Only Real Geeks

My trading card
Originally uploaded by lostonpurpose.

Make trading cards with a flickr toy application using pics of their baby.

In other news, I uploaded this picture of the B (not the card itself, the same image I used for it, though) to the thing that Shocho wrote about today that tells you what celebrity you look like.

I couldn't believe it, and was quite dismayed, to see she was matched to freakin' Slobodan Milosevic. What a terrible thing. And for heaven's sake, she got Donald Rumsfeld too. I think I officially quit playing with the application when I saw that.

At Least It Wipes Clean With a Damp Cloth

This product's information page speaks for itself.

Merry late Christmas.

Her First Christmas

It snowed on her first Christmas.

Even though I hate snow, something about that makes me happy.

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it. Happy everything else to everyone who celebrates whatever. Let's have a few days where everyone is nice to each other, huh?

We Had a Busy Day

Our young'in had one heck of a day.

First, it was a weekday, but she spent a lot of it with her dad. I think this hopped her up a little bit, especially as I was away upstairs for a bit (I didn't have to rush through my shower!) and then out mailing packages and buying a few last-minute groceries.

Second, she learned something. It is either the tiniest of milestones (seen from the perspective of all the things she will learn in her lifetime) or one very large one (seen from the perspective of everything she's learned so far). See yonder kick 'n' crawl aquarium image? Mine is similar (last year's model that I got on sale, the dangly toys differ and the mat is a different pattern) but you get the idea. Well, after her second evening feeding, she wasn't in a mood to nap. I was going to use the mat to give her what we parents of infants lovingly call "tummy time", so her neck muscles would start to strengthen, but I started her on her back to get her used to playing there.

Well, little missy seemed very interested in the dangly stuff, so I decided to see how interested she was. I borrowed her hand and batted it at the dangly thing just over that hand. I got a reaction (trust me, you don't see such definite reactions in such a small baby often) so I did it again. After a bit of repetition and some rests (can't just keep wrenching the poor kid's arm around) she started flailing a bit on her own.

I thought it was random at first and that she was just excited to be playing, but she was very specifically extending her right hand (the one I'd been playing with) and she was fixing on the mirror toy (the one I'd been batting) and only that toy. I tapped it and said her name a couple of times, then I pushed the mirror and let it swing. B got this very determined look on her face, fixated on the mirror, and then thrust her little arm up toward it. She missed and gave me the scrunchy face, then tried again and just grazed the bottom of it!

I clapped and tried to generally let her know that was a job well done, and she did it about a dozen more times before she got fidgety and I picked her up.

I know it's a little thing, but I taught her something. I showed her, she tried, failed, kept trying, and then did it. Moreover, she realized that I told her she'd done what I taught her correctly, and then she did it again when I prompted her. I think that may have been our first real moment of intellectual connection. She got it. She doesn't know what she got, but she knows I showed it to her and then had fun doing it on her own.

And if anyone out there is going to rain on my parade and tell me that something I showed her and then watched as she did it on her own, then repeated very carefully (she didn't bat at the other toys, nor did she seem to be trying to flail her left arm at all) was a fluke or random baby movement, just take another moment and then don't. I looked into her little excited eyes and watched her lock them on me after she whacked that mirror, and I know what we were doing.

Best. Christmas. Present. Ever.

Third, she's eating like a maniac. She was all restless (which is why I'm still up) and it took me forever to realize she was actually still hungry even after she'd already eaten more than she usually does. I'm glad, because she needs to pack on a pound or two. Unlike her mom, who has to take off twenty of them and that leftover fudge I have downstairs that I made for presents for the neighbors and such isn't helping!

Motorin'

Last night, I drove my car.

That doesn't sound as exciting as it was. You see, I hadn't driven a car before that for nearly three weeks. The last time I'd left the house on my own was December 1st, when I went to get my car's emissions inspection done so I could go to the DMV the next day. In the waiting room, another lady gave me a commiserating look and noted that I looked "ready to pop". As we all know, I did just that the next day and now we have B.

Demerol dictated that I not get behind the wheel for about the next two weeks. And hey, if you're one of those people who just said, "Ooooh, Demerol!" I would remind you that you generally have to be in enough pain to need Demerol before you can (legitimately, anyway) get it, so it wasn't that much of a joy.

I shook off the Demerol as soon as I could without being in too much needless pain, and soon began to dream, in a torn way, of picking up my keys and leaving the house. I mean, it's hard to watch other people do the things you've grown to think of as your job (in the absence of a job outside the home) like the grocery shopping or a drugstore run. On the other hand, it's difficult for me to leave the baby on one floor of the house while I go briefly to a different floor to grab something. When Tom's mom was here, she offered to take the baby downstairs one morning so I could grab a little more sleep (that was the night that she was wide awake in the middle of the night and we had a great time playing, but that didn't get mama much sleep) and even though I really needed a lot more, the best I could do was one half-hearted hour and a half long nap before I followed my offspring downstairs.

I had a momentary impulse to drive the car back into the garage after I'd pulled it out into the street, but I told myself that she was with her father and fine, and that I had a cell phone with me so I could be reached. Plus, we were out of, oh, everything.

So, I did it. I drove, I shopped, I returned, and she was fine. And we have milk, to boot.

Staying Home

You start to look foward to different stuff when you stay home all the time. (Hey, the baby sleeps sometime, and mama has to have something to do.)

Today I was delighted to realize that the Ellen show was in reruns and the first rerun of the week was the episode where they brought out Salt N Pepa to surprise Ellen at the end. If you haven't seen it, one of Ellen's HBO comedy specials shows her rapping the entire first section of Shoop. It's not funny, exactly, although it's not un-funny (considering how disinterested she is in lyrics like "Girls, what's my weakness? Men!")

I couldn't figure out why I was so fascinated at her rendition (I once fast-forwarded through the entire special when it was on our On Demand thingie on our cable system to watch just that one two-minute bit all the way at the end) until it occurred to me what makes it unique. One word: commitment.

Everything is better, more satisfying, more entertaining when there is total commitment. As someone with a degree in performance, I have to say that commitment is often the most difficult part of any kind of presentation.

Plus, how funny is it to watch anyone say, "Lick him like a lollipop should be licked"?

Good lord

I think there's a day when it hits you that you are fully responsible for taking care of a baby. You would think that would happen when the nurse hands her to you for the first time, but I think the human mind is a little more complex than that.

I think the enormity of the responsibility finally sunk in last night, when I couldn't coax her to sleep to save my life. She was only cranky for two brief periods of time. The rest of it, she was just alert and not ready to sleep. I, on the other hand, was REALLY ready to sleep. Maybe the whole thing doesn't hit you until the first time you have to completely reconfigure your own needs because the baby needs something different from you. All she needed was someone to stare at and make her feel safe, and that was the moment I went from being someone's daughter to someone's mother.

Or maybe I'm being melodramatic. It could be the sleep deprivation talking, but she's napping now and I think if I put the laptop down, I should be able to catch up now.

Of course, if she keeps making those little cooing noises, it may have to wait while I stay up to listen to them.

Are you there, God?

This reminds me a little of the MASH episode when Pierce was trying to get an incubator. At some point, they talk to some supply officer who tells them they can't have an incubator, but they can have a pizza oven. I think the line is:

"Just use Form (something) and write in 'Pizza Oven' where it says 'Machine Gun'."

That leads, of course, into this wonderfully entertaining answer on the official USPS website about how to write to some of our cultural figures whose addresses aren't really known. My favorite part is:

Letters to God can be addressed in the same way replacing "Santa Claus" with "God".

So get on those Christmas and Miracle lists now, and try to beat the holiday rush.

Tree!

I suddenly feel so much more Christmassy.

I just couldn't face baby's first Christmas without a tree. My sister-in-law, who is an absolute rock, offered to buy me one while she was out (since I am essentially housebound for the near term) and let me pay her back for it.

She picked out this very lifelike tree, prelit and everything, and brought it by last Thursday. I couldn't have picked out a nicer one if I had been able to go out myself. Tonight, my nieces came by and helped us put it together, and the Christmas season at our house has begun.

I can't tell you how happy I am that I can take a picture of her with our Christmas tree this holiday season. If I can get out of the house to do a little shopping, just imagine the underside of the tree spilling forth with Bri presents underneath.

Limbo

Enough about the baby for now. Let's talk about me.

I am in clothing limbo. Nothing I wore during the pregnancy really fits without being oddly billowy about the tummy, and nothing I wore before the pregnancy, well, zips quite yet.

