her a rocking chair, put it together while we had class and then she read to us for the rest of the day.

20. When I was a kid, I would dog-ear the pages of the Service Merchandise catalog. Not to keep track of the stuff I wanted, but to mark the pages in the children's section of the boys and girls I wanted for brothers and sisters. This made my mother cry.

21. I have my degree in journalism, yet I loathe watching the news and rarely read the paper, unless it's the NY Times Arts or Style sections. Or the Enquirer's puzzle page.

22. The only way I know I'm mad is when the tears come out. Ooh...how I hate that.

23. When I was in elementary school, I would wake up in the mornings, plug in the coffee for my parents and then I would go to my mom's side of the bed, kneel down and put my head on the mattress. She would play with my hair until she heard the coffee pot finish and then she'd tell me to go get dressed. I did this Monday-Friday.

24. I can say the alphabet backwards faster than I can say it forwards.

25. I wish I could live forever.

What Makes Me Happy

2009-01-20T23:44:00.002-05:00

It's a Sign That I've Watched This Movie Too Many Times

2009-01-16T10:18:00.003-05:00

I was watching Grey's Anatomy last night, which by the way--I still don't know what in the world is going on and only have one particular friend to blame for even having it on the television in the first place--will leave me traumatized for some time to come. The last scene was one of the most disturbing things I've seen on television since...well, since I caught part of an episode of another show I don't watch called Nip/Tuck, where a woman blew Build-a-Bear stuffing into some guy's mouth and...let's just leave it at that. Both of these scenes make me want to poke out my mind's eye. I couldn't even look at the television last night during the last moments. Just hearing it forced me to look away and cover my eyes.

I did, however, catch a teaser for Good Morning America about the US Airways plane which crash landed into the Hudson. The plane took off from LGA and was in route to Charlotte. I'm sorry...WUT? That is my child's name. Charlotte Hudson. So utterly eerie, it has also been burned into my brain.

I was reminded of something else that was a little freaky deaky. About a week after my dad passed away, I met a friend at a bookstore, which also has a wonderful little restaurant in it, across the river. I was telling her about how I'd hung-out at the hospital all day long on that Thursday and that evening I had decided to go home, shower, feed my cats and I would come back to stay with my mom and dad. Almost as soon as I had decided to leave, my dad started making noises like "Mm-mm" as if he was telling someone "No." This went on for many minutes. A nurse came in and said to him, even though he was in a coma-like state, "I'm going to roll you over on your side." He said, "MM-MM." She backed away and said, "Okay. I heard that" and left the room. After about twenty minutes, I said I would be back and kissed his hand. I didn't even make it to the parking lot before he had passed away. It was if he had been telling someone, "I'm not coming with you until my daughter leaves." I was telling my friend this as we were waiting to be seated in the restaurant. We were standing next to a book shelf of greeting cards. Just as I finished that sentence, a pack of cards on a wooden book shelf approximately 12 feet high fell from the top shelf and landed face up on my foot. There was no way anyone could have bumped the shelf and caused the cards to fall. They were all set back about four inches from the edge. We looked down and saw that the cards simply read: Hello. That was it. My friend and I stood there and cried. And laughed. It was a good sign. I bought that pack of cards and still have them.

So I like to think that this recent event is also a sign. A sign that she will be okay. That everything happens for a reason. Now that certain things are underway regarding her future--that if her biological father were not out-of-town right now he would have seen the whole scene from his office window--she will be strong and fearless. I like to think this about myself as well. And just as the Hudson saved countless lives in NYC yesterday, I know that my Hudson saves my life everyday. And I believe my dad is watching.

Again.

2009-01-12T14:55:00.002-05:00

You Look...Different

2009-01-08T09:45:00.004-05:00

I am starting school on Monday. The following week I will be doing a two-day practicum in a local elementary school. Thus...teachery clothes will need to be purchased.

You know...I should have really thought this whole going-back-to-school-to-work-in-a-school "thing." I have no CLUE how I am ever going to become a morning person. Baby wakes up at 7.15 a.m. or 7.30 a.m. most days and that is an ungodly hour for me. Once I get a teaching job...I should be sitting at my desk by that time. WUT? Someone hold me.

I went to the Gap Outlet with my mom the other day. I'd like to say I forgot how much she abhors that place, but I didn't. I get a really demented sense of joy listening to her freak out when we walk in the door. "What in the world?" "Are these clothes used?" "What do you mean you won't accept my check? You're treating me like some kind of criminal!" When I informed her that eChecks (the check verifying company used by Anthropologie, Urban Outfitters, Gap, Old Navy, Banana Republic, etc.) never accepts a check from someone who has never written a check there before, the girls who were working the register looked at me like I'd just found the Holy Grail. How'd she know that? My mom was none too happy and made sure they all knew it.

Anyway, I got some pants and a skirt, but that is not going to get me through the whole semester. I have no clue how to dress or what I'm going to wear. Or how on Earth I'm going to look presentable everyday. I am a Hat Girl and love to just throw one on and run out the door. Cute hats. Only the occasional baseball cap. I'm pretty sure hats are a big no-no for teachers. Now I'm going to have to do my hair everyday. How do teachers do this? And I just realized...I'm probably going to have to shower every night. OMG.

I remember my teachers in school always having curled hair and looking nice. Maybe they had a team of people who helped them get ready everyday. I want to look professional but also romantic like my high school English teacher. She wore great soft sweaters and flowy-legged pants. I went through a serious Meg Ryan phase after Sleepless in Seattle came out years ago. Perhaps I will channel her again. Her style in When Harry Met Sally and You've Got Mail are equally adorable. Yes. That may be the ticket. Because I don't think my old work tee shirt that reads "No one beats our meat" on the back is going to cut it.

In the Same Amount of Time I'll Be 72!

2009-01-05T09:51:00.003-05:00

A week from today I will celebrate the seventh birthday since my dad died. I only had seven birthdays before he became my dad. I really wanted to do a tribute to him in October but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm still pretty raw. It took two years to hit me and it nearly knocked me unconscious. But everyday I can feel him giving me a little push. Telling me not to cry, to get my work done and to take time to enjoy a freshly mowed lawn.

In 2002, my father passed away after a brief battle with cancer. He owned his own business. A transmission shop where he had been working since he was 9 years old. It was owned by his uncle and he pumped gas. His father took it over and my dad continued to work there until he was drafted into the Vietnam War. He came home, continued working there and eventually became the owner. He worked Monday through Friday only taking ten vacations until the week before he died. All he wanted to do was complete the sale on his business and spend what little time left with my mother. He never got that opportunity. At his funeral, hundreds of people turned out to pay their respects. One man brought a black beret that my father had left him when they were in Vietnam. He had kept it all those years and gave it to my mother.

Still to this day, people ask me, "Are you related to Mike?" and when I tell them he's my dad they say, "He was the greatest man I ever met." A mechanic, who loved his life, his wife, his child and everyone he ever met. That is the impact I want to have on the people I encounter in my lifetime. In thirty years, I want my daughter to hear people say something similar about me. I just hope I'm here to hear it.

Whoever Said Half the Fun Was in Getting There...Has Never Been Here

2008-12-27T20:52:00.003-05:00

I finally did it. And now I have no excuse not to keep doing it. It took me hours and those hours are ones I will never get back. And now I will need to spend equal time doing it to friends.

I traveled with the baby.

I took my first trip with the baby. I drove nearly six hours to visit The Boy's mother and family at her B&B. I had no idea how it was going to go. Poor baby has never had to ride in a car that long. I mean, sure, I've had her out for a long time shopping and running around. A friend lives about an hour and a half away and we've visited her a couple of times. That is the limit on her long-distance travel experience. I usually put the iPod on and let her listen to audiobooks every time we're in the car. As soon as the woman starts saying These audiobooks are brought to you by audible dot com. Audible. Audiobooks wherever you are or something like that...baby stops screaming and is mesmerized for the next however many minutes I have her held hostage. She has never been a fan of the car and I wasn't sure how it was going to work having her strapped in for what I thought would be five hours.

I had to stop for us to have lunch and I swear...this is KILLING me to admit this...I split a three piece chicken something or other from McDonald's with the baby. I'm so ashamed. She really enjoyed it, which is the most shameful part. The woman who waited on us was the biggest bitch I've ever encountered at a McDonald's and I've been served by some really surly teenagers. This woman is saving her McDonald's a million dollars a year. They need to make her a franchise owner. I asked for a three-piece McNugget and she informed me there was no such thing. I read through the menu and finally found the chicken whatever it was that I ordered. People at McDonald's hate me because it takes me forever to place my order. I'm sure they're all like...come on, lady...it's freaking McDonald's...our menu hasn't changed in like...ever, but I can never decide what I want, mostly because I do not want to be there. I was waiting for my food and went over to the fountain drinks to get my rootbeer and overheard a woman telling the cashier that she didn't get a sauce for her McNuggets Happy Meal for her daughter and something else about getting one too many cups and not getting a milk and the woman gave her a five minute lecture about how many dipping sauces you get with a happy meal and how she wouldn't be able to have another blah blah blah. That woman was pissed. She really gave an eye roll. She was ma-ad.

I grabbed my bag and left and ate in the car with baby. Which brings me to another thing...OMG. I'm going to live here and never return my rental car. Holy shit! I'm IN LOVE. I am driving a Chevrolet Equinox or some crap. It has totally spoiled me in under seven hours and I am hoping to return my Jeep in its place with the hopes of convincing Budget that they gave me a piece of crap car and somehow I'll be able to keep this car for my very own. It is the most luxurious thing I've ever ridden in, mostly because it's silent. The roads on the way here were out of contrizzle and I was the only person who was able to go anywhere. Winter drive. Ahhh. I forgot about the joy it brings to one's soul when you have that special little button near the gear shift. The security you're possessed with as you push it. It's not unlike starting a fight with someone twice your size when you're with someone four times your size. "Plow through" is my new motto.

Baby slept as soon as we got in the car and then again after lunch. Just when I thought I was a mere six miles from my destination, I was informed by The Boy that I was about an hour and fifteen minutes away. WUT? I was pissed. Baby had been screaming and I thought for sure I could make it just a few more miles. So I had to hang up on him and pull into a Sunoco. I stupidly parked in a spot by the fire department next door just so I could get the poor child out of the car. I changed her diaper in the back like I always do in my Jeep because we're a couple of dirty hippies. She was shivering, poor little thing. I had to move the car because I was horribly paranoid that we would be towed like the signs threatened so back in the car seat she went. I drove the thirty feet to the space in front of the front door of the Sunoco station. I had to go to the bathroom for about the last 50 miles, but she had been asleep and I didn't want to wake her. I went inside and found that the door was locked. Ten minutes later...still waiting. I tried again. Locked. A woman came up behind me and baby said 'hi' to her about twenty times. I tried the door again and as I was walking back to where I'd been standing, a man came up on his cell phone and said, "My wife is in there. She slipped and fell in the parking lot and she's changing her pants." He was easily in his seventies. I asked, "Is she alright?" He said, "Yes. Thanks. She's fine." A few seconds later, a man went into the men's restroom. He came out and motioned to the woman behind me and she went into the bathroom. I have never been so pissed. I wanted to yell, "I am holding an adorable baby and I've been waiting in line longer than you've even been in the damn store OBVIOUSLY and you're just going to cut me!!!" Whore. Hate her. I made sure to roll my eyes at her like that chick at McDonald's did to the rude cashier lady. I think it made quite an impression.

I got baby back into the car and we made it to the B&B. I want to live here. We've had the best time. She has been an angel. There is a No Children Allowed policy but I am guessing she's acting as the resident grandchild this weekend. She has said 'nigh-night' and 'bye-bye' to all the guests she's encountered. She hasn't made much of a fuss and has gone to sleep in this strange place without even a peep. Last night she was in a room all her own and the alarm clock radio went off at 6 a.m. loudly blaring some horrible 80's music and it didn't even wake her.