Yes, I am still going to shrink a bit. Things don't go back to their normal state right away, and I probably have the odd 10 pounds to lose before my pre-pregnancy clothes fit nicely even after everything shrinks back down that's going to shrink down, either on its own or through exercise once I get the okay to do that.

It's odd how many symmetries and parallels there are in this whole deal. Bri is spitting up a fair amount, getting used to eating her new food, just like I spent the first five or six months of the pregnancy throwing up all the time. She used to wake me up from the inside in the middle of the night kicking, and now she wakes me up from the outside to feed or change her. I had to go to my doctor all the time leading up to the day she showed up, now she has to go to her doctor all the time to make sure she's okay.

This is my least favorite one, this having nothing to wear yet again. I ran out of clothes after my stomach got to a certain size on the way up and I spent some time in too-small-for-maternity-clothes, too-big-for-my-clothes limbo. Now I'm back in it on the way down.

I Have the Sweetest Baby Ever

Do you know how freeing that is to say that?

I told myself I wouldn't be one of those parents, bragging about how their kid is clearly the most brilliant, beautiful, wonderful being on the planet. Boy, is that annoying when people do that.

However, if you were here to listen to the noise she's making right now, you'd understand. I'm sorry. She's clearly the sweetest baby ever. She's cried about four minutes in the past twenty-four hours. I realize this could change, but I've been told that the baby's personality and temperment is truly being established in this first week of her life. If she was going to be a cranky baby, she'd be showing signs of crank already. Instead, she coos and clasps her hands against her chest, and cries just long enough for someone to address whatever the problem is and then she clams up.

Sweetest. Baby. Ever. Sorry, I'm also the most annoying parent ever. Be glad I'm not in the same city with most of you to force you to oooh and aaah over pictures of her in my wallet.

You Know What's Crazy?

There is a being on this planet who can be crying one moment, and then stop the next...just because I stroke the hair on her head. Not just anyone stroking her forehead. Me stroking her forehead.

This, of course, doesn't work every time. Nor does she really cry that much, knock on wood. But still. Mind blowing, that something like that would ever be enough to work even once.

Thank goodness all the books say that you "can't spoil a newborn" now. Because I'm not sure either one of us could help it if they didn't.

Guess Who?

Please help us welcome Brigid Lorene, born on December 2, 2005. There's a baby somewhere in that blanket, I promise.

She's home, I'm home, and so is the mister. All three of us are doing really well, though it is a tossup which one of the three of us is the most tired. I think Bri might be just edging out Tom at the moment, but I could come from behind any moment now to take the crown.

Talk to you all later—somehow the internet doesn't seem all that interesting at the moment.

What Kind of M*A*S*H Person Are You?

The Hallmark channel just rewound to the beginning of series one of M*A*S*H, which I usually have on in the background between 5 and 6. This got me to thinking...you can tell a lot about a person by what kind of M*A*S*H person they are. Are you a:

1. Frank or Winchester?
2. Trapper John or BJ?
3. Henry or Potter?
4. Margaret: the Frank era, the Donald era, or post-divorce from Donald?
5. Company clerk: Radar or Klinger?
6. Cross-dressin' Klinger or not?

These are important questions. Take your time and really think about it. I'll post mine in the comments.

Butterfly House, Mark II

During the Thanksgiving weekend, I had another excursion to the butterfly house. I discovered that it is much busier on a Saturday afternoon of a holiday weekend than it was when I randomly went in the middle of the week, but it was still quite nice.

Here are some of my best shots, which I can show you this time because I actually remembered to take the camera with me. Several of the shots were ruined because it's hard to keep the lens clear in the humidity, but I like all of the following ones:

Stuck

Well, we've reached that "sit on the couch quietly and try to be calm" portion of the pregnancy. Yes, folks, I've been told to "greatly moderate [my] behavior".

I therefore now intend to bring you a glimpse of the kind of fun you can have from your own couch. The first in this series is a link to a new article at snopes.com with some pretty funny sports jokes that are making the rounds via email. Yes, you may have seen a couple of these, but there were one or two there that were new to me.

I especially like the Toronto and Philadelphia ones.

Our Date With Harry (no spoilers)

Our last big night out on the town before the baby comes has now passed. I know, I know. There's still forty-odd days (and I do mean the odd part) before that's likely to happen, but I'm already uncomfortable enough that I don't really enjoy trips away from the house anymore. I very soon will no longer be a very fun date, even though it's clear to all that I put out. (ha)

The movie itself (no spoilers, this is about the theater experience) was actually a much more laid back affair than it could have been. There was the typical big long line waiting to be let into the theater, but we got in it at just about the right time. We still got the seats in the general area we wanted and didn't have to wait in the line for more than 20 minutes. I commandeered a chair and none of the theater employees seemed too put out that I'd done it, especially as we put it back as soon as the line started to move.

As we went to the 7:00 showing, there were a fair number of rather young kids in the theater. I was wagering that the magic (pun not intended) of seeing "OMG it's Harry Freaking Potter" on the big screen would engross them to the point of rapt attention, and that was mostly true. The most annoying person in my immediate vicinity was the guy next to me, who kept getting Fred (or George, I suppose) mixed up with Ron, and asked his wife to clarify things about ten times during the movie. I blocked him out, as I'm really far too tired at this point to start some sort of pissing match in the theater.

I am now resolutely rejecting the reflex to discuss the movie. I know a lot of people haven't seen it at this point, as the theaters are pretty crowded and many of you probably don't have such a burning desire to see it that you have to brave the high population theater experience. I'll wait about a week and then post my thoughts, because I know you're all just on tenterhooks waiting to see what I think.

This Just In

All local cable company monopolies should be broken up. All monopolies of all kinds are evil. They encourage abyssmal customer service and lack of quality. Why would you even bother developing a quality product when you have no competition?

Do you want a good laugh? Our cable TV and telephone service both don't work in outdoor temperatures below freezing. Don't even get me started on how stupid that is. Want to know when they propose to fix it? Friday. Oh, not this Friday. The Friday after Thanksgiving.

It's been two months and they haven't given us consistent service in all that time. Their proposed compensation? Limited credits that don't even really cover the amount of my time they've wasted and the amount of time we've had poor or no service. News flash: not charging me money for not giving me things is not compensation. That is not a favor. That is called not mugging me.

They are so full of shit. I hate them. And whoever makes their customer service policies should be fired and then deported.

Clumsy!

Borrowed from an article I read online:

"Many women feel ungainly and tend to knock things over a lot when they're pregnant, particularly in their last few months."

I have absolutely no reason to refute the above. It's 8:11 a.m. and I've already surpassed the number of clumsy accidents I used to have in a day.

First, I was making a sandwich for the mister's lunch this morning, and after I washed off the lettuce, I set it on the paper towel for a second to put on the condiments and I brushed it with the nozzle on the top of the mustard. The lettuce fell straight to the floor and landed right in the little pile of stuff I'd just swept up in the kitchen that I hadn't gathered in the dustpan and thrown away yet. Yes, he got new lettuce. I'm not a monster.

Second, I went upstairs and got my laptop once I was sure the thunderstorm had passed. I was balancing the mouse on top of it along with the grocery store ad and the cordless phone so I could set up on the couch for a bit. I made the turn in the stairs and saw the mouse start to slide. I overcorrected and that sucker went flying onto the wood floor in the entryway. It made a horrible noise. By the time I gathered everything back together and tested the mouse it didn't work, of course. I decided to try to fix it later and went to the second mouse, stuffed in my laptop bag. Which brings me to...

Third, I found the mouse (and my Gameboy, which I've been wondering about) in my laptop bag and retreived the transmitter part (it's wireless) from another place in the house. I can't explain to you how they got separated, except that things are still in a great deal of flux here. Anyway. All that walking around, and what with it having been at least seven and a half minutes since the last time I had to use the restroom, and of course, I had to go again. Once I, er, well, took care of the one call you can't put on hold (according to Thrakkorzog) I picked up (I thought) the transmitter and the mouse and started toward the couch. Well, I didn't really have a good grip on the mouse and it fell to the kitchen floor. I swear to the FSM that it made the fricking same exact noise as the other mouse I'd just casked.

Well, neither of the mice seemed to work after being dropped. Multiple attempts to connect them with their transmitters failed. I removed batteries and waited, then reinstalled and tried again. Nothing. In a desperate attempt (I'm playing WoW tonight and have to have a mouse; if neither of these worked I'd have to go out today and buy a new one, and I still have some serious napping to do as I woke up at 4:00 with the thunderstorm and haven't been back to sleep yet) I put new batteries in both of them and tried to reconnect.

I'd like to report that my clumsiness does not, in fact, have a mousey body count. After switching the batteries out for new ones and reconnecting, both mice/transmitter combos seem to be working again.

I'm not sure there's a moral to this story. Maybe it's "stay out of the way of the lady in her third trimester, because you don't know when she's going to drop a mouse on your foot". I suppose there are worse morals.

Diamonds Under Pressure

Okay, I just saw a diamond commercial (can't remember if it's for a jeweler or just for DeBeers...I wasn't really paying attention). The only reason it caught me and made me look up was because it featured a Queen song. Under Pressure, to be precise.

Those of you who know the song, isn't there a tinge of irony here?

I'd link to a site where you can read the lyrics, but I once got a load of spyware on my computer from visiting a website to find Queen lyrics. It seems like bad mojo to do it again. However, a big part of the jist of the song is that it's about people who are hungry and living on the streets, people in dire situations struggling to survive.

And I just watched a well-heeled young man saunter into a nice-looking house and open a black velvet box with two huge diamond earrings in it, all to the tune of Under Pressure.

Surely there is a more appropriate song to pick for this. I don't have anything against diamonds per se (though I personally think they're a waste of money, and my own wedding ring isn't a diamond, so take me with a grain of salt) but why would you go out of your way to pick a song with such a contrary message?

The Infrastructure Here Is Crap

Sorry, I'm mad; bear with me. This city really sucks.

First, the sales tax is something like 8% here. I keep goggling when I hear totals at cash registers, because I kind of add things up as I go along and then estimate the tax. Old habit from my college days when I usually only had $20 on me to pay for the groceries and I had to come in under that. Eight freaking percent? The roads should be gold-paved! And this is a red state, friends. Where they supposedly aren't "tax and spend". Hah.

I just looked at the estimated property tax on this house. It's comparable, on a per-square-foot basis, to what we were paying in the old city. Except that, in the old city, that amount included trash collection, something we're paying for here.

Next on my hit parade is the fact that I have to drive fifteen miles to get a property tax waiver so I can register my car. I have an office that does registrations about two miles from the house, and they can do everything EXCEPT issue this bogus waiver. It seems to me to be just an excuse to charge new state residents an extra $10. The ladies in the (outsourced) license office were great, got me my license quickly and easily, and commisserated that the waiver is a bullshit requirement. I can only assume they were good and efficient only because they do not work directly for the bureaucracy that infects all who come into contact with it.

And finally, last Friday, we got an infraction notice from the city because we didn't buy a $25 bullshit occupancy permit that we didn't know about and no one told us about. I was further informed that we were "illegally living in [our] house" which we paid nearly a quarter of a million dollars for a couple of months ago. Hey, hey. I haven't felt like a radical since I went to a protest in downtown Boston when I was 20.

When I innocently asked for directions to city hall (not way downtown at least, the local one) I was run an incredible 'tude that included this interaction. Keep in mind that I was biting my cheek and trying to be humorously self-deprecating to get this lady to help me. I'm really bad with directions, which I cop to without reservation on relevent occasions. I think I started with, "Can you tell me where I need to go? I'm horrible with directions and I might ask some questions."

Her: "Go to <main road I know how to get to.> Then turn at the Phillips 66."
Me: "Right or left?"
Her: "<sigh> Right."
Me: "Do you know the name of that cross street?"
Her: "<heavier sigh> I think it's <name of street>."
Me: "Okay, what side of the street is the building on?"
Her: "It's City Hall, you can't miss it."
Me: (thinking, 'Doesn't she work there? Is it so hard to say left or right?') All right. What does it look like?"
Her: "It's behind <name of shopping center I already told her I didn't know by name>."
Me: "Great. What color is the building?" (thinking, 'Maybe if I ask direct questions I have a better shot at getting an actual answer.')
Her: "<great big heavy sigh, like she gets a bonus for each one> It's stone. Kind of grey."
Me: "Well, thank you. I'll get that taken care of."
Her: <hang up unceremoniously>

Jesus. I'm sorry you had a fight with your boyfriend or whatever, but you honestly shouldn't be in a job where you occasionally have to talk to people and dispense information. I can be cranky (big surprise there) but for heaven's sake...even when the cable company and I were in daily contact when we first moved in because they were utterly unable to deliver all of the services I wanted to get from them and kept changing their story about what the problem was, I never got shirty with them.

I wouldn't be shocked if someone came by and told us we needed permits for the plants in the yard or something like that. I'm sure it will be $3.50 per plant, $4.00 for trees, and I'll have to drive 45 minutes to some bad neighborhood somewhere to get my permit in person. Bitches.

Sports Night

We went to a Blues game last night. If they hadn't been plastered in "their worst game of the season", it would have been a great time.

Oh, who am I kidding? I left the house and went somewhere I've only been once before, had a pretzel and some cotton candy, and got to see my favorite player. It wasn't a bad night at all.

We went for a walk between period 2 and 3, and I think someone in the row behind us said, "Now there's a dedicated fan" when I walked by with my hand on my stomach in that pregnant lady way. Not that there were many people in the row behind us. The rink was depressingly empty, as the poor Blues currently have the lowest point total in the entire NHL.

You know what though? I still had a good time being out of the house. Those nights will be much further and fewer between quite soon, and I didn't go into labor there in the arena. It could have been much worse.

We happened past the Edward Jones Dome on the way. I have to stress that I have nothing in particular against the Rams unless they are playing the Redskins. Truly, I'd say the same thing about any team's field if it looked like the EJD. That being said, the hospital where we're taking our Lamaze class is less sterile looking than the Rams' stadium. By a wide margin. It was the Purell version of a football stadium. It was honestly depressing looking. I've never seen a dome in person before. I have to say, I'd prefer being rained or snowed on as I watched a game.

Not So Subtle

So, many of you may know the woes I had in the earlier (and not so earlier) days of the pregnancy, when no one seemed to be able to tell I was pregnant at all. I must admit, my face still hasn't filled out one bit. People who can only see me from the shoulders and up or so still don't seem to realize I'm pregnant (restaurant servers pushing margaritas on me, the lady at the DMV who was surprised when I stepped back to have my picture taken for my new license, etc.)

However, as you can see from this lovely, headless self-portrait, it's not really all that subtle when you can actually see my stomach now. In fact, my arms are quite nearly not long enough to reach the keyboard on my laptop as I lie about trying to use it. It's gotten further and further away for months now and at this point, it's closer to my knees than it is to my waist by a wide margin.

I still feel outclassed by some of the women at our Lamaze class though, many of whom are weeks behind me as we are just a tad late (only by a few weeks) in starting our classes. Now some of those girls look PREGNANT. As in, I betcha their servers at T.G.I.Fridays don't offer them the Grande Margarita Especial.

Just a tad under two months to go, unless little miss kick and stretch has other plans. Sometimes I think she plans to just come through my abdomen Alien-style. She seems to be trying it even right this second. Hopefully my singer's abs present enough of a barrier to save me that.

The Kreepy King

Do those new Burger King television ads oog out anyone other than me?

I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's the plastic, single-expression face. Maybe it's the faux fur. Maybe it's the fact that his head is way too big for his body. I just don't know. He's just not right somehow.

Don't get me wrong. If I want a quick burger, the BK Lounge is usually where I go because I don't like those goofy onions and puffy buns on McDonald's hamburgers. I have no issues with the product, when used in moderation and as an occasional treat. But this dude is just wrong.

The Scapegoat

You don't know who this guy is. If you do know him on sight, I'd wager you know more about current politics than anyone should. His name is Scooter. And if he doesn't get a pardon or an easy judge, he's going to jail for stuff I think most reasonable people would deduce that plenty of other people were in on.

He may not be saying this out loud, but he has to be thinking it. "I'm a scapegoat! Look at me! Don't look at Karl Rove! Gee, my boss didn't know anything about this! I don't know anything myself! I can't even remember my first name—that's why everyone calls me 'Scooter' for God's sake!"

Best. Apprentice. Ever.

Spoilers.

Run now. If you care. Which you might not.

First, a lot of Carolyn, my hero. Second...

"All four of you are fired."

Whoo! Didn't see that coming. I thought maybe he'd fire two of them. He's done that before. But four? All of whom were equally inept and undeserving? Awesome. I mean it.

"Oh, but you won't care..."