I got to go to lunch with The Boy and his aunt, uncle and cousin today and baby stayed with The Boy's mother and finished her nap and ate lunch and played until we got home. His cousin must've gone up and down the stairs with her a hundred times this weekend. My child is so independent. I'm amazed at her bravery everyday.

We're all leaving tomorrow. Hopefully the ride home goes as smoothly. I wish we could transport ourselves back into the 1970s so she could ride in the front seat with me and stretch out and relax and move around without being so constrained. I'm sure her poor little butt hurt after all that time in the car.

I'm having a great time. She had an absolute blast.

We're very lucky.

And The Results Are In

2008-12-21T12:08:00.003-05:00

Six B's. Well, technically five B's and one Pass, but that doesn't do anything to the GPA so let's just say six B's. These B's feel like A's. It also feels wrong to put an apostrophe after the A and B but I Googled it and I reckon it's correct.

I really wondered if I was making the right decision going back to school. I know that Michael Phelps's mother worked fourteen jobs to take care of him and turn him into the phenom that he is. Hopefully one day baby will appreciate me and what I did to make a better life for us.

It was hard. Very hard. And it was no secret I wanted to bail. A dear friend told me she would do whatever I needed because she didn't want me to quit. And I honestly don't know what I would have done without her. All the free babysitting. Just being there to listen to me bitch. Coming over for dinner and breakfast and lunch. Being a surrogate mother when I needed her to be. And giving me advice that is truly appreciated. She practically raised her sisters and niece and nephews. I have no experience whatsoever with children. I have babysat a few times in my life but I don't remember it. I would also like to apologize to the parents because I have no recollection of ever having changed a diaper. Hmm....

Another friend has also been a big help to me. She left work one day when I was stuck in traffic and wasn't going to make it to baby's school before they closed. I sat in traffic near tears imagining another huge fear of mine that I'm not even going to type here. I called her and she didn't even question what I needed. She just picked her up and, God love her, walked her halfway to my place carrying her in her arms before I found them and picked them up.

To know that my daughter sees the faces of these two friends and trusts them implicitly makes me happier than I can even explain. A lot of friends have cheered me on these past few months and I am so lucky to have them all. From Atlanta to Paducah to NYC. Austin to Israel to down the street...to strangers who have found me online...I just want to thank you all. For everything.

So It Happened

2008-12-20T15:01:00.002-05:00

I did it. I fell down the stairs while carrying the baby. I knew it. I have a wild imagination. And I promise you that every horrible thing I can imagine will eventually happen to me. I'm not saying I force it to happen, but I do think that perhaps it happens to teach me that I can handle anything. And that I am a tad bit psychic, something many close friends and relatives will affirm.

So I was walking down the stairs and I slipped and fell with baby on my right hip. I am pretty sure that it must have really hurt her somehow. She cried. A lot. And I cried. Almost as much. I was in shock, I think. And she was probably more afraid because I was so frightened for her safety. It was only six stairs but it didn't feel like it was going to end. I kept trying to catch myself but there was nothing to grab onto. I just couldn't gather my thoughts to make it all stop.

A couple of weeks ago, I went out to lunch with a friend of mine. I've known him for nearly ten years. I should have known him for fifteen years. He was an employee of an arena football team for which I was a cheerleader. Small world. We didn't meet until 1999. We lived in the same building twice. I didn't think he liked me "like that," not that every guy must like me but he's adorable and I'm not a psychopath so...why didn't we date?

A week later, he invited me to a play. OMG I actually was picked up and taken on a bona fide date. I was pretty nervous. Really nervous. I have been a real basketcase these past few months. Living alone causes you to lose some serious conversational skills. Living with a child under sixteen months old causes you to talk too much when you're around other grown-ups.

I guess he didn't mind too much that I blabbered on and on all night long. It was at his house where I fell. In more ways than one.

BRB

2008-12-16T10:47:00.000-05:00

Finals week.

Santa Baby

2008-12-13T22:48:00.002-05:00

Campus Frye Boots

SimpleTech Re-drive

Marc Jacobs Jackie Watch

Lucky Brand Flap Back Pocket Zoe Jeans

Linea Pelle Dylan Zip Tote

Dunderdon Persona dress

P.S. Your Drawing Sucks

2008-12-12T09:06:00.004-05:00

I was sitting in the Starbucks on campus studying yesterday. I do patronize Starbucks. I do not patronize Walmart. Am I a hypocrite? Who cares? The inside of Starbucks is the ideal environment for studying. Unless, two idiots come and sit down within earshot of you. Two people, guy and girl, who are somehow pissing off their respective significant others. I was trying not to listen but it was damned impossible.

Seems the girl had to have a discussion with her boyfriend. He had evidently "jumped to conclusions" and thought for sure she was going to "dump" him. I tried to get the whole conversation's details--they sucked me in, what can I say?--but I got lost amid all the "like...you know" and "I was all like..." and "he was like..." fillers. Her guy "friend" said, "You don't need to edit on my account." She said, "I'm not. It's just really hard to explain." Yeah. We gathered.

So, I hear the guy say, "I talked to Meghan and I'll explain it to you the way I explained it to her." He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his book bag and she said, "Are you going to draw me a picture?" He said, "Yes. I'm going to draw you a picture." And he grabbed a pen and HE FUCKING DREW HER A PICTURE. Oh my God. I wanted to throw my tall soy chai latte and my Madeleines Petite French Cakes on them but I wouldn't do that to my favorite drink and French Cakes.

He proceeds to draw a circle on a piece of paper. It looks more like a kidney bean with a slice hacked out of it which he claimed was a "very narrow margin in his relationships where certain people fall that cross over into intimate areas and familial ones." Holy shit. What the hell is he doing? Is he enrolled in psychology of personal adjustment? Clearly this is an interpersonal relationship and obviously he's dealing with some serious moral dilemmas. Unfortunately, his female friend has no idea that these are not his original thoughts.

I'm trying really hard to picture him somewhere with his girlfriend trying to explain to her the dynamics of his relationship with his "friend." Did he take her to a bar? Applebee's? Perkin's? Where do you have a discussion like this with someone you supposedly love? Her house? Your house? From what I gather, the female friend told her guy over the phone. That's how I would have done it. Surrounded by girlfriends while we secretly made faces and gagging motions and drew our own pictures as he blubbered on about this and that.

The dude's girlfriend had asked, "How do you know this friendship won't turn into something more?" He said, "I just know." Wow. He is either secretly gay or his girlfriend must be Heidi Klum because the friend was gorgeous. Not a genius but really hot in a "your basic nightmare" kind of way.

Just when I couldn't take it anymore, it was time for me to leave for class. I so desperately wanted to go over to them and say, "Get a room."

I give it six months. Her boyfriend will cheat on her with a waitress from Hooter's. He will dump his girlfriend for being so completely naive and spineless for not kicking his ass. The two friends will end up together and they'll be married in a year and pregnant on their honeymoon.

Dr. Evil

2008-12-10T10:46:00.002-05:00

Baby is finished with shots until her 2 year appointment. This is a good thing. This means, sans any sickness (fingers crossed), I won't have to see those people for some time coming at my child with a needle.

Every time she got a shot, she cried for about five seconds and I cried for about twenty minutes. And each of those times when she cried tiny little baby baby tears, the nurse (a different nurse each time) would say, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to do it. Your mommy made me."

What would have been your response?

Things That Make Me Go WUT?

2008-12-07T21:49:00.004-05:00

Solid perfume. I have never understood the appeal. (It's like the white corduroy miniskirt I used to have. When in the hell are you supposed to wear a corduroy miniskirt? Summer? No. Winter? Um...effing cold. Where'd the damn skirt come from? Who purchased this damn thing?) What in the world are you supposed to use to apply a solid perfume? Your finger? Uh...let me paint you a purty picture.

1995 (I don't really know what year it was, but just go with it.) You may have previously read about my desperate search for the perfect deodorant. It's been a life-long quest. Well, I was trying to fall in love with a roll-on deodorant. It drove me crazy the same way the Maybelline Kissing Potion did when I was in elementary school. The one thing to top that annoyance was a girl in my grade, who I took dance with, whose mother would fill her empty Kissing Potion bottles with vegetable oil claiming, "It's the same thing!" Yeah. The oil dripping down your daughter's mouth yes! certainly does smell like rootbeer! No wait...bubble gum! This was the same woman who, once we all fell asleep at her daughter's birthday slumber party, put all of our hands in a glass of water and froze our training bras. Of course, mine wasn't a training bra; sadly, it was a real bra and I've been wearing one since I was in the third grade. But I digress.... So I'm trying to apply my stupid roll-on deodorant and it's clogged or something. I can't get the ball to spin. So I rub it vigorously across the palm of my hand. It spins but isn't leaving a white residue. (When I was in the seventh grade, I had spent the night at another friends house. We were getting ready to go somewhere and I was trying to do my hair in her bathroom. Having a mother who is a hair dresser teaches you how to use whatever is available to achieve the look you're going for. I grabbed the aerosol can and started spraying. I touched it with my hand and it didn't feel sticky. So I sprayed again. Same result. Sprayed again. Not stiff. Finally I yelled and asked if she had any other hair spray, that this can was empty or something. She said, "I don't have hair spray." I looked in the mirror and that was when I noticed a white layer of gunk in my hair. I picked up the can and it was deodorant. A giant can of deodorant. Who puts deodorant in a giant aerosol can? Deodorant and I do not get along.) I try again to apply it to the proper areas and finally just assume it has either worked or hadn't worked which would just mean I'd been let down again. Well, later that day I was hanging out with some friends. Someone had brought a chocolate cake. I ate a piece, because I can't turn down chocolate; it doesn't even have to be good chocolate. I got some on my hand and licked the icing off. This is where it all went down hill. I remembered not washing my hands after the deodorant test and my mouth was filled with the sweet splendor of chocolate and Powder Fresh. I wanted to cry.

(This all reminds me of the time I was in second grade and was stapling my papers together at the teacher's desk. I can still see the look on her face. I picked up the stapler, looked at it and put it back on her desk. I said, "I think there is something wrong with this stapler," and just as she was reaching for it, I stuck my middle finger under the handle and stapled the stapler to my finger. I picked up my hand and the stapler was just hanging from it. My teacher and I were a bit alarmed. Luckily it was easily remedied. That part I don't remember, but I assume it went well since I am not typing with a stapler growing out of my hand.)

So solid perfume. I don't think just washing it will get rid of the taste. Later if you have Milk Duds stuck in your teeth and you need to dig them out that taste will probably still be there. And then what if you're without a drink? Or gum? Or it was your last Milk Dud and you're left with that taste in your mouth? Ick.

Maybe you could carry around some sort of applicator for the perfume. Ooh! Maybe I could invent one!! You know, I'm going to Google it. I bet there already is such a thing. I thought I'd invented the AM/FM transmitter for the iPod, but I went there the other day with my friend just to get the smell of the Apple Store all over me and voila! there it was. I asked the man who worked there if you could use it in your car since my car stereo picks up 1.5 stations. After taking a good look at the package I said, "Oh, I guess not. It seems as though it has to plug into the iPod so there's really no way to have it play through the stereo." He said, "Well, you could just plug in the transmitter and listen with your headset." I said, "Um...but that's illegal."

I don't think boys have these problems.

Thanks for the Visual

2008-12-06T20:27:00.009-05:00

A friend of mine just lost a case in federal court. His client: a 5o-something-year-old Korean woman accused of running a brothel/massage therapy business with Korean employees in their 60s.

Good goddess.