If one more person tells me that I will someday soon not care about something that seems fundamentally, diametrically opposed to who I know I am now and what I am comfortable and capable of, I will honestly yell at them until my voice is hoarse.

I don't care if I'm wrong. I don't care if they're right. That's still an arrogant and dismissive thing to say. I really hope I've never said anything that stupid and insensitive to anyone else. If I have done so to you, accept this as my formal apology.

What is it about this time right before you become a parent that makes some of the people around you treat you like a child? Doesn't that irony strike anyone as odd? And I know it's not just me. I have recently spoken to a couple of people who were recently in this situation and it happened to them, too.

There are many of you who may be reading this who have been nothing but supportive and really only talked to me about pregnancy related things when I brought them up or asked them a question or for their opinion. I love you people.

Good lord. Is October nearly gone already? Heavens. I can hear the clock ticking louder now. Maybe this is just me freaking out.

But I mean it about that "you won't care about _____" stuff. Seriously, don't ever say that to anyone. I can't imagine anything more disrespectful to their view of who they are and what they need in order to be comfortable.

Zero Wing Rhapsody

Okay, I know All Your Base is played out.

But the AYB version of Bohemian Rhapsody is pretty funny.

A Day That Will Live in ... Well, Not Infamy Really

Put it down on your calendars, people.

Today was the day that directions-challenged me actually printed out a map and followed it successfully to a location here in the new town that I'd never been to before. This coming from the girl who got lost going to the Target that Google Maps told me was three miles from here and ended up at the airport instead.

For those of you who do this all the time and who always seem to know through some moss-on-the-tree or direction-of-the-sun zen kind of way whether you are driving south or west or whatever, this may not sound like a big deal. For me, however, it's rather notable. I even had to wing it once, when my directions said I needed to go south on a road and I was only given options for east or west.

My reward on the other end was to sit on a bench in a pretty quiet, slightly humid and just warm enough to be comfortable without my jacket, butterfly conservatory. After walking around and taking a few pictures with my it's-too-much-for-me-but-it-was-free-with-the-plan camera phone, I sat quietly and very still on a bench for several minutes before the butterflies decided I was part of the scenery and started to land on me. Maybe it was because my shirt was light pink and some of the flowers in the area I was in were about that color; I don't know. It was rather nice once they warmed to me.

Before I decided I had to get up and drive back to my part of town to do the grocery shopping that was the more practical reason I had for leaving the house, I had at least five or six on me. Maybe more...I'm not sure if any were on my back or not. One of them lit right on my knee for about a half minute before flitting off...a very small, pretty, black butterfly with bright red markings on the wings.

There were hundreds of butterflies in there, many more than in the other butterfly house I visited a few years ago in Wisconsin. It was well worth the forty minute round trip, plus I found a bunch of blessedly-familiar stores on the way there and back which I will visit on some other day when I am possessed of more energy.

It was a full day, just a bit more than I probably really have in me at this point. It was worth it, though. Even as I'm being whacked just behind my belly button by my passenger and constant companion, too tired to get up and take my plate downstairs (and thus had to con the mister into doing it), I am glad that I went and proud that I did it all with only one very minor u-turn. Maybe I'll get the hang of this road system after all.

Best Veronica Mars Line Tonight (So Far)

"The only way I'd ever make two grand in a week working at the Hut is if they installed a pole."

Heh.

Baby 101

So, we had our first labor and infant care class this evening. Three hours. It probably should have been more like two and a half hours, but I'm hardly one to whack someone for rambling on a bit.

It's weird to be in a room with ten other pregnant women. I haven't been around that many people who are also in the situation I'm in and it is a bit odd. You find yourself comparing a bit (her stomach is bigger than mine, she looks more uncomfortable than me, I can't believe she's still flexible enough to sit like that and cross her legs, etc.) and generally wondering how they're dealing with the whole thing and if it's anything like the way we are doing it.

And the instructor. First, let me say this. Really nice lady. She obviously has a lot of experience and is a great source of information. She's quite earnest, straightforward, and has just a touch of a sense of humor. I suppose that if you get on your back on the floor and put your legs up in the air and pretend to push a baby out for about two minutes within the first two hours that you've met two dozen strangers, you would have to have a sense of humor.

That being said, do you all remember the characters Nora Dunn used to play on Saturday Night Live back in the day? The "Oh, my, what are we doing here? Well, we can't have that, now can we?" wrinkled nose, smiling women. She actually played an OB/GYN on The Nanny (Nora Dunn, not our instructor) in that show's last season. This instructor lady FORCIBLY reminded me of all those Nora Dunn type things.

A very nice lady, but just stereotypical enough to make me hide a smile behind my hand a couple of times.

The class made me feel both worse and better, which I suppose was unavoidable. But what are you going to do? Better not to be ignorant.

I felt a little like a very well-behaved Hermione through most of the class. I've been reading a lot about this whole thing and she kept asking us questions ("Do we know what the four factors of how quickly the birth will go? Hmmm?") that I basically knew the answers to, but I elected to hold back a bit because I didn't want to be the insufferable know-it-all of the class. Hopefully I can keep myself reined in.

Curtain Choices

Ah, the pictures of the second choice don't have the best color reproduction, but I'm feeling a little too tired to go in there and give it a second go.

Here is the first choice, from far away (in the context of the room and paint colors) and then close up so you can see the detail.



Now here is the second choice, same deal: far away and then with more detail. Again, the colors are WAAAY off in the first one here. Imagine it with the colors from the far off picture of the first choice; those colors are just about truely reproduced.




Okay. Votes?

Depinked

So, there are some things that you like about a house you buy, and some things you inevitably won't. One of the things in the "won't" category for us was the Big Pink Room. It's really the formal living and dining room, but that part of the floor plan is very open and it was basically one big open space that looked like it was ever so slightly embarassed.

It really should have been. It was hideous.

I, of course, forgot to take the "before" picture. However, these are the drapes that were in there. Believe me, they matched the walls. This is a bit darker pink, but not a lot. We're talking about a 700 or 800 square foot room. That's a lotta Pepto.

I realize the people who bought our old house probably felt the same way about all the stuff we did. I'm sure they hated the tan in the hallway, the blue in the master bedroom, or the sagey green/burgundy combination we put in the dining room. They easily could have hated the fruit themed wallpaper in the kitchen. I mean, we did. But in three years we just never cared enough to go out and buy the stuff to strip it and start over.

But really, unless the new owners of our new house hated EVERYTHING we did, they have it better than we do. I could show you the Noah's Ark wallpaper room, or the master bathroom that has tannish-gold tile and vanity that they paired with a flowery pink, blue, and white wallpaper. Now, I hate both of those things. But not as much as the pink room.

This is what we replaced it with. We also just took the curtains completely down to let more light in the room. The living room portion is the only room in the house that doesn't have a built-in overhead light. Pair that with four windows covered in those heavy, dark pink drapes (complete with awful matching pink balloon valances) with nearly opaque "sheers" behind them and it was one big dark pinky mess.

I admit that I am a fool for the sagey green. In my own defense, all of our nice table linens are either green or burgundy, so painting to match that stuff was a cost-cutting measure as much as anything else. Now my tablecloth and candles and whatnot don't look so out of place.

In other news, my next post will be an exciting poll for those of you who feel like weighing in. There is this mall somewhat near the house that I ventured out to today (and I paid for the trip with a two hour nap this evening) that has a J.C. Penney outlet store. I've had the worst time trying to find some curtains for the nursery and in that one outlet store I found two possibilities. They were so cheap that I bought enough of both to use and now I have no idea how to make up my mind. Where is LWC when you need her?

So after I put up the curtain rods tomorrow, I'll dress one window in each possibility, take a few snaps, and post them. I don't know if I'll let the commenting public have the last word, but I would be interested in a vote. So keep your eyes open, vote early, and vote often.

I Wish I Had Something To Say...

...but I've spent the day mostly in bed because my back really seems to have decided to go on a rather unpleasant strike. I kept trying to talk myself into going to take a bath to make it better and I couldn't even really grasp that idea.

I hear there was weather and wind and stuff outside today. I wouldn't know. Ah, I take that back. I went out on the deck in the backyard for a few minutes while I ate my Cheerios. I nearly ended up with a dead leaf in my bowl from the neighbor's tree. It hit me in the forehead instead. All things being equal, that was much better than ruining the last bowl of Cheerios in the house.

I did do a spot of spackling to prepare for the nursery being painted tomorrow. Not by me, as there is at least one source I found on the internet that says that it's safer not to paint while pregnant even if it's water-based.