When I entered massage therapy school, I had just moved to a new building down the street from where I live now. My roommate came in one evening and said, "The news is outside with a van and a reporter." Really? Let's take out the garbage. So we grabbed a couple of bags and ran down the stairs nearly falling over each other and almost breaking our necks (This is a huge fear of mine; that I will fall down the stairs and somehow get my head stuck between the rungs on the railing and snap my head off). We usually just opened the balcony door and tossed the garbage bags into the dumpster from our second floor balcony, so we were inexperienced in carrying the bags down the stairs. We also didn't realize that the news girl would have moved right in front of our main door so imagine her surprise when we busted through like two crazed bag ladies.

"Would you mind answering a few questions for us about your building? Have you seen a lot of men coming and going?"

Uh...no. We just moved in.

And we took off running around the corner and then even faster past her and back up the stairs. What the hell was she talking about? Damn! We have to wait until 11 p.m. to find out!! (This is something else that pisses me off --it's a long list: "Is what you're eating for dinner killing you? Story at eleven." Um...how about story now? I'm about to sit down to dinner, bitches. This is why I majored in print journalism. I couldn't see myself going up to someone and saying, "Hi. I see that a tornado just origamied your trailer into a box of toothpicks, your family is somewhere over Oz, you lost your dog and your neighbors and from what I gather...most of your teeth. I'm sure you've got a lot going on, but if it's no trouble...I'd love to get your comment for tonight's news and if you don't mind...this guy is going to film the whole thing." Yeah...not my style.)

So...eleven o'clock rolled around and evidently there was a brothel in our building. It's a very nice building...right across the street from the jail. (I live among a city of dumbasses.) I immediately called my mother and said, "You're going to see my building on the news and they will be talking about massage therapist hookers. I'm not one of them."

And so, my state which didn't require a license when I got mine, started requiring one six years later. Wow. Way to really make a change. Those kinds of stories would show up on the news more often than not. When I got my license, I worked at a spa. Men would come in and say things like "Wow. This place is a lot nicer than where I usually go," to which I wanted to say, "Yes. I'm not wearing a bikini and my name isn't on a kiosk out front on the sidewalk." One guy sat down on the edge of the table, in his robe, and said, "It really hurts right here," and proceeded to lift his leg up incredibly high for a hamstring that supposedly really hurt and of course, he wasn't wearing any underwear. I said, "Well, I could massage that area, but the technique I would have to use is four times more painful than what I'm sure you're experiencing. I just want to warn you." He said, "That's okay. Maybe I'll just take some Tylenol." Good idea. Of course there were the men who would throw all the covers on the floor so they would be laying on the table stark naked when I walked in or the ones who would ask me out four minutes into the massage. All freaks, I assumed. And all of them ready for whatever oral pleasure I was handing out that day. But for crap sake, why on Earth are you going to come into a place like this, make an ass out of yourself and then pay sixty-five dollars. For the love! Really!! Not to mention that we will all be talking about you even before you're dressed and back out into the lobby.

I remember one week in particular. A coworker of mine quit and I had to work pretty much a double five days that week massaging his clients as well as mine. One day, I did eight one hour massages. That, if you don't know, is a lot. At the end of the week, I sat in the spa lobby and cried. I stopped at the Korean restaurant down the street on my way home, which was my normal routine about three nights a week. Korean food is my favorite! I couldn't even hold the chop sticks. I couldn't get my hands to open up. My fingers were all curled and cramped. It was awful. So, what I'm wondering is...how do these women eat? I couldn't even hold a fork, there's no way I could give a hand job.

Well, I asked my friend, who claims he isn't having much luck in federal court lately, "Did you try the argument that those women were dating all those men? I mean...seriously. What's the difference? They pay for dinner and get sex. They pay for a massage and get sex. Sounds like a date to me. Of course, I never massage my boyfriends, and if I was dating a valet, I wouldn't make him come out and park my car every time I went to his house. Just sayin'."

And honestly, when you're a 35-year-old man is a blow job from a woman who demands the senior citizen's discount really a happy ending?

Super Powers

2008-12-02T19:26:00.004-05:00

Baby Talk

2008-12-01T22:48:00.004-05:00

Took baby to the doctor today for her fifteen month check-up/stabbing. I swear, nurses these days lack any semblance of a respectable bedside manner. In and out. It is so ridiculous. I know it is overwhelming having to see so many patients in one day. The XH (whose name shall forever remain unspoken) was a doc who thought seeing twelve patients in one day was tiring. At the time of separation, he was seeing forty-two patients in one day. That is beyond ridiculous.

Well, I don't have a doctor. I never get sick. So when it came time to pick a doctor's office for my pregnancy I picked a family practice thinking it would be smart for the two of us to be able to go to the same doctor's office. Well, I didn't realize until halfway through my pregnancy that it is a practice made up mostly of residents and the majority of the patients are on medicaid or medicare. Our doctor was a resident. We have only seen him twice since she was born so I assume he's like a real doctor now or something. I've seen a different resident every time baby has had a check-up and each of those residents are complete dillweeds.

The residents and the attending physicians who come in to supervise now and again think that every parent is one moment away from tying up their child and leaving them in the closet while they run off to Disneyland.

Today, I saw a resident who followed, word for word, the script of questions he was supposed to ask. These questions seem more suited for someone with a bright light shining in their face while they're surrounded by federal agents. "Is she walking?" Yes. "She's holding on to furniture?" She's walking. "By holding on to furniture?" N. O. "Does she respond to commands?" Yes. "Does she talk?" Yes. "What does she say?" Oh, about fifty words or so. She'll repeat pretty much anything if she's interested. (Baby is over by the chair and starts tugging at her diaper. Me: Do you need a new diaper? Baby: Nooooo. Resident: blank stare at Baby.)

After he left, I ended up changing baby's diaper anyway because as of last weekend, no means yes. Actually, as of last Saturday evening. Not Saturday day, but Saturday night. Around 7 p.m., Baby started saying 'Nooooo' whenever I asked her if she wanted something which I knew would garner a 'Yes.' "Do you want a bottle?" Noooo. "Do you love mama?" Noooo. "Do you love Gramma?" Noooo. That's when I was certain this was a new phase. A cute one.

Just as I was about to fasten the diaper, the resident came back in and the attending with him said, "Wait. Leave that. I want to see." He came over and looked at her and lifted her legs and then turned to me and said, "I am just checking for diaper rash." Noooo. Really? I thought maybe you were some predator who just wanted to stare at my child's vajayjay. Where's Chris Hansen and the Dateline crew? Are you freaking serious? Do you think I'm an idiot?

Honestly, I think they do think all of their patients are idiots. They just have to assume we know nothing and then when we tell them that yes, in fact, dairy does give her eczema and diarrhea they can't help themselves and still have to say, "I don't think that's it."

Dude. Don't screw with me. I'm the mommy. Didn't you just hear her say that?

Woman of Few Words

2008-11-18T21:42:00.004-05:00

I haven't had a thing to talk about lately. I've been too overwhelmed with school. Tests, papers, quizzes, pretending like I still care after ten weeks of something I swore I'd never do again. Like the time I said I'd never work at a restaurant where I had to sweep up peanuts and then went to work at a place where people thought the floor was the garbage can.

My skin has been so dry. The heels of my feet are so dry and cracked (disgusting, I know) that I could barely walk. I finally had a minute to get a pedicure on Monday. Of course, I had that minute--sixty of them to be exact--because Saturday night, I woke to the smell of cigarette smoke. It permeated through my sheets. I thought maybe I was dreaming. Then I realized that I knew where the smell was coming from; a man was sleeping in the vestibule of my building. He has been doing this for months (Nearly every weekend since the soup kitchen opened across the street in an old church we've had this guy as our guest. In nine years, I have never seen anyone going to Sunday service there. I did see a wedding party leaving one night about five years ago. They were a rowdy bunch.)

Well, this man is not homeless. He lives about ten blocks up the street. I am guessing he's not wanted there. Probably because he likes to get his drink on and piss in the doorways of random buildings and then sleep there. He never really seems drunk but he is rather hostile, so for all I know...he could be hammered. Or perhaps he reacts to dark liquor the way several of my ex-boyfriends used to, if you know what I mean. And honestly, if one of those exes was the type of guy who would be willing to sleep in the doorway of a building he didn't live in, or had been out doing something that would make him think sleeping in some doorway was more appealing than going to his own home a few blocks up the street...I wouldn't want him to come home either.

I called the girl upstairs to see if she would look over the railing and out the front door to see if the guy was in the vestibule. I didn't want to open my door because it squeaks and I didn't want him to hear me. I co-sleep still and would have had to carry baby with me. I called the police and my neighbor called our landlords. Turned out they are in Florida, but said that yes, we should have him arrested. There are signs posted saying "No Trespassing" and "You will be prosecuted." Obviously people are very afraid of signs.

I said 'goodbye' to the dispatcher and as I was hanging up little baby said, "Bye-bye" and then proceeded to vomit like she had just drank four six-packs. It was awful. It lasted for about a minute. Just coming out of her like a can of springy snakes. She cried for all of five seconds and then proceeded to laugh hysterically and run around like a crazy person. She kept kissing her reflection in my full-length mirror which gave me a few seconds to take all the blankets off the bed...and my pajamas...and socks...and her pajamas. Such a mess. I piled it all in the hallway and had to leave it on Sunday because I didn't have any quarters for the washer and dryer downstairs.

I had a huge test to study on Monday and a paper due on Tuesday that was extra credit, yet I let them both stress me out to the point of utter avoidance. I couldn't even wrap my mind around how much work I had to do. So Sunday afternoon, I got my mom to watch baby for a couple of hours so that I could go to the library and work for a bit.

On Monday, I dropped baby off at school and went to the laundromat to clean the blankets and figured I might as well do my dark clothes while I was there. I studied as best I could while I was there and then after, decided to go to the nail salon a couple of doors down for a pedicure, no polish. I told the girl about my cracked heels and how the right heel was very sore. She was on the phone the entire time I was there, but didn't seem bothered by having to file and hold the phone with her cheek. I abhor the phone and would hate to have to work like that and talk at the same time. After she filed my toenails, which drives me absolutely bonkers to the point of total discomfort, she applied moisturizer to my feet and get this...superglue to the cracked open area on my heel. Nice. It worked, but dang. I could've done that at home for a buck seventy. At the end, during the massage portion, she used what I believe was a car buffer to massage my legs and my feet. It was a little much. Yet I let her continue doing it while I reviewed chapter three, sections one through five.

Now the skin on my face is so dry that it is flaking into my hair and it looks like I have giant dandruff.

Argh.

Wake Up, Will Ya?!?

2008-11-05T15:31:00.003-05:00

Okay...I have been telling people for about oh...a month that Huddy will be fourteen months on the fourteenth. Um...not until about 2 p.m. today did it hit me that she will, in fact, be fifteen months on the fourteenth of November. Where have I been?

I'll tell you where I've been. Trying to decide if I should stay in school or quit and get fourteen or fifteen jobs to make ends meet. I think my journalism degree/license in massage therapy/freelance writer background scares the buhjeesus out of potential employers, when it should honestly tell them that I am willing (that's for you, Leeburd) to do anything as long as I stay busy. I normally get myself into trouble if I'm left to my own devices. This also explains why I am usually fourteen to fifteen minutes late wherever I go. I could walk out the door fifteen minutes early, but with all that extra time on my hands...why don't I reorganize the pantry? Or write a letter? Or clean out all the drawers in my dresser? You see how it goes.

I sold my old engagement ring today. I will post a picture later. I didn't cry (though I know one certain friend is bawling right now in the fetal position). I didn't get what it was worth or rather, what I could've gotten had I sold it myself (not on eBay to some shyster from some fourth world country...don't even get me started....), but I feel that the price I was paid far outweighed listing the ring on craigslist, meeting the buyer in a gas station parking lot, being kidnapped at knife point and left naked in a field two hundred miles from home. The jeweler was very kind and threw in a sterling silver chain and disk pendant. I am having it engraved with an H for baby. I've been looking for something like it to wear with the peridot my dear dear friend got me on the day Huddy was born.

I went to Huddy's pediatrician today to have a form signed for her daycare claiming that I do not want her eating "milk or any dairy product or food that has been prepared with dairy (i.e., mashed potatoes, mac 'n cheese, etc.), fruit juice with artificial coloring that leaves a red mustache on her upper lip for the whole of the weekend, or hot dogs or processed meat (i.e., "lunch meat" on bread which I assume can only mean bologna). Sure, call me a freak; a psycho mommy even. Hopefully they're not spitting in her organic applesauce and squash before they serve it to her just because I'm annoying and ask for too much. I've busted my ass to feed her well her entire life and now I'm going to send her to school so she can, with her nearly four teeth, eat a thing referred to as "cheese stick," carrots and ranch dressing, cheese pizza pockets with a side of pizza crust and a fucking spinach salad! Hello?? She's quasi-fifteen months old.

After the doctor signed the form, the nurse returned it to me and said, "If she's 18 months old and only has four teeth, the doctor wants you to make an appointment. She may need x-rays." I said, "She's fourteen months old." She said, "Oh, I thought you said 'eighteen months'." I said, "Well, you wrote down her birthdate." She said, "Oh, yeah. My grandson didn't get his teeth until he was fourteen months old." Okay. So I can see how you'd be alarmed. Thanks for sharing.

I left and grabbed a quick lunch and ran to school to be a little early for class. It was then I realized I still haven't changed the time in my Jeep. Or on my watch. So I really must've realized Huddy is nearly fifteen months old at 1 p.m. and not 2 p.m.

I'm keeping us both young without even trying.

Congratulations, America. You Did Good.

2008-11-05T09:24:00.000-05:00

Ass Ending Person Tiles

2008-11-04T09:24:00.003-05:00

I wish I'd kept a journal over the years of all the things I've misheard. There have been a lot, often followed by me repeating what I thought I heard and the sayer saying, "What on earth does that mean?" And I would say, "I don't know that's why I asked."

Perhaps it's because I'm hard of hearing. I already told you that I got the lyrics to songs wrong. Some of them have been pretty hysterical, especially if the speaker was British or Irish or Australian. I have trouble sometimes following what is being said which is more upsetting to me than anyone else, trust me. I would just figure it was a foreign idiom I wasn't picking up on when, in fact, they were probably just asking me for the correct time or if they could borrow the empty chair at my table.

Nevertheless, baby talk is really helping me to understand what seems to be a foreign language. Baby says, "Bless you" every time I sneeze, and she says, "Hush!" when we get to that page in Goodnight Moon. Yes, she's a genius. Her mother, on the other hand, still needs a little work when the professor is discussing the ascending order of numbers and percentiles.

Oh...It's Youuuuuu.

2008-10-29T15:03:00.003-04:00

Ho. Lee. Shit.

I am in shock right now. Absolute shock!

I came to campus to do a little studying before my class. I had to pick up my critique on my school observations. I actually didn't have to pick them up. I wrote to the teacher asking her for her input on them and she said she'd reread them and leave comments and I could pick them up today in her office. That makes me sound like a big nontraditional student brown-nosing loser, but she did tell us on the last day of that class we could write to her and ask for additional input. So I did. I really just wanted what I had written. I wanted to keep it and reread the forms.

Which brings me to what just happened to me. I stopped in the bookstore and wandered around aimlessly for a while. Then I went to buy a bottle of water in Starbuck's. On the way in to the Student Union, I saw a table outside with Obama paraphernalia. I told y'all I wanted to buy a bumper sticker. So, on the way out I stopped at the table and checked out the shirts and stickers and buttons and such. The man said, "It's a two dollar donation for the stickers and a ten dollar donation for the tee shirts." I said, "I'll take a sticker." I got two dollars out of my wallet and handed the money to him. He said, "Thank you." And then the craziest thing happened. He said, "Take off your sunglasses." I had just started to look up at him, because I actually hadn't looked at him once during our entire interaction, when he said, "Are you Jennifer?" We made eye contact and I said, "Yes. (jaw drops) Hi." He said, "I think I had you in class." I said that yes, he had...ELEVEN YEARS AGO. I said, "Wow. You're good." He said, "Even with the sunglasses on." I asked if he was still teaching here, even though I know he isn't. He said, "No. I have my own business," and gave me one of his cards. It is currently burning a giant hole in my pocket.

Holy shit.

Holy double shit.

I had this man for Creative Writing II my junior year and Poetry Writing my senior year. I kept the same journal for both of his classes. I consider the writings in that journal to be some of the best writing I've ever done in my life. It may be, in fact, some of the best writing that has ever been done in the history of the free world.

He told the class on the last day that we could come up over the summer and pick up our journals if we wanted them. A few weeks after graduation, I called him to ask when would be a good time to come and pick up my journal. He said, "Oh. You're too late. I threw them all away last week."

WUT???

I could've killed him. I ran in to a girl from my class a few weeks after that at the grocery. She commented how she needed to pick up her journal. She was in all my writing classes and nearly all my journalism classes. I think she was a journalism major and an English minor. I did a writing minor. I had to break the news to her there in frozen foods. She actually let out the most blood curdling scream. Scared the living bejeesus out of me and everyone in a four aisle radius.

I have cursed that man's name numerous times in the last eleven years. I have wished horrible things would happen to his computer. Then I heard he got fired. He should've been fired when I had him the first time; handing out his own poems for us to critique. Green beans and their greenessity do not a good poem make!

And here he is. His office is down the street from my apartment. And after all these years he can recognize me even with my sunglasses on. Either I look just as good as I did when I graduated years ago, or this man has taken all my writings, passed them off as his own and is now pretending to be me.

Where'd They Get a Camel and Four Joeys?

2008-10-27T13:45:00.001-04:00

I'm not...I mean...She's Not Ready.

2008-10-27T09:35:00.004-04:00

So the past two nights, Huddy has asked to go to bed. The first night she said, "Nigh-night baby," and patted her leg over and over again while I was changing her diaper. Then she said, "Bobble," which means 'bottle,' of course...which I never give to her at home. We still nurse here and bottles are for school, grandma and the sitter. Then the clincher...she started singing her lullaby to herself. "Daisy daisy...." I cried.

Last night, grandma watched her. Huddy walked into her room, grabbed the railing on the crib, put her forehead against it and closed her eyes. "Nigh-night," she said. Dear Lord. I cannot believe how big she has gotten.

Well, I just took her to school and her teacher said, "Starting next week, she needs to just have her sippy cup of milk. No more bottles." What? Is this normal? She moved over to the next section at school. She loves it with the big kids. Today, they're going to try to get her to sleep on the cot for the first time instead of her normal crib.

Oh my GAWD. Someone please hold me.

Happy Fall!

2008-10-18T21:52:00.001-04:00

Better Late Than Never

2008-10-17T10:15:00.004-04:00

I'm a bad person. I have never really cared about politics or given it much thought. I'm pretty much one of those "I don't care who's in charge, as long as I know what the rules are and I don't break them" kind of people. I am just like my little friend Kara Loo. Prison scares the everliving shit out of me. I would most certainly die that first night of claustrophobia. Or I'd be murderated because I would be able to hear other people breathing/snoring/talking and I wouldn't be able to sleep and I'd yell at them to PIPE DOWN and then one of them would be confused and instead put the pipe down on me. No prison. Please, baby Jesus, no prison.

I remember my political science professor rambling on the first day of class about something or such. He finally got this look on his face and asked, "Does anyone know what it means to be a Democrat?" *crickets* "Republican?" *double crickets* "Okay. Let's start at the very beginning. Once upon a time...." I was so embarrassed for all of us. Sadly, I forgot my book in class that day and instead of paying over $100 for a new one...I dropped the class. Hence, my future as a freshman senator from Kentucky was brought to an abrupt halt. Oh, who am I kidding? I ruined that for myself in high school.

I am so very scared of this election. I thought, many years ago, that John McCain would make a great President. I always had the feeling that if you were going to be President and "Commander in Chief" that you should have served in a war. He did that, of course, and wears that badge of honor everyday. There are many people now who could fit this profile if you count Desert Storm, Vietnam, Korea, Afghanistan, Iraq, Bosnia. Of course, I thought this when John McCain wasn't four hundred and eleven years old. Oh mah gawd! Please! He's too old. And not well. And if he died...we'd get...her. How is learning on the job a good thing now? I mean, if you've never been a server before then that's is a great opportunity to learn on the job. You're boss can mold you into the perfect little worker bee. Every skill you pick up there you will most certainly take with you to your next 10 serving jobs (no one ever stays at one restaurant forever). You'll annoy the people at your next serving job by telling them stories of how you did things at your old job. People love those stories. NOT. Where would Palin go after she was VP? Would she run for President? If McCain dies, would she be reelected? She scares me. Who is Joe Six Pack? Does he drink a lot of beer or does he work out a lot? Who is Todd Palin? The name alone is a red flag to me, but that is a story for another day.

I want an Obama sticker for my car. I want an Obama life size cardboard cut-out that I can hug everyday and wish him well. He has the potential to be one of the greatest Presidents our nation, the world!, has ever known if it wasn't for the ginormous pile of horse turds he'll be left to clean up. It's so sad.

I almost want McCain/Palin to win so I can say "I told you so!" to anyone who will listen.

I almost want Obama to lose because Al Gore's not winning was the greatest thing that ever happened to him.

Please...let the best man win.

Brains. Not Just for Mommies.

2008-10-15T20:39:00.001-04:00

Why do I always forget I'm cooking something? Damned burnt biscuits. Stupidstupidstupid.

Don't MAKE Me Get All Caps on You!

2008-10-13T09:23:00.002-04:00

Dear people of my town,

Stop stealing my stuff, yo! Jaysus. Now Huddy can't listen to Skippyjon Jones and the Big Bone. Now she will cry.

But thanks for not taking my $175 parking pass or Huddy's car seat.

Love,
Jennifer

P.S. Thanks for finding my sunglasses case. Thought I'd lost that.

Calgon, Take Me Away

2008-10-12T09:11:00.005-04:00

Okay. Let's recap.

My purse was stolen from work. And the shirt I wore to work. (I walk there and don't like to advertise that I might possibly have a pocket full of sunshine, i.e., hundred dollars or so...mostly "or so," so I would wear a different shirt and change at work.) Ever since, and if we're being completely honest...before as well, the place has been shaded by a black cloud.

Yesterday, I get to work and one of the servers looks like he has been crying. His face is blotchy and he doesn't seem...human. (Warning: I will probably be using a lot of ellipses in this post.) One of the bartenders was telling Him to "sit down" and that she would deliver his drinks to his table. He sat there for a minute and then got up and wandered off into the dining room...and then into the kitchen...and the pantry.

I went to set up the patio. I took the place mats, napkins and forks with me because it was all I could carry. Halfway through, the dude came out and put place mats and silverware on one table. I said, "What? Are you just going to do your own tables?" He said, "I saw you out here and thought I would help you." ...with one table. I said, "Well, all the tables need knives if you want to do that." Guess he didn't; he never came back out.

The other bartender came up and told me, "He just walked up to me and said 'I have a roll of quarters for laundry if you want to do 'em'. He repeated it and I told him I still don't know what you're talking about."

Well, the manager was oblivious to all of this. So I told her something seemed a little off with Him. She wanted to know what was wrong and I said, "He's on something. I don't know what, but he's a mess." She said, "I'm so tired of these people and their issues. Why can't we all just be adults?"

She finally went up to discuss what was going on with Him. In the meantime, the food runner came up to me to ask where a table of his was. I said it was the one with the drinks. She said, "I think those people are gone." One of his tables had ordered and left before their food came. I saw him wobbling around at the table. He probably scared the crapola out of them.