I will post pictures once it's painted and the crib is put together, though. You're all quite lucky not to have been subjected to pictures of some of the cute baby clothes I've binged on buying since we found out the sex. Darling little pink things with hoods and feet built in. Oh! And thank you SP, for the pink outfit you sent here with Hollywood. I really suck, I meant to send a thank you card back with him but I totally spaced it. It's really nice and is in exactly the right size for the level of warmness she'll need when she's big enough to wear it.

I have spent altogether too much time today reading about all the choices I have ahead of me for the actual birth. As most of you reading this are men, I'll spare you the details. Is it bad though, that I'm much more concerned with the loss of dignity and autonomy than the pain? I will probably feel differently in the moment of pain, but I'm still dumbstruck at the notion of losing that much control over my life for so many hours. I am way too much of a control freak. I will probably get us kicked out of the hospital somehow and end up having the baby in the parking lot or something.

By the way, no offense, if you're a man, please do not respond to that last bit with anything that could be interpreted as advice or "my wife blah blah blah". In fact, it would probably be better to err on the side of, oh, anything else, than risking making an advice-like comment on the above. Forgive me, but I'm a little bitter about the woman's burden at the moment and anyone of the male persuasion who tweaks me at this particular juncture will probably find their comments removed and their general personage ignored until I regain my sense of humor (ETA: unknown). You know, fair warning.

I also found out that I can get Listeria and potentially lose the baby from eating COLD CUTS. Why is there no master list of crap you shouldn't do? I've read and read and read everything I could find, and today, 27 or 28 weeks in, I read about a possibility of stillbirth because of eating a little pre-packaged ham. I've probably had a cold cut sandwich at least every other day for the past two weeks for lunch. What the *(#$)*$.

Apparently, it seems I have quite a lot to say. If I wasn't so 'eh', I'd probably change the title of the entry. Feh. That would require pressing shift-tab and typing some stuff.

When TV Is Not Your Friend

The cable company should really have to block the show A Baby Story from your service when you're pregnant. I just watched an episode where it looked like the couple had invited everyone they'd ever met into the delivery room. I lost track of counting when I got to the eighth person in the room that appeared to be serving no medical purpose whatsoever.

Am I just selfish, or is it weird to anyone else that your mother-in-law, sisters, brothers, cousins, your child, random strangers off the street, would be in the delivery room? Seriously, if I could figure out some way to safely and somewhat comfortably do the whole thing by myself, I'd probably do it.

Now I am going to try to go back to sleep. Some idiot telemarketer (it takes six weeks for your number to register on the National Do Not Call Registry) woke me up at 8:00 a.m. after I was up from 3:3o a.m. until 6:00 a.m., only to wake up briefly at 6:30 a.m. and finally drop back off around 7:00 a.m. It might be worse to get sleep in little bits like that than it would have been to just get the heck up. I suppose it's just preparing me to get up with the baby.

Gosh, being tired is just making me ramble. I'm out.

An Excellent Interview

I realize some of you may have already seen this—I'm not sure if Neil Gaiman plugged it on his blog or not.

However, on the off chance that you haven't seen it, and if reading a transcript of a conversation between Joss Whedon and Neil Gaiman (moderated somewhat needlessly but unobtrusively by Time magazine) intrigues you, then stop reading my schlock and go read that instead.

I can't tell you how many times I wished I could cut through a con crowd with a full guard battalion of Klingons, myself.

For Our Pals in the Old 'Hood

Surely, if you watch television at all in that market, you've seen that commercial with the craggy-looking old man talking tough about some local lawyers. Part of the script is, "...tell the insurance companies...you...mean...business. Call (name of law firm)...right now!"

I have come to find out that is the low-rent version of that commercial. That script must be used all over the country, because we have a law firm here that has the exact same schtick working. Except...

It's Shatner doing the delivery! Seriously. Emmy award winning actor William effing Shatner telling me to tell the insurance companies that I mean business.

Trade You My Lead for Your Oreos

Who in their right mind would decide to produce those soft vinyl lunchboxes for kids with popular characters on them and then shoot 'em full of lead.

One of the best things about back to school for me every year was getting to pick out my new lunchbox. It was a serious decision; you would be stuck with that character all year, for better or for worse. Pick something lame and you could get teased. Pick something cool and you got to watch kids look longingly at the picture on your lunchbox all year.

Now there's kids out there getting lead on their hands and food while they're trying to trade away that egg salad sandwich. What I don't know is if this was a new development or if those boxes have always contained lead. I suppose you can take a "hey, we lived through it and we're okay" outlook on it, but look at the list of symptoms of low-level lead poisoning:

"Lead poisoning can reportedly lower intelligence, cause mental retardation, memory problems, depression, fatigue, hyperactivity, aggression, hearing loss, liver or kidney damage, osteoporosis, high blood pressure and anemia."

I mean, do any of those sound unfamiliar? Aren't those most of the conditions targetted by the drugs they market to us in those vague commercials with pictures of couples holding hands or guys playing tennis?

Ultrasound

I read somewhere once that no one wants to see the ultrasound pictures of your baby but you, your parents, your spouse, and their parents.

Well, T.S. Here it is anyway.

I know it may be hard to make out, but the bright white circle near the top right corner is the baby's forehead. Under that are two eyes, the nose, and then what the technician described as a "smirk". This was probably because the baby was kicking back at the ultrasound wand the entire time.

No one tells you that ultrasounds sort of hurt. They have to press kind of hard on your tummy to get a good image. It was worth it though, to see the heart beat, see the face, and then spend a couple of moments in suspense while we looked for proof of the baby's gender.

I decline to post the image that proves the baby's gender, although I will describe something humorous about it. There is a place for the tech to type in descriptive info (this was largely used for things like "arm", "leg", "kidney", "heart", etc. while the tech was taking measurements and such) but the proof of gender picture says GIRL on it, and just in case we weren't sure, she added a helpful little arrow toward the definitive area. I didn't notice the arrow until we were walking toward the restrooms on our way out, when I started to giggle at the silliness of it.

Anyway, everything looks healthy and growing as it should. And now I can make the final paint and decorating choices. I know you were all quite anxious about the drapes I was going to pick out. You can all rest easy now. They'll be pink to go with the light green on the walls.

The Spice Rack

This lovely spice rack is now up on my kitchen wall. I know it doesn't look like it, but it is actually level. There is an unusually long story that goes along with this innocent-looking spice rack.

I talked about my estate sale lampshade in the last post. This is an estate sale spice rack. I saw it in a pile of kitchen stuff, oh, must be over two years ago by now. It was marked $4.00, but it was Sunday, and Sunday was half-price day. $2.00 for a nice big spice rack! Excellent.

I snatched it up and purchased it along with some other stuff (I would never wait in a Sunday estate sale line to spend $2.00.) Packed my crap into my car and took it home. Then I looked around my kitchen in the old house.

There was no wall space large enough to hang it on. A moment's thought and I would have realized that before I bought it.

As I am not nearly kitchy enough to hang a spice rack in any room other than the kitchen, it ended up in my garage. I am physically incapable of throwing something like that away, even though I felt silly for buying it.

I should probably have offered it to CK and LWC when they bought their house, as they have plenty of wall space for something like that. By then, though, it was forgotten in a corner in my garage.

I pulled it out of one of the kitchen boxes that I didn't pack and had a momentary flash of annoyance as I remembered how I bought something I should have known I couldn't use. Then I remembered that I was in a completely new house, and looked behind me to see a roughly spice rack-sized space of open wall next to the cabinets on the stove wall.

When I finally found the level in the basement today and remembered that I knew where the screwdriver set and the toolbox were, I hung the thing and put my damn spices away.

Took me two years, but I finally got to use the bloody thing. My $2.00 at work!

My Goodness, the Packing

Here is a picture of one of our glasses. I know it's hard to judge the scale. I probably should have put a quarter or something in the picture so that all of you could see what sort of glass we're talking about here.

Suffice it to say, you should consider this a regular-sized drinking glass.

Now I would like to illustrate how insanely carefully the packers packed our stuff. I'm not done unpacking yet, but I swear, I still feel like I'm swimming in packing paper and empty cardboard boxes. I'd just say they over-padded the items in their boxes, but I'm not sure that statement does the truth justice.

This is the amount of packing material that was around that single glass. Again, I realize now it's hard to judge the scale. That, my friends, is a picture of four pieces of butcher paper. Butcher paper is roughly the size of a large piece of posterboard. One was partially stuffed into the glass and the rest was wrapped around the top. The next two were wrapped puffily around the glass, and then the fourth was wrapped smoothly around the outside of the entire package. When I picked the first one up, I was trying to figure out what had been in my kitchen that was that big.