(The same thing happened the day my bag was stolen. A server was admittedly on pills and she so offended her table that they left without paying or tipping. She was going to run after them to ask what the problem was. That never goes well.)

I saw the manager following Him around asking him what was going on and where his tables are and if he feels okay and does he want to leave. Later I saw them at the computers and he yelled, "Get OFF my BACK!" She was hardly giving Him any breathing room. This was not the time to discuss the problem. Take his money, tell him he could have his tips later, send him home.

(In the meantime, the busser called and said he was hungover, had overslept, and was on his way.)

I see Him sitting and talking to the manager trying to sort out his money. A few minutes later, I see Him leaving. He evidently called the manager a "fat bitch" and walked out. Ooh. I am thinking that was a bad move.

About 20 minutes later we get a call from the front desk of a condo down the street. They found Him trying to get on the elevator. No, he doesn't live there. He still had on his work shirt so that's how they knew to call us. No one had seen him since. Police were notified. Obviously not good for a man with a prison record. : (

(I ask the bartender where the busser was. He had texted her "I quit.")

I have found a new job that I can do from home, pretty much. This will allow me more Huddy time, since I don't have one whole day with her by myself. And I won't have to worry about taking up granma and my friend's weekends sitting for her.

Now...how do I tell them I need to quit? Ugh. Maybe I should just load up on Benadryl and Red Bull, go to work and let that take care of itself.

Foreshadowing

2008-10-11T10:40:00.001-04:00

I'm going to cut my hair. Myself. Right now.

Don't Mind Her. She's a Dumbass.

2008-10-07T12:58:00.006-04:00

I got to go out with a friend on Sunday night. The same friend who watched my child all day whilst I worked. Miraculously, she wasn't too tired. My upstairs neighbor has been borrowing my parking pass on Thursday nights and offered to sit with baby some time so that I could go out. So I did. For the...let's all keep track...sixth time since she's been born.

Friend and I went to a total dive that has the best burritos and the greatest juke box in all of the Midwest, if not THE WORLD. Friend doubted me. "Vampyros Lesbos?" But underneath it is Charlie Parker. And across from it is Chet Baker! Come on!

We had barely made it in the door when a guy came up behind us and started breathing down our necks. "Get the jerk tofu." Uh...dude. I've been here a million times. Shut it.

...so we got the jerk tofu. It was damned good.

When the burrito arrived, he came over and said, "How is it that you all have your burrito and I don't have mine yet?" Remembering he was behind us at the bar, Friend asked when he placed his order. "An hour before you did." And then he didn't leave. He kept standing there, as we were sitting; talking to us, drinking his beer. He's 24 years old. Lives with his parents. Had been traveling the U.S. Was there with his dad (who looked like he was my age) and his brother. Small talk. Small talk. Blah. Blah. Blah.

His friend came over about 20 minutes later. "Do I know you?" he asked me. Um...I don't know. Do you go to NKU? "No." Where did you grow up? "Iowa." Iowa. I don't know a lot of people from Iowa. Turned out he was at a party I had attended over the summer and is best friends with the husband of a friend of mine. Small world.

I got up and went to the bathroom hoping that he would be gone by the time I got back, but...no.

Finally, we were left alone (except for the strangers we were sitting with so that we wouldn't have to stand and eat) to chat and bond over our beers. My measly little half pint of Guinness.

As he was leaving, he came over and said goodbye. (My friend said the other dude would have totally asked me out if the first guy hadn't pissed all over me the minute I walked in the door.) He leaned down and asked, "Would you like to hang out sometime?" I'm very busy.

Oh...if I could rewind and delete that? What a horrible answer, even if I was biologically able to be his mother. Dude. I seriously could have been his mother.

Message in a Bottle

2008-10-04T21:26:00.002-04:00

Dear Dad,

Boy...do I ever miss you?

Six years today and the world has gone to complete shit. It knows you're not here.

Huddy talks to your picture at mom's. Thanks for sending her to us.

Love, your daughter,
Jenni

Where Am I Going? And Why Am I in This Basket?

2008-10-02T12:36:00.002-04:00

So, I went to the grocery store yesterday and forgot my debit card. I didn't have enough money on me (lucky I had any at all, actually) and had to put some things back. Oh mah gawd. So ridiculous. I was grabbing things that I thought would be the quickest way to lose forty dollars. Licorice. I certainly didn't need it anyway. I've eaten three huge bags in under two weeks. Almondina. I love them and like to snack on them when I'm feeding baby her brekky. All the baby books say you should eat your meals with your child so that they understand it is meal time and not play time, etc. Well, the authors of those books are drug addicts who only hallucinated those things happening under a rainbow. Two Amy's frozen vegan pizzas. I left one for the sitter. One frozen organic squash. Still got two. For some reason, it's only taking off mere pennies. I KNOW those pizzas were nearly five dollars on their own.

Now...here's where it starts to look like a scene from Terms of Endearment. I had to put back the formula. I needed to get rid of twenty dollars fast and that was the quickest way to do it. I was at the self-checkout lane. It's a whole lane, not one of those little tiny cubby thingos with no belt and every time you put something down the computer yells ALERT! ALERT! UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT IN BAG! STEP BACK AND READY YOURSELF FOR DEATH BY FIRING SQUAD! I thought I could just delete one item at a time. Luckily there was no one behind me. It was taking forever. Finally, the girl who works the self-checkout lanes (which is a whole different ridiculousness that they clearly haven't figured out how to not have to use a cashier at the self-checkout) came over to help me. She went through the menu items, sometimes clicking the wrong button so we would have to wait for the comptuer to think its thinking stuff. I kept trying to make small talk and let her know how much I appreciated her help. She seemed frustrated, maybe for me, maybe for the person who was going to have to put back all of my groceries. Thank GOD I put back the licorice and the cookies and didn't keep them and still toss the formula. That would've been a black mark on the whole experience, I am sure.

I just want to say that of the three people who are ever working the self-checkout register when I am at the grocery two of them have only one arm. Not one arm between them but one arm each. One man is missing his right arm. Well, he has something there, but it's not a functioning arm (if you haven't read David Sedaris' Who's the Chef, you must). And the lovely girl who was helping yesterday is missing her entire left arm. I had to wonder, why stick them on self-checkout? I mean, they're still alive, right? They must dress themselves, button their shirts, go to the bathroom, cook, drive, shower...all the things one must do in an average day. Why does only having one arm mean they can't work the regular lanes? Customers bag their own groceries. I am sure they could do that job just as they can do this one. Then it hit me. It is the one place where someone said, "Man! I could do this self-checkout and hold my baby and bag my groceries and put shit back because I don't have enough money with me if I just had three hands..." and God answered.

Ode to Ellipses

2008-09-30T21:08:00.002-04:00

I bet you thought...hey...there's a typo in her heading. But...no. There isn't. Ellipses is not spelled with an 'I'. You, my friend...are wrong.

Ellipses are/is my favorite of the punctuation(s). Egads. Get me out of this sentence.

I love the ellipses so much. I write it all the time. You may have noticed from previous posts. It makes me happy. It puts me in a punctuary comma...I mean...coma.

I have a great love affair with the ellipses. Sadly, so does my statistics professor. Only...she has no clue how to use them. She speaks in ellipses...incorrectly. Example: "You find the commonality and then the...answer."

I'm sorry...what? You don't need ellipses there! It's...not right! Are you really waiting for us to fill in the...blank? See? Doesn't work.

Another example: "We will have the quiz on Wednesday now and the test on...Monday."

Stop doing that!!!! You're driving me crazy!!!

What He Said

2008-09-26T23:08:00.001-04:00

I held today...in my tiny little hands...a black American Express card.

Man...ventriloquists make bank. Or at least...spend it.

This Week Sucks Blah Blah Blah Whatever

2008-09-25T21:54:00.004-04:00

College girls loooove their cleavage. They also have the most rockin'/perfectly worn/hole-ridden jeans. I am trying to figure out how to ask one of them where she got her jeans without sounding like a total skeeve.
Everything I like is discontinued. Target brand extra tall kitchen garbage bags. Archer Farms coffee pods. Apricot Sands lipstick from L'Oreal. (Of course that was 20 years ago.) The Aussie shampoo I used to use. The Maybelline eyeshadow. Blueprint magazine. Organic Living magazine. The genmachia tea I loved so much. Freaking Baskin Robbins Daqueri Ice.
Or the package is changed and even though they assure you it's new and improved or that it has the same great taste...it never does.
Stupid wind storm abducted my sunglasses. Thieving bitch at work stole the other pair. Final pair lost a screw today and fell off my face.
Speaking of face...mine is under the impression I'm in the throes of puberty.
Made a veggie chicken patty today for breakfast. Topped it with a veggie slice of American cheese, mayo, and mustard. Enveloped it inside a whole wheat bun. And then left it sitting on the coffee table and didn't think of it until I was pulling into the parking lot at school.
I cannot find a sufficiently roomy bag to carry every damn thing I need to carry to school without it weighing seven hundred and eleven pounds.
Haven't had time to go back and renew my license.
Have to go to work tomorrow and be nice to the person who stole from me.
Having a love affair with Kasil jeans.
Wondering what in the hell I was thinking going back to school. I can't be 100% mommy, 100% student, 100% friend, 100% daughter and 100% employee.

It's the Hard Knock Life

2008-09-24T00:31:00.003-04:00

I am going to kill a girl in my biology class. We're having our first test on Thursday. Today, in the first 20 minutes of class she asked, "Can you please give us a study guide?" "Can you please tell us what to study?" "I have so many notes, more than 45 questions worth." "Can you just give us an example of a question you will ask?" "I am so confused. I don't know what to study." "There is just so much information." "Can you just give us an outline with all the stuff that will be covered on the test?" "Do we need to know this? Is this important."

YES EVERY SYLLABLE THE PROFESSOR UTTERS IS FUCKING IMPORTANT FRESHMAN HOW ABOUT STUDYING YOUR DAMNED NOTES NOW SHUT. UP.

Wasting Away

2008-09-22T22:30:00.001-04:00

WHERE IN THE EFF ARE THE EXTRA TALL KITCHEN GARBAGE BAGS SOLD????

I Was Sitting at Starbucks with the J Crew....

2008-09-22T14:28:00.002-04:00

Permission to Abort Mission, Sir?

2008-09-22T09:26:00.008-04:00

There is a hair convention in town. You know, a hair show? A show for hair dressers. I mean...stylists. They call themselves that so they can charge $70 for a haircut instead of $10. That's also why they call them 'clients' now and not 'customers.' Well, my work has been out-of-control. Saturday night I worked and I was so out of it. But the sections that the servers get are so ridiculous. There is no rhyme or reason. Three tables outside, four table inside but no where near each other. So you are running around like a complete fool trying not to fall down or lose your mind. I didn't work yesterday lunch, luckily. They were so busy the kitchen couldn't keep up and people were waiting two hours for their food. Last night was worse than Saturday night, except this time I wasn't a maniac and was actually picking up tables for other people who couldn't handle their section. It really just depends with me. You never really know what you're going to get.

Well something kept telling me to get my phone. I had a weird feeling like I needed to have it on me. Like maybe my friend who was watching the baby would need to get a hold of me. I wish I would've listened to that little inner voice. Then I would have a time line. Someone stole my purse at work last night. It is a black leather Coach zip pouch that I put my whole life in and move from bag to bag whenever I change purses. Gone. It had to have been someone I work with because no customers would know purses were there and we would definitely notice some random person going through the cabinet nosing around. Thank the gods I cleaned it out the other night. I can't remember what all was in it. Makeup. Receipts. My sunglasses. Whoever it was left me my phone and my keys. They even took the tee shirt I wore to work.