I also unpacked a large box filled about 85% full with butcher paper and 15% full with a single lampshade. Yes, it was a large lampshade. Yes, it is covered in plain cloth that could theoretically be damaged if something sharp were packed with it.

I also know that I purchased that lampshade at an estate sale for $2.00. I'm not sure it was at all worth the trouble to pack all by its lonesome in a rather large box with approximately $85.00 worth of packing paper around it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go stuff some more packing paper into empty boxes so we can, you know, walk around.

What the—?!?

With very little time left in the Monday night Cowboys/Redskins game last night, I was despondent that they were doing so poorly. I believe I speculated, when Tom walked through the room with about 4:00 left in the fourth quarter, that it wasn't whether they would come back and win but whether they would be shut out or not.

So I turned the game off. I'm not good at watching them lose to the effing Cowboys. Again.

Then they proceeded to win the fucker.

And I missed it.

Apparently, all they were waiting for was my lack of faith. Does this mean I'm not allowed to watch them anymore?

Turing Test

Sorry, I had to implement the bogus, annoying, Turing test (CAPTCHA) on the comments. I just had to delete five (five!) spam comments from the post I made about an hour and a half ago. Some stupid spambot must be tracking me through my rss feed and posting when I make a new post.

Why me, I dunno. Bitches.

Still Love Stephen

Even though he's wearing the wrong colors, boy, do I still like to hear about Stephen Davis having a kick-ass day.

Good thing that asshat Spurrier ruined the last bit of his time as a Redskin by trying to run him to the outside and then pretty much benching him.

Three touchdowns. Lovely. At least I don't hate the Panthers. I can't tell you how horrible it would be if I had to watch him do that stuff for the Cowboys or something hideous like that.

How To Tell You're Still a Geek

It's when you read an article, linked from Slashdot, about the UI design of Firefox, and you get upset when the author suggests that the tabbed browser windows don't conform to some outdated IE UI standards.

I mean, my heart started beating faster at the notion that someone might listen to this guy and ruin the best part of Firefox, the beautiful, unconnected-from-each-other tabs.

I have eight tabs active right now. Ask me if I want 8 separate windows (no) or if I want all these tabs to share the same forward/back history (no).

Goodness, though. Even through extreme cardboard box-related and cable company-induced (more on this later) exhaustion, I still have the geek factor necessary to get all worked up about browsers and UIs and such.

And here I thought my brain was already turning to mush.

In the House

So, we and our stuff are inside the confines of the house. There is still an incredibly large cardboard quotient going on here. Also, the cable order got screwed up and they didn't bring boxes for all the television sets. This means we have no remote control in our bedroom and that we can't hook up the TiVo yet, which makes Kathy cross.

However, we do have the internet and the wireless up and running (using it to write this now) which makes me feel like a real person again. Some of the cable is working as intended, so hopefully that will mollify me a bit. A bit. Not all the way, but a bit.

Telephone is hooked up. Still waiting to switch over wireless phone numbers until the move shenanigans are over, because all of the move people only have those two numbers. Those of you who currently have our telephone numbers can expect an email or something with the new numbers in the next week or so.

God, there's a lot of cardboard here. Some of our furniture is still shrink wrapped. I have money flying all over the place. Oh, and the deal on the house in VA is now done, and we don't own that house anymore. The relocation firm does, and I can officially forget about it. Nice feeling.

More later. Miss all you VA people. Stay safe with that hurricane or tropical storm or whatever it's calling itself now. Blog so we know you're okay and you still have power and whatnot.

Podcasts...We've Got Podcasts

A lot of you who might be reading this are familiar with Mike Stackpole. Most of you will know him from his writing, most popularly, his Star Wars novel work. A fair number of you also know him personally through The Company. Meeting nice guys like Mike Stackpole is one of the things that sucks about the crash and burn of The Company, actually.

Through a fairly circuitous route, I just stumbled upon a project that is at least partially brought to us by Mr. Stackpole, The Sci-Fi Podcast Network. I haven't had a chance to listen to any of the podcasts yet, but several of them seem really promising!

The Hidden Porn-O-Rama

I'm still giggling. I was looking at my site statistics and found this keyword that brought some poor, misguided dope using the MSN search to this here humble blog.

just fucking and sucking

And also from, I'm assuming, the same MSN user, came this:

sucking games

Imagine how disappointed you'd be to be looking for the type of thing suggested by those search terms and end up here instead. Not once, but twice!

Also, we closed on our new house this morning and we can go ahead and move into it tomorrow. Normally that would be a whole blog post, but I find myself infinitely more amused by the search terms.

Dammit Crap Can You Believe the Timing

The baby is kicking really hard against my hand right now. I can see my hand moving up with each kick and I'm sure I can really feel it from the outside, not just from the inside.

Tom, of course, will not be back from work for another hour or so. He hasn't got to feel one yet and it always seems to happen when he's not accessible. Argh!

Made It

Well, we got here yesterday at 11:15 p.m. local time, after leaving the beach at about 10:00 a.m. The cats did a great job in their cage in the back seat. Tosca even allowed Muse to use the litter box at one point, which I was very concerned about as she is quite territorial. I was very proud of how they both just rolled with it and even seemed to enjoy looking at the sights out the windows.

Trip was pretty uneventful. Our gas mileage, even with the hybrid-unfriendly West Virginia mountains, was right around 40 miles to the gallon. We had to stop every couple of hours so I could walk around and get circulation moving around the baby, but it didn't seem to hold us up too much. We pretty much thought the whole time that we'd show up here just after 11, and we did.

For right now, I am in the hotel room (where we'll be until we close on the house later this week) and I plan to take a massive nap right now. Had to get up to get the cats to their last boarding facility until I can get them settled at the new house as soon as we take possession. I felt horrible leaving them in yet another cage, but I have nowhere else for them to be. At least they will be safe and they are in the right state, finally.

We miss all you guys already. It still really hasn't sunk in that this isn't a vacation. On the drive yesterday, I kept wondering what all the stuff we were passing would look like from the other side of the highway before I remembered that this was a one-way trip.

More later, after I get some more sleep.

Moving on my Birthday

So, today is my 33rd birthday. It is not, however, the only time I have ever moved on my birthday.

Back in 1984, my family moved from California to Virginia so my dad could take a promotion. I remember goofy bits of the move like helping my mom pack our stuff, how much my dad was gone (he started the job six months before we moved—which I realize now was done so we could finish the school year) and the long, boring drive across the entire country.

I remember when we began the drive, I could hear the stadium announcements of the last game of the season for our local AA affiliate. The stadium was right down the street from us, and we drove past it on our way out. With dad gone most of the summer (the move took forever in the end...we had trouble finding a house and then we couldn't get into it until September) the three of us went to every single baseball game that season. Some of the players knew me by name. Especially the relief pitchers, as I tended to hang out with a gang of kids who spent a lot of time in the metal bleachers near where the relief pitchers sat in their folding metal chairs, waiting to be called to warm up. One of them used to sneak me baseballs when he could. They were ususally old and scuffed and probably would have been thrown away if he hadn't given them to me, but the biggest fit I pitched during the move was probably when my mom told me I could only pack one or two and that I should give the rest of them away to the other kids.

So yes, although I spent most of my youth uninterested in watching or playing sports, I did spend one glorious, odd summer at a minor league baseball park. For every single game but the very last one, that is. That one, I heard one of the players ground out to the shortstop as we rolled by the stadium in the car.

That was probably six days before my birthday. It took us five days to drive across the country. We only drove about six or seven hours a day. My mother had a set of AAA Triptiks with each day's route planned out and hotel reservations in each town we were to stop in. I remember the moment that I did the calendar math in my head and I realized that we would be arriving in Virginia on September 10th and that I would be starting school the next day.

On my birthday.

First day in a new school, first day in middle school. All of which would come, rather miserably, on the one holiday a year that belonged only to me.

Well, I survived it, obviously. I don't even remember it being all that bad in the end, as I met the two people that day who I would be friends with for the next several years, and they accepted me into the group at their lunch table that very first day. We were still staying in the apartment my father had rented, waiting for our things to show up on the moving truck, but we went out to dinner for my birthday and there was a cake hidden in one of the cabinets when we got back. It really wasn't so bad at all.

Finally, as we turn our attention back to 2005, I hope the same will be true this time. I probably wouldn't choose to spend my 33rd birthday in a car for more than a dozen hours, pregnant, and cramped because of all the stuff we have to cram somewhere in the car. I certainly wouldn't choose to spend it with my poor cats locked in a cage in the back seat of that car, making the most pathetic and wretched noises that make me wish I could snap my fingers and they'd be safely in Archtown.

We joked last night about taking a picture of them in the cage and posting it to one of our blogs with the caption, "Because of you, WH, we are locked in this cage. Thanks." It was funny at the time, I promise.

However, like I've been saying to myself over and over for the past week or so, things may be complicated for us right now, they may be stressful and they may be rather labor-intensive. The one constant is that the minute hand keeps making dizzy circles past all twelve numbers and that hour hand keeps crawling along too. No matter what happens, as long as we get the big stuff taken care of, the time will tick by and we will put this all behind us. I will, sooner rather than later, be 33 years and one day old, and time will continue to march on.

Peace Out, Y'all

Well, we got professionally packed (courtesy of the new airplane company) yesterday and then loaded onto a moving truck (again, thank you new airplane company) today. Our old house is now empty and waiting for the closing.

Even though I had to do much more minimal labor than if we had to move ourselves, I still feel somewhat like a truck ran me over. I've just completed a two hour nap, which brings me to 9 hours of sleep over the last two days. Hopefully I will sleep most of tomorrow, when we drive somewhere between 13 and 15 hours in one day out to the arch. We have to do it in one day, you see, because we will be carrying two cats in a cage in our back seat. I just didn't have it in me to put them in the cargo hold of an airplane.

Those boxes to the right are a mere pittance of the 210 boxes and 160 "misc." items on our manifest. Where did we get all that crap?

The very good news so far is that, contrary to many professional moves, our load is the only load on the truck, and the driver is actually based out of Archtown. He is really happy to be headed home and basically asked me when I wanted the stuff delivered. I went from having a 3-7 day delivery window to being able to say, "How about 9 a.m. on the 15th?"

This means that all my televisions and my computer will be there and out, ready for the cable, telephone, and internet installer to show up that afternoon and connect everything.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Anyway, to those of you still in beach country, we're out as of tomorrow morning. Thanks for everything.

For the Record, I'm Not Completely Miserable

So, tonight, talking to a friend, my sister's current age somehow came up in conversation.

Turns out she's 37 at the moment.

It's a long story, but another friend of ours has this quoted at him all the time when he is playing World of Warcraft with his Clerks-themed character (even though it refers to the wrong character, which is part of what makes it funny).

I didn't realize it right away, but when I realized I was being smirked at, I remembered the significance of 37. It was quite funny, and we had a lovely laugh.

Especially when I added, "In a row?!?"

Pack it Up

For heaven's sake. I have a team of people coming here tomorrow to pack up my house.

How have I been preparing for this for the past I-don't-know-how-long and yet I'm terrified that I won't be able to finish the getting ready festivities this evening? I have to pack a couple suitcases of stuff I don't want them to mess with. I have to put post-its on everything else I don't want them to pack.

So why am I sitting here instead of getting off my ass and taking care of it? I just couldn't tell you. But I'm getting up now to take care of it.

I feel like I'm taking a test I didn't study for! Ack!

The Definition of "Not Getting It"

Sometimes I forget exactly how disconnected the truly rich and powerful must be from the rest of regular society. It's quite natural, I suppose, if you find yourself in an advantageous position, to take the simplest path. That path leads to acclimating yourself only to your own circumstances and assuming that everyone not in that golden light with you is somehow struggling along okay no matter what happens to them.

After all, if they're poor, they must be used to being miserable, right? So it doesn't really much matter how you might feel if you were in their position, because they are somehow innately equipped to deal with adversity because of all the practice they have with it.

Where is all this leading? Listen to this shit. For those of you who can't hear the clip or just don't feel like clicking on it, that is Barbara Bush saying: (highlight to see the text below, I'd rather have you hear it in her voice if you can rather than just read it...it's anticlimactic this way)

"And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this—this is working very well for them."

Holy Crap

I just got done looking at the list of things I have to do before I go to sleep this Friday night. It seems simultaneously far away and so close that I can't breathe.

Maybe I just never let it completely sink in. The list is long. Not so long it can't be done, but long enough to make me want to pull the covers over my head and hope it will all go away somehow.

I was sitting here about a half hour ago and I had to get up to get something. I felt the by-now familiar pull of gravity on the heavy bit of my stomach that's sticking out, and it hit me all at once.

I'm the adult. The one on this end of the move, anyway. I have to do these things. I have to grab them and make them all happen. No one is going to swoop in and make it all go away. I have to be the grown up and take the responsibility that it will all happen.

Then it all really hit me. The number of living beings counting on me to not screw this up, this series of things that are now my responsibility, is the largest it has ever been in my life, and this is the first time I didn't have a safety net of my parents or someone else behind me to help me in case there's one last little thing that I just couldn't seem to manage.

If I mess something up, it could mean anything from inconvenience to a financial penalty to complete and utter logistical disaster.

Somehow, we both have to be in St. Louis a week from tomorrow. I know it sounds dumb that I just didn't get it until now, but I just did.

The hardest thing on my list right now is getting some effing sleep. That list is just sitting there, lurking on my desktop and making my head spin. I understand that there is little I can do to affect the situation at 2:00 in the morning on the Labor Day holiday, but somehow my brain thinks that keeping me awake will be helpful in some way.

Screw it. I'm at least going to turn out the light and close my eyes. Maybe the rest will follow if I just let it happen. Maybe I should enjoy the one thing that's just supposed to happen, the thing that doesn't take a phone call, planning, negotiating, action.

I think I actually realized I have to be a grown up.

Leave of Absence

Well, that was interesting.

I've just gotten back from spending a few days in the only place, presumably, that I can't just open my laptop and find myself on a wireless network—my parents' house.

I mean, I am leaving and taking their soon-to-be grandchild 900 miles away. I really wanted to visit for a bit before we left.

My head is swimming with so many different things, and honestly all I should really do is go back to sleep. The one thought that keeps swimming through my head is:

"How, exactly, do you live in the same house with two people for 18 years and end up completely in accord with them on half of the things that come up, and absolutely diametrically opposed to them on the other half?"

I mean, there's no middle ground. None. I'm either nodding my head as they speak, or trying not to argue with them. Weird. Very weird.

Cabinetgate

An emotional, hormonal, slightly off-kilter pregnant woman should never go to an estate sale when she has to leave the house to allow potential buyers to walk through it and decide not to buy it. Odd things happen when friends let friends go to estate sales.

I bought a perfectly lovely little table for $10. It fit in the back seat of my car. I also purchased a lighthouse stained glass thingie that I will refuse to list here what I paid for it because one of the people I gave it to will read this. (It didn't break the bank though, don't worry.) It really should have stopped there.

I passed what is known in the estate sale biz as the "bid box" in the kitchen on the way out with my stuff. Then I remembered the cabinet that was in the kitchen that I saw first thing when they finally called my number and let me in the house.

I put in what I felt sure was a too-low bid on the cabinet and left without really thinking about it. I have no idea how I thought I would get that cabinet back to my house in the event that they decided to sell it for me for my proposed price. I honestly thought it would sell for its marked price and that would be the last I would see of it.

Well...that picture of the cabinet above was taken in my garage, so I think you can all see that I did have to think about that cabinet again.

I got a call while I was over at CK and LWC's and picked it up HOPING it was my agent telling me there was an offer on my house. Instead, it was a nice lady telling me I could buy the cabinet for my ridiculously low bid price if I could finagle find someone to help me with it.

We ate dinner and I ruminated on this. The cabinet will be helpful in the new house. I have movers coming who will move it for us with no additional fuss when we head out. If I could get it back to the house, it would be a win/win. I tried to think of people I know who have access to appropriate vehicles, but as I am already busy carrying the baby, I also had to find someone who wouldn't mind carrying most of the weight of a cabinet for two pretty short stretches.

I thought for a bit, and remembered my friend from Tennessee's hatchback with fold-down seats. You should really never buy a vehicle like this, or desperate pregnant women will call you and ask for favors you don't owe them. He agreed, I was delighted, and the pickup basically went without a hitch. My friend (who I'm not mentioning here by name because I don't know his policy on using his name online) was a real trooper because it was crowded at the sale and sort of warm for moving furniture largely on one's own. He also had to drive down General Booth with the back of his car hanging open, and did an absolutely splendid job. And finally, he was the only one of the two of us smart enough to realize the cabinet had a built-in light and was still tethered to the wall by the cord as we were trying to move it out of the house where I bought it. So, smart and helpful!