I filed a police report when I got home. He was all official and shit. Came up the porch with his finger on his holster. Skeered me. He wrote down all the answers to his very important questions. "What kind of bag, miss?" Coach. *wimper* "What kind of makeup, miss?" *whisper* cover girl *yell* AND Burt's Bees! I am pretty sure I saw him scribble something like Bird's B's and 'she's crazy insane' and 'run background check/have surveillanced.'

I just went to get a new license and took two pieces of mail with my name on it. "I need something with your social security number on it." WTF!! Argh! This is why people don't use social security numbers as identification anymore. What if I had been crazy enough to keep it in my purse? Whoever stole my bag could just go with it and get a license made in my name.

Oh well. I'll have to go back later this week. Which is probably a good thing. My hair is dirty and I have on a skull tee shirt.

I'm Your Huckleberry

2008-09-17T16:20:00.002-04:00

There are two guys, one in Biology and the other in Geography, who bug the living bejeesus out of me. The dude in Biology (Cody is his name. Actually his name is something else, but he goes by Cody. That's another story.) I think might be drunk when he comes to class. At first, his questions were very helpful. Now, he is bothering everyone. Some people laugh, some people like me huff and puff hoping he'll shuttup or pass out. The teacher mentioned diarrhea was a disease and then he proceeded to ask 40 questions about it, including "The next time I have diarrhea, I can tell everyone I have a disease?" The teacher said, "If you want to." How about diarrhea of the mouth?

The other dude is THE MOST ANNOYING BOY EVER IN THE HISTORY OF ANNOYING BOYS. He would, in fact, annoy the most annoying person you've ever met. The Pope would surely have him locked away in a dungeon never to be seen again. He cannot remain quiet. "My friend's truck was stolen in Mexico. It WAS! I'm not joking." "They called me a gringo, so I left." "Weren't we always focused on Columbia?" "It's plain capitalism." "Farmers. Oh, I meant cowboys." "The Panama Canal." "If McCain wins, my brother and I are going to move to Canada." The last comment very nearly swayed my vote.

Well, yesterday during an experiment in biology lab, the first kid nearly spilled a whole jar of tuna fish water on me. And the second dude...called me m'am.

I'm going to have to hurt them.

I'm Not Ready

2008-09-16T22:31:00.003-04:00

I came home from school today and someone took three steps unassisted. And just a few moments ago, that someone woke up as soon as her head hit the mattress, per normal. After a futile attempt to put her to sleep by playing with her hair (she'll learn how wonderful this is in a few years, I'm guessing) I finally just left the room so I could take out my contacts, wash my face, um...pee (which I rarely ever get to do alone and I'm sure that only gets worse, not better), and put on my pajamas. This was all accomplished while someone wailed at the top of her lungs. I was speeding through my nightly routine hoping to get back to her in record time. Then, just as the last leg went into the pajama bottoms...the crying stopped. For the first time in her life, she cried herself to sleep while in my presence. Sure, she's cried in the car and then gone to sleep. She pretty much hates the car. Thank goodness for iTunes audiobooks for children. The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is a guaranteed winner; as soon as Walter Matthau's voice comes out of the speakers the screaming comes to an abrupt halt.

Sure, some people say babies need to cry themselves to sleep. I cannot do it; make her cry on purpose, that is. Especially after I read this:

He awakes in a mindless terror of the silence, the motionlessness. He screams. He is afire from head to foot with want, with desire, with intolerable impatience. He gasps for breath and screams until his head is filled and throbbing with the sound. He screams until his chest aches, until his throat is sore. He can bear the pain no more and his sobs weaken and subside. He listens. He opens and closes his fists. He rolls his head from side to side. Nothing helps. It is unbearable. He begins to cry again, but it is too much for his strained throat; he soon stops. He waves his hands and kicks his feet. He stops, able to suffer, unable to think, unable to hope. He listens. Then he falls asleep again.

I now feel so guilty I want to wake her up and take her to bed with me. But I won't. I'll just hug and kiss her extra in the morning.

What Happened Was Just This

2008-09-15T10:21:00.002-04:00

Crikey! Huge wind storm yesterday while I was walking to work. It blew my sunglasses off my face (Oscar de la Renta $7 TJMaxx...bye bye) CRASH! shattering them in the street, blowing them a block away at 60 mph, and it ripped the rubber band out of my ponytail. I was pinned to a giant planter. I couldn't move. Some guy walked past me and just stared at me. Uh...hello? Thanks for helping me. I just wanted to cross the street! I didn't weigh enough.

My work was the only restaurant open in the area. Power lines down everywhere. We were slammed. There had been a Bengals' game. Boy, do they ever suck. People were drunk coming in to eat and find refuge. I love how people are not nice when clearly you're doing the best you can to accommodate all the other people ahead of them. I was so busy, and we only had one bartender. I went behind the bar to finish pouring a Guinness while dreaming of shoving my head under the tap for a swig. A man at the bar barked some order to me. I turned and said, "I'm sorry?" He asked for some silverware. I couldn't find any behind the bar. So I ran and got him a place setting. He said, "May I just say you are the first person in this place who has done anything for me with a smile?" I said, "Oh...well that's because I've lost my mind." He reached out to shake my hand and introduced himself. He said, "Your first child's college tuition is on me." I said, "That works out great! She's 13 months old today!" I doubt he'll really come back with a check.

Another table of guys came in late and gave me all kinds of hell. It was obvious they didn't know each other from the conversations they were having. One guy was talking about Penelope Cruz and all the famous people he has met and didn't sleep with. One guy paid and as I was closing out his tab the math wasn't coming out correctly. I went over to the table and said, "So, why are you guys in town?" I had asked to see his I.D. because he hadn't signed his credit card. He was from Nebraska. "Why?" he asked. Uh...yes. "Pet food convention." So I said, "Not a math conference?" He said, "Um, no." Then he gave me a funny look and said, "Why? What'd I do?" I said, "Well, according to your math my tip should be $26, not $18." I asked, "Do you want to give me an $18 tip or do you want me to do the total?" He said, "Well...I uh...guess the tip that I wrote down." I said, "That's fine. But for future reference, people will enter the total because that's what you'll remember. If you added incorrectly shorting the tip, then the server will still only get the total even if it's short." He said okay. I said, "So, we're going with the $18 tip then?" He said, "Yeah. I guess." I said, "It's okay. We're not dating. I'm not going to be pissed at you or anything."

Trees crushed cars. Power out for miles, possibly not back on for days in some places. I just called the grocery to see if they were open before I drove there. The manager answered and said they are without cold or frozen food and are only allowing people to buy 2 bags of ice at a time. Wow. I'll take boxed processed food for $1000, Alex.

Of course I have power at my place. I live by my work. There is a jail, a transit center and two huge hotels. Can't imagine we're not on some generator or something. The power lines are down in the street right across from me blocking off the road.

I'm trying to watch the school closings list on the television, but inevitably look away before the Ns show up. Every. Time. Dammit.

Week in Review

2008-09-11T22:01:00.005-04:00

I work with a 37-year-old grandmother. Crazy, huh? Well, I also work with a 35-year-old grandmother.

This is not Dom DeLuise.

The hours between 8.30 p.m. and 11.30 p.m. are really twenty minutes in disguise.

My Thai crystal deodorant is determined to make me smell like a Thai restaurant. So I've switched to Liquid Rock from Kiss My Face. Today was test day. I like it.

How is it that my hair goes from clean, to perfectly dirty to crap grease slick in a matter of seconds?

Have a paper due on Tuesday. Have to pretend like I care about stem cell research. Maybe I will care about it by Monday night. Will definitely know whether I care about it by Tuesday at noon.

Have fingernails for the first time since I was pregnant. I forgot how to use them. I iz dangerous.

Working tomorrow. Pray I make lots of monies. Going out tomorrow night. Not coming home 'til I kiss a boy. Or 11.30 p.m. Whichever comes first.

Those Damn Little Lenten Bitches

2008-09-10T21:36:00.002-04:00

My friend's daughter has just joined the Daisies. I have no clue what this is, really. From what I gathered during the conversation with my friend, it's much like (or not much like) the Brownies. You know the Brownies. The prequel if you will to the Girl Scouts. Friend wasn't too keen on her daughter joining the Daisies but "all the other first graders were doing it" and you know how that ends up when you're the only person not involved in something. Like when all of your friends go on vacation without you and then proceed to talk about nothing else when in your presence. Friend said, "It's fine now, just hoping she is over it before it's time to join the Girl Scouts. Because we all know Girl Scouts are only good for one thing. Thin Mints." Isn't that the damned truth. I remember being in the Girl Scouts. It sucked. Now I'm wondering...is one in the Girl Scouts or just in Girl Scouts? Kind of like how one used to shop at The Gap but now we're only allowed to shop at Gap. Kind of like that. Kind of.

Rollin' with the Homies

2008-09-10T20:58:00.003-04:00

What's My Muthaeffin' Name?

2008-09-09T09:58:00.003-04:00

Baby Fish Mouth. One of my favorite scenes from a movie ever.

Hmm.... I am thinking I may have to change my heading. I know. I know. I already changed it from absurditiesofsomepeople to whowhatwhenwhereandsometimeswhy. I've already thoroughly explained that I cannot make a decision to save my life. You're just going to have to deal with it.

When I picked Baby Fish Mouth, I didn't realize tons of other people were using it as well. It's a clothing company for babies and tons of people have blogged about that damn scene. But it's so me! I swear my brain works just like Jess's. And Win Lose or Draw is my favorite game ever. For those of you who have yet to meet "Board Game Jennifer" just know...she's not pretty. I found a way to play board games by myself growing up. I'd play both players. Only child, you know. I have issues. Lots of them.

I'm sure my inability to make a decision is somehow my mom's fault. Or Oprah's. I'll have to get a therapist. Or not.

So, what could my new heading be? What is the most accurate way to describe me?

When I was pregnant and willing to go on dates--just one date ONE! would have sufficed--I thought about making a tee shirt that read If you ask I'll say 'yes' on the front and ...obviously on the back. My mother was appalled.

Then there is my stock motto: I'm an only child. I don't share. It's not technically true, but I am a bit freaky with my stuff. Sure, you can look at the magazine I just got and haven't looked through yet, just don't wrinkle the corners or curl the cover.

So, I'm a mom/only child/daughter/massage therapist/writer/server/full-time student who is completely single for the first time in many many years. Maybe my heading should be Lease with an Option to Buy. Or to complement the journalistic site name...And how's that make you feel? With my hands, yo. With my hands.

It's Not Me. It's You.

2008-09-08T12:50:00.003-04:00

This place is a mess.
*evil eye*
Well, it is.
Do something about it.
Who me?
Yeah you.
It's not my fault. I'm never here.
So, you could still help out once in a while.
Look at the dust!
There you go. You can dust.
So, what? I have to do everything you hate doing?
What's the big deal? I vacuum.
That's because you like to vacuum.
And...?
Just because you don't like to do something doesn't mean I have to like doing it.
Well then, what do you like doing?
I'll straighten up the book shelves and papers.
Oh brother. *rolls eyes*
Now what?
Nothing.
What? Just say it.
You won't get anything done. Ten minutes into straightening you'll be going through drawers.
So?
So, you'll sit there for an hour looking at pictures and old cards and old planners.
I beg your pardon.
You don't ever clean when you clean. You just make piles and more messes for me.
You need a nap.
Yes, I do. I haven't slept the whole night through in two years.
So take one.
How can I? What do I do with the baby? Stick her in her crib and let her cry for forty minutes?
Yes.
You have no idea what you're even talking about.
Whatever.
Don't say that. You know I hate it when you say that.
You shouldn't say 'hate'.
Shuttup.
Or shuttup.
Ten minutes of silence passes.
Are you not talking to me now?
I don't know what you want me to say. I can only do so much, you know.
All I'm asking you to do is dust.
Well, all I'm asking you to do is get off my back.
*jaw drops*
Yeah. Off. My. Back. I go to school full-time and work. I don't have a single day to myself.
You don't have to work so much.
Ha! Yeah, right. Who else is going to buy diapers and food and gas for my car?
Me.
Who will pay my bills?
Me.
You don't make enough.
Sure I do.
Well, we need my money. Besides, I got a hug and a 100 percent tip from my table last night.
Well, you're going to need that to pay for the coffee you have every morning.
I make my coffee here, thank you very much.
Yeah. With two pods and soy creamer.
No. I'm using half and half now. And you have to use two pods. One pod is pointless. That's not coffee. It's brown water.
I thought you were lactose intolerant?
I AM! I AM SICK OF SOY. I WANT SOMETHING THAT TASTES GOOD.
Dairy gives your daughter a rash.
Look. I'm trying to introduce it to her slowly. I don't need you to make me feel like shit about it.
I'm not trying to make you feel badly.
Bad.
What?
You're not trying to make me feel bad.
Are you correcting me?
*silence*
Look, I think you need a break. A night with the girls or something.
And who will watch the baby?
I'll find someone.
Yeah, right.
I will.
Look, I'm away from her all day, the last thing I want is to be away from her all night too.
You need to get out of the house. Relax. You're never going to meet anyone sitting at home.
I don't have time to meet someone. I don't have time for a relationship.
You don't need a relationship. Just have...fun.
Fun?
Yes. Fun. You remember fun. I mean, you bought those heels. Where are you planning on wearing them? I know it's not to take out the garbage. You don't take out the garbage.
Yes, I do.
No you don't. You put it on the balcony and I end up taking it out after it's been rained on.
*shakes head* I'll wear the shoes somewhere. *trails off* One day.
Go out with that guy from work.
Guy from work?
Yeah. That guy at your work. The one who said he'd have sex with you.
What? Jesus. I never should have told you that.
You didn't. I was there, remember. Besides, he's cute.
He has a girlfriend. And I don't need pity sex, thank you very much.
You're getting bitter.
What?! I am not!
Yes, yes you are. Find a cute boy and make out with him. I am giving you permission.
Permission? You're not the boss of me.
Oh, yes I am.

And I Live Here Again Because....

2008-09-06T22:35:00.002-04:00

Did some stuff at work this week that got me into a bit of hot water. I...excelled. I don't know what got into me. Then I totally effed up. Got reprimanded for slicing too large a hunk of bread for my customer's salad. And then someone unplugged the salad dressing cooler to use the blender and didn't plug it back in and I got blamed for never having plugged it in to begin with, which I know I totally did. See? This is why I always like to give a steady 76 % with anything I do. Once you start giving 100% people tend to expect it.

Went to Oktoberfest with a friend tonight for about 45 minutes. Oh mah gawd. What a nightmare. There are two places around here where you can see the real gems of the gene pool. Maifest and Oktoberfest. People walking around with a beer in one hand and a baby on the other hip. A nice cute little baby who is sweet enough to hold mommy or daddy's cigarette while they stuff their faces with a cob of corn and some barbeque.

About 17 years ago, I was at the Oktoberfest with some friends. I saw a booth full of tiny clothes. So cute. Dresses. Hundreds of them in every fabric you could imagine. I had a friend who was about to have a baby so I decided to actually look through the racks. I finally came across a cap and gown. I thought to myself, "What the hell would a baby need with a cap and gown?" Jaysus. They weren't children's clothes. They were clothes for geese! Porch geese! What in God's name!! I am so glad I didn't actually buy something.

That brings me to another point. I walked down one aisle of booths and was in shock. How can someone take a step back, look at the products they're trying to sell and actually think, "Yeah. These redneck windchimes will make me a millionaire"? I don't even have to go near the booth where you can make your own potpourri and lavender eye packs to know that it sucks.

Try to Remember the Kind of September

2008-09-02T21:41:00.003-04:00

Okay. Decision needs to be made. Do I look for another job? I went back into the kitchen to get drinks for my table and a giant roach FLEW right at me. My table was right outside the kitchen. I cannot imagine them not noticing. The screams from the other waitresses alone would've certainly gave them alarm. It's wingspan was the size of my hand with my fingers splayed out. Gross.

One of the cooks asked me what I wanted to eat during the lull while the fireworks were going on and the restaurant emptied out. I said, "Nothing." He said, "Come on. Just name it. I'll make it." I said, "I don't want any food from here." I don't think I can continue to serve people knowing that a roach may fly out of the kitchen and land on their plate.

I did make decent money Sunday night, but the crowd was exceptional. Without the fireworks we would have all been standing around staring at each other. I didn't get out of there until almost 1 a.m. One of the other servers was pissed that a few of us got to leave. I didn't even say anything. They cut me so I left. But honestly, I cannot stay that late and be a good mommy. Baby wakes up before 7 a.m. Potentially I could've been there until 3 a.m. A couple of people were there super late the night before waiting on a bachelorette party. I didn't catch up on my sleep until last night.

I might have to see if my friends are hiring at their restaurant. I've worked there before and they have no bugs. Of course, it's such a lovely place I probably wouldn't notice if they did. Just like my mom said to me once when I was complaining about pet hair every where from someone's dog. I said, "I don't remember Ozzie shedding like this when I was growing up. Unless you just cleaned every single day." She said, "Well, you loved Ozzie." That was the difference. And she did clean practically everyday.

Hey, Whorebag. SHUT IT.

2008-08-31T14:41:00.004-04:00

My mom used to tell people I was going to open a home for old men and babies and to hell with everyone else. It's not secret: old women are bitches. I can say this because I will, one day...hopefully, be an old woman; just not a bitchy old woman.

Yesterday at work, one of my tables told me, "I have a complaint about my salad." Greaaat. Of course you do. "We come here three times a year after our long walk and I always get this salad." Wow. Three times, you say? They should make you a silent partner. "I always look forward to it but the quality has gone way down. Look at this lettuce. I don't want it taken off the bill or anything, but we probably won't be back. And I can imagine someone else wouldn't come back after being served this either." Of course I felt badly about it. It was a tad wilted. But to be fair, the lettuce was buried under a pile of cheese, olives and tomatoes. Had I noticed I probably would've said something. Maybe. It is only my second week. I'm trying to make friends with the kitchen people, not enemies.Well, my other table overheard the conversation. I had just dropped off their food when the woman stopped me to tell me about her salad. When I came back out to check on the other table and refill their drinks I asked how everything was. "EVERYTHING IS AS WONDERFUL AS USUAL. MY COMPLIMENTS TO THE CHEF. PLEASE TELL HIM HOW MUCH WE ENJOYED IT." Uh...what the hell lady? Simmer down. Have you ever seen two women in their 60s throw down? I wasn't about to stick around to witness it.

Today, I took baby out right after breakfast to run my errands. I haven't been able to do a thing since school started. Again...what was I thinking? First, we went to Mecca and she fell asleep in the 24 seconds it took to get across the street to Le Bigg's. I tried not to wake her but it never works out that way. She stayed awake the entire time in the grocery screaming and yelling the whole time, waving to everyone. Finally in the check out line she started to fade. There are two conveyors at Bigg's so they can ring up more people, though they require them to bag their own groceries which still holds up the line, I think. The woman on the other side was bagging her things and said, "Oh, mommy. I'm so tired. This shopping thing is hard work. I need a nap." ...Yo. Stranger? You wanna ixnay the commentary? You think I don't know she's over the limit? Do I need to remind you that I have only been out at night FOUR TIMES since she's been born? When in the HELL do you suggest I get this grocery shopping done? Now take your Twinkies and Diet Coke and get out of my face.

Of course, baby woke up when I tried to carry her into the house. She refused to let me lay her in the bed. Frozen bananas, anyone? So I fed her her lunch an hour later and still after a bottle (because I'm having a little milk supply problem I don't want to talk about it so don't mention it to me or I'll cry) she still wouldn't sleep. Read her new favorite book to her five times. No go. Put her in her crib with said book and showered. Still awake when I got out. Put her in her exersaucer to watch Lawrence Welk, her new favorite show, so I could clean the living room. Not tired.
Or at least I thought.

Did I mention how much I love babies?

Far Far Away

2008-08-30T21:25:00.009-04:00

I may have mentioned I do not like birds. Actually, I am not a fan of anything that flies. Except for butterflies. I do actually have an affinity for penguins, though I'm pretty sure if I was sitting outside at my favorite restaurant and a penguin came up to me and threw its shit in my face I would despise penguins as well. Luckily for me, this will more than likely never happen.

I have been pooped on five times. I have had birds fly into my hair. I was witness to not one but two baby bird murders. Or suicides. Hard to know for sure. I woke one morning to the sound of banging only to discover a crazed Canadian bird ramming itself into my bedroom window (I know it was Canadian because I looked it up and it's always the Canadians), even though there were visible panes on it and a big ass banner that read "This is a glass window, bird. Here's your sign." Alas, this bird was not bright and it flew into the window for more than 35 minutes leaving blood smears from top to bottom. I do not lie. I finally went outside and yelled STOP! but that bird did not care. I think maybe he was having a bad day. Like I was.

I had a cat bring a live bird into my house only to let it loose in the kitchen where I was calmly eating pancakes at the table. The bird flew right toward me and into the blinds and said cat leapt onto the table to retrieve it. Once, at my old job, I went to walk in the back door and looked down in time to just miss stepping on a bird. It was laying on its side, one eye looking straight up at me. I told my boss that it needed help. "I think it's hurt or something." He said, "It's napping." I said I didn't know a lot about birds, by choice, but I was pretty sure they don't actually lay down in the fetal position to catch some shuteye in the middle of a business restaurant patio. He walked over and stomped near the bird, not on it, and it jumped right up and flew away. What the eff was that bird doing?!? Laying there just to freak me out? Ooh. I was mad.

Then there was the bird that stalked me on that same patio. Followed me around, hopping and opening and closing its beak. It was a huge bird. Not like bald eagle huge. It was a tiny little thing, just as big around as it was tall. It looked...pissed. I told a friend that I thought something was wrong with it. (You might ask why someone who hates birds so much would try so hard to help them. I have no answer.) He followed the bird around until it stopped long enough for him to pick it up. The bird had mass bread trapped in its beak. My friend got a little stick and pried it out of the bird's mouth and then set it free. That is probably the happiest bird I have ever encountered. Of course, if I had a life where I could just fly around and shit all over people's stuff I'd probably be happy too, or at least a little hysterical.

And then there was the pigeon whose nest I knocked out of my window sill two seconds before I saw the eggs in it. I had a window air conditioning unit and pulled the accordion shade to the side and knocked the nest out with a plastic spoon. Once it started to fall I saw three eggs inside it. I felt awful. But that bird had been there for days cooing and fluttering around. I needed sleep. I opened the blinds a smidge to see where the bird had flown off to and was met by two little beady eyes. It was sitting on top of the air conditioner staring into my window. No joke! Right out of a Hitchcock movie.

And lastly, the house I owned that was infested with a century's old nursery colony of bats. I went outside and watched bricks turn into bats like an Escher drawing. I quit counting at 74.

Well, when I was pregnant, I went a little overboard with the Save the Animals movement. I was forever carrying spiders upstairs that had gotten lost in the bathtub. Catching moths and inevitably crushing them as I tried to set them free. Well, one night there was this gigantic fly in the house. I tried forever to get it. My mother even tried to knock it off her incredibly high ceiling with a towel. It was pointless. Well, the next morning my mother told me the fly had died. I was sad. Turns out it had fallen into the water I'd forgotten to drain out of the sink after doing the dishes. Rats. (Since I had baby though, I have decided that anything that can potentially land on her and piss her off must die.)

Well, its ghost is haunting me now. I just spent the last 20 minutes trying to get a damn fly out of my refrigerator. It flew in as I was filling my glass with water. I was beating everything in there with a near empty roll of papertowels. I managed to hit one of the refrigerator light bulbs, first making it super bright, which made me very happy, and then blowing it out, which made me very sad. I would've killed it in there with a magazine and thrown away all the food and smeared the little fly remains on my front door just to prove a point, but I didn't. It is now making the rounds in my apartment. I'll probably eat it in my sleep. I do kind of feel sorry for the little fella. Like I was telling a friend who told me she saw maggots in her garbage can feasting on some raw chicken "It must suck to be a fly. First you start off as a disgusting maggot and then BAM! A second chance at life only to become a huge asshole. And you eat poop. And every time you land to take a little rest...you vomit. Nobody likes you. Ever. "

Eh. Not my problem.

Can You Just Eat This Instead?

2008-08-29T22:20:00.002-04:00

Didn't get a lot of sleep last night, therefore work sucked today. The kitchen guys screwed up two of my orders. I still have trouble getting things right so at least don't screw up even more for me.
I don't know what I was thinking going back to school, working and trying to parent a child all by myself. The manager asked me today if I could do a double tomorrow, "stay til 9 o'clock or so." No. I cannot be at work for 11 hours and then go home and try to be a nice mommy. Sorry. Not happening. I'm sure Michael Phelps mom could do it. She's a better woman than I.

I did learn today that two of the cooks live in the house I lived in when I was a kid. One of them sleeps in my old room. They said I could stop by and bring my daughter. It would be interesting to see if it is exactly as I remember it. I was four, five and six years old. I still remember the kitchen, the bathroom upstairs, all the bedrooms. I remember going there to sign the lease with my mom. I remember my cousin standing at my dresser looking into a mirror and pushing on the arches of her eyebrows willing them to perfection. I remember waking up the next morning under my bed, having fallen out during the night and somehow missing the cot that my other cousin was sleeping on nearby. I remember my birthday party and having tacos and all the fixings in a separate bowl. Getting my Andy Gibb record. I can picture my mom slipping down the back stairs and my dad showing up minutes later with pineapple shakes. I remember asking my mom to pull my tooth while she was ironing. I braided my uncle's hair. I sat on the front swing and memorized the entire kindergarten play I was in, not just my part but everyone else's as well. My aunt taught me the words to Witchy Woman on that swing. I had a bunny named Christmas and a rocking horse in the basement. I remember a dream I had there; the first dream I thought had really happened when I woke up the next morning.

One of the kitchen guys said, "You and your daughter can spend the night in your old room if you want."

I said, "How about you guys babysit and I go out?"

He said, "That's cool, too." And as I exited the kitchen I heard him say, "You still have to come back and get her."

I might take a friend with me. Just sayin'.

Oh My CRAP!

2008-08-28T20:42:00.003-04:00

Pardon me while I try to pull myself out from underneath a pile of books. Good Lord.

First of all, let me start by saying, if you're going to admit 10,000 more students you're going to need more than two ways into the parking lots.

My biology teacher is a mess. We're her first class. Ev. Er. She should not be teaching. She did research for years at a cancer hospital. I think she actually called it Cancer Hospital. Hmm. Not sure about that one. Well, she can do. She shouldn't be teaching. (Ooh...that is mean. Especially since I'm going to be a teacher...but it's true. At least in this case.) The first day of class she had us go around and tell her why we were taking the class. One girl said, "I'm a psychology major and a neuroblahblahblah minor and I'm taking this because I'm premed and I'm fulfilling my medical requirements." Verbatim. After class we had lab and the same girl, whose name I would love to post because it's so outrageous, said, "This class is too simple. I could graduate now and I've only been here two years. At least this class will raise my grade point average." It made me irrationally happy today when the girl told the teacher she had no clue what she was talking about.

Today was the worst! We sat down and the teacher put some overhead sheets on the board. She said, "Okay. Chapter 2." We all looked around at each other like she was crazy. Someone said, "Did you do Chapter 1?" She said, "Well, I touched on the high points." Uh...what? I'm pretty sure all we did was go over the syllabus. There was a boy in the back who kept asking questions, and by "in the back" I mean in the fourth row because on the first day the teacher asked "Can you all move up to the first three or four rows so I don't have to project my voice?" Uh...lady? Projecting your voice is like Teacher Move #3 in the How to Be a Good Teacher Manual. The first day she looked like Laura Ingalls. Today she looked like Debbie Does Dallas.

Anyhoo, the boy asked her a question about something she had on the overhead:
Isotopes of hydrogen
Tritium is an important radioisotope of hydrogen often used in scientific experiements.

Boy: What kind of scientific experiments?
Teacher: I don't know.
Rest of the class: *crickets*

Finally, at the end of class, the same boy said, "It's like you're speaking French. I don't know what you're talking about." She said, "I can talk to you after class." Okay. We'll all just stay. She said, "Did you read the chapter?" He said, "No. I don't have a book yet, they're still out at the bookstore." She said, "Just be sure to read the chapters." So finally I said, "So, we're supposed to read the chapter and then come here so you can just read it back to us?" I felt bad about it, but COME ON! I don't have time to teach myself this class. I have a gazillion other things to worry about and I paid her salary. She needs to do it. Oh yeah. And she didn't find out she was hired until the day before school started.

The only highlight is there's a girl in the class named Immerse. Or something.

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right

2008-08-25T14:11:00.002-04:00

Day 1-3: the roach...let's call it..."situation"

Day 4: tiny mouse ran through dining room before open, lost it; told "it can't hurt you"; yes...the plague was a media hyped political propaganda

Day 5: deaddeaddead mouse under freezer. All days: fruit fly galore; entrees microwaved before delivery for extra heat; friend enlightened me, this technique is referred to as Chef Mic (Mike).

Would you stay? Get a new job?

Things I Learned Today

2008-08-21T21:05:00.003-04:00

Mention you see a couple of roaches and the exterminator will be there within 24 hours. Thank God.

It's best to say 'yes' when male coworkers ask you if you have a boyfriend.

My coworker has "abnormal periods"and has to fill a $75 prescription. The new guy learned this as well. As did the wine rep. And three guys at the bar. And the bartender.

I work with a man who looks and sounds just like Dave Chappelle. And a woman who looks and sounds just like Wanda Sykes. It would be rude to tell them this, I fear. But they may start to wonder why I think everything they say is HILARIOUS.

My daughter is the friendliest child I've ever met. Somehow she learned how to share.

My daughter is the squirreliest child I've ever met. Somehow she learned how to get out of the belt of her high chair. She also figured out how to stand up out from under the tray. She also learned that when she turns around to face the back of the chair and hangs one leg over the side her mother screams.

Ohio, in fact, does NOT charge tax on their groceries like someone told me a while ago. I would like to apologize to Ohio on behalf of myself and the profanities I may or may not have uttered under my breath.

If I have cookies in the house, I will eat them all in under 24 hours.

Things I Will Learn Tomorrow...if Smartfood popcorn will ruin me and the baby.

Blame It On the Rain

2008-08-20T23:00:00.006-04:00

Dooce recently had a POLL asking people to list their Top Five. You know...the Top Five. The Top Five famous people you would sleep with and by sleep with I don't mean sleep with, if you know what I mean.

I could not choose only five. What can I say? Maybe if there were only five famous people, but there are not so I can choose however many I want. I make the rules, dammit.

I chose:

1. Casey Affleck and Ben Affleck
2. Jude Law and James McAvoy
3. Michael Vartan and Raoul Bova
4. Luke Wilson and Owen Wilson
5. Snoop Dogg and Dave Matthews

It's all about the voice. And looks like all about the threesome, which would be weird and disturbing since two pairs of them are related. Could get...awkward.

Then I have Top Five Fictionals:

1. Steve Brady, Sex and the City
2. Doc Holiday, Tombstone
3. Michael Vaughn, Alias
4. Benjamin Barry, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
5. Jason Bourne, any of the Bourne movies. Duh.

Michael Vartan makes the list in real life and in fiction. The fact that he's French still blows my mind.

Top Five His Mother Would Kill Me:

1. Michael Phelps
2. Daniel Radcliffe
3. Ryan Gosling
4. and 5. I'll let them get a little older.

There were a lot of women choosing women on the original post. If I had to choose Top Five Women:

1. Penelope Cruz
2. Jennifer Garner
3. Salma Hayek
4. Alessandra Ambrosio
5. Rachel McAdams

Top Five I'm Just Asking for Trouble:

1. Johnny Knoxville
2. Eminem
3. Pharrell
4. Rob Lowe
5. Robert Downey Jr.

Top Five They're Probably Gay but I Don't Give a Crapola:
1. Topher Grace
2. Anderson Cooper
3. Tom Cruise (from the A Few Good Men era)
4. Hugh Jackman
5. Neil Patrick Harris

And the Top Five If I Could Go Back in Time:

1. Levon Helm (He's not gone, he's just too old, even for me.)
2. JFK, Jr
3. Robert Redford
4. Heath Ledger
5. Frank Sinatra

These are in no particular order. Are you kidding?

Who are yours?

LeRoi Moore

2008-08-20T13:56:00.002-04:00

Davematthewsband.com

I am heartbroken.

Bartender

And if I go, before I'm old
Oh brother of mine, please don't forget me if I go
And if I die, before my time
Oh sweet sister of mine, do not regret me if I die

Bartender, please fill my glass for me
With the wine you gave Jesus
That set Him free after three days down

Bartender, please fill my glass deep for me
With the wine you gave Jesus
That set Him free after three days down

On bended knees, I pray, Bartender please
On bended knees, God please

Oh, and if this gold, should steal my soul away
Oh mother of mine, please redirect me if this gold...

Bartender, please fill one up for me
Of the kind you gave Jesus
That set Him free after three days down

On bended knees, I pray, Bartender please
On bended knees, Bartender please

...Carry the One

2008-08-20T09:59:00.004-04:00

Saw a giant roach at work again yesterday. In the back where they keep the boxes for the fountain soda hook-up. I thought oh, it's probably just the same one from yesterday making his rounds...then I remembered that one met the ugly end of a steel toed boot. So, let's see. That's makes two giant roaches. And that makes one less server eating their food at 50% off.

I used to frequent the establishment many years ago, a.k.a., get my drink on. When I think of all the meals I ate there...fountain drinks I had there...ewww.

I did screw up one table's order. I warned you I would. I thought these dudes wanted a grilled chicken sandwich with a side spinach salad. Alas, that was not the case. They wanted the spinach salad with grilled chicken. Whatever. How was I supposed to know? Honestly, I haven't had five minutes to even look over the menu there and they have about four zillion items. I haven't filled out any paperwork yet and haven't clocked in ever. I may walk down there this afternoon to see if I can do it before tomorrow morning.

I am still dyyyyyying to go out and buy school supplies. I think I will go up to school today and look at my books. Touch them. Smell them. Say hello to them. I want to see how heavy they will be to carry around all day long. I want to see how I look in a full-length mirror holding my books and raising my hand.

I have to go to my old job on Friday and pick up my last paycheck. I am sure if there was any tip for me last Saturday, it is long gone. I got a call yesterday from a girl I worked with; she wanted to know if I'd been getting a lot of massages. She had gone on vacation and had given written and verbal notice of the dates she would be gone and when she would get back. They called her on a Tuesday and left a voice mail that she had a massage the next day at 1 p.m. She got the message that morning at 5 a.m. while sitting in an airport in New Hampshire. She called and told them she wouldn't be there and that she had told The Debil's husband she wouldn't be back until the following day. Since then she's gotten two massages and a lot of attitude. I warned her. But she no listen.

I am so mad at myself for not having quit that job sooner. I could already have been making good money and screwing up orders at work for months now.