I did take him to lunch to thank him, but as he will probably read this, thank you again! My cabinet thanks you! The mister thanks you! Thank you for enabling my temporary estate sale-induced insanity. I promise I won't do it again. Honest.

(I don't think there are any good estate sales next weekend anyway.)

Everyone is being really nice right now and stepping in to help and I would really just like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who have offered or given me help during this stressful transition time. I won't be here too much longer for you to call the favors back, so I know it is especially selfless.

Like Floss for the Mind

So, CK's LWC and I were watching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban today and I remembered something I'd wondered about the last time I watched it.

You know when you see someone in a movie and you think, "What else have I seen them in?" I had that very familiar, universal moment when Mrs. Weasley was clucking over Harry in the pub near the beginning of the movie. It took a moment to place it, but I suddenly realized that she was probably Rita from Educating Rita. I meant to IMDB it, but I forgot to do it just then.

I finally remembered to check on it tonight, and as some of you may already be thinking, "How could she not know that was the same person?" I should tell you that she is indeed the same person.

Even though I was pretty sure I was right even before I checked, I still felt that tiny little moment of relief and triumph when I confirmed it. What is it that silly little things like that can make you feel so much more clear? It's like proof that your brain is still working, still finding connections and patterns.

Mindless Bitching

I took a nap this afternoon, after sort of a weird, restless night. I fell asleep around 1:15 p.m., awoken only at about 1:50 p.m. when my cellular rang.

It was our realtor. I just had this weird feeling when I picked it up that it wasn't "there's an offer on your house," but something annoying instead. I was right about that.

"You're at work, aren't you? I'm just double-checking."

"No, I told you that I'd given my notice and I wasn't going to work again."

(I'm thinking, in the back of my mind, "Isn't that why we stressed that it was really important for you to give me as much notice as possible about people making appointments?" I remember talking to her about this on Monday. I realize we aren't her only concern, but if she can't remember that one thing, I'm sure there's someone who can.)

"Oh, no! There's someone coming between 2 and 3."

I think I just blinked a few times and looked at the clock again. It said 1:53. I had been drooling into my pillow about four minutes before that. The house wasn't really set up at all (all the lights on, all that BS) and my laptop was sitting open on the bed (we don't leave it in the house during showings...too easy to steal).

"Do you want me to call them?"

"Uh, yeah," I told her, with what I'm sure was a 'duh' tone of voice.

She did call them and she bought me some time. I got dressed, packed up the computer, got into the car, and drove away to my safe haven (thanks CK and LWC!) I stayed there until I felt the coast was clear, playing Mario Kart Double Dash (damn Bowser combo kept challenging me). Got home and got settled again, only to have my phone ring again. It was the realtor again.

"I just got a voice mail telling me some people want to see your house, but it sounds like they're on their way over there now! I'm going to call them back but I wanted to tell you just in case they showed up there in the next few minutes."

I had just enough time to complain to the mister on instant messenger when my phone rang again.

"Ah, it sounds like they want to come tomorrow. And someone else wants to come between 9-11 in the morning. Okay?"

Won't someone please just buy this bitch so I don't have to leave my bloody house for random blocks of hours? It is a real pain in the ass when things are in such flux and I am really feeling run down and tired all the time. This is part of why I was looking forward to having some time where I wasn't working before the move, so I could rest up a bit.

It is not really working out that way.

Whine whine whine.

I'm beginning to hate every single wall, door, and nail in this place.

The Whammy

First off, those of you whom I saw last night, it was a great time. Thank you for putting up with my heartburn troubles when I first got there. I am really, really glad that it subsided enough for me to truly enjoy being there and have a good time.

Also, I know why you should never talk about the no-hitter now. We got word last night that an offer on the house would be coming through today. We told several people about it and I actually let the feeling of relief wash over me.

Hah! Chump.

I had a call on the answering machine when I got home from the airport that the offer would be written this afternoon instead of this morning, so I didn't really start to feel oogy about it until five o'clock rolled around. Six o'clock...seven. At eight I talked to the mister, and we decided one of us should call our realtor. I'd been holding off because I believed she wouldn't sit on new information. I mean, if she knew something, she'd call, right?

Well, it turns out I am not the center of the universe (I'm as shocked as the rest of you) and she was tied up this afternoon and early evening showing a house. I did get that trademarked, realtor "Oh, I was just about to call you..." thing when she picked up, so at least I got a laugh out of it.

Turns out there was some sort of glitch in the financing of people who have been to our house FOUR TIMES now. You would think in the week or so that it takes you to come to the same house four times you would make sure your loan is in place before you give us fifteen minutes to get out of our house so you can "look at it one more time" before you put in your offer. Not that I'm bitter about being tossed out in the middle of a really bad bout of heartburn.

Our realtor got the impression that it is possibly a problem that can be worked out tomorrow when they have another chance to speak with their lender, but for heaven's sake, they didn't have much luck with it today, did they? Plus, she's scheduled a showing for tomorrow...there were none today, I suspect because we thought there was a solid offer coming in. I don't think the new showing is a good sign that she really believes this first offer will really come through.

I really wanted to squeeze a contract in before the possible local base closing could make all of our property values go down and cause some rather interesting real estate problems for us on the Gateway City end of things. But the debate is supposed to go on tomorrow and it seems to be spooking some buyers.

Insert heavy sigh here.

I keep telling myself it'll sell, but it sure would be nice to be able to actually relax in my house instead of having to be ready to leave on a moment's notice and have it in perfect showroom condition at all times. I miss being able to leave dishes in the sink for a bit if I had to.

One more thing, just a warning. If you are around me between now and when I pull up stakes and join the mister under the arch, don't drink out of my water glass. I'm pretty much nursing baking soda water 24/7 these days, since it seems to help keep the heartburn at bay. Not that it helped last night until it was just a bit too late, but I'll do anything to keep that flaming hot pike out of my chest. That includes drinking water that smells and tastes like Formula 409. Urk.

Where Were You on the Night Of...?

10 years ago today: August 22, 1995
I was still in Northern Virginia. I googled that date and it looks like it was a Tuesday, so I'm going to assume I was at work. Back then, I worked far too many hours at my job, mostly because I was more bored at home than I was there. I believe I was just starting to dig myself out of the financial hole I was in after my sister moved out of the apartment we shared. She did it without any forewarning while I was at work one day, leaving me with stacks of bills I thought had been paid. I think that was in July, so the timing on that should be just about right.

5 years ago today: August 22, 2000
I was probably just about nearing the most I'd ever weighed in my life, right around 210 pounds. This was apparently also a Tuesday according to the day of the week calculator I found on the all-mighty IntarWeb, so I'm going to again assume that I showed up for work. The highlight of the work day was probably walking over to the mall to have lunch in the food court with the SA guys. I'm going to guess that I was still eating fried food and a salad with two containers of bleu cheese dressing for lunch, since my weight was still on the upswing. If there was a new Buffy episode that night, it was probably the horrible Buffy vs. Dracula, so I'm just going to pretend the season hadn't started yet.

1 year ago today: August 22, 2004
This may actually have been the day of the State Championship Time Trial bicycle race. Suffice it to say, I had lost the weight by then. I ended up coming in third but getting the silver due to a registration technicality. I really wanted to win, but knew deep down I wouldn't. In the end, I was just glad to finish the thing in the 98 degree heat and do as well as I did.

yesterday: August 21, 2005
Woke up feeling not as sick (got a little cough/cold thing going since the plane flights home) as the day before. I found I could actually talk without my throat threatening to burst into flames! Spent the morning readying the house for possible buyers (again) and then hid out at CK and LWC's. They graciously allowed me to drool on their couch for a bit (I tend to nap a bit these days) and then there was football and Mario Karting and chinese food. A good time, although I fear they may be getting a bit weary of me for those eight hour stretches while I hide out from the potential buyers.

Came home. Watched the last episode of Six Feet Under ever, finding out how and when everyone on the show was destined to die. Watched Entourage with the mister, but left to retire to the bedroom when he turned on the kryptonite. Promptly got heartburn, the new joy of the second trimester. Nothing worked for hours until the mister couldn't stand to see me writhing anymore and went out at 1 a.m. in search of the three things I'd read about that are safe to take that might help: baking soda, milk, and Tums. Sadly, it seems the true remedy is a large spoonful of baking soda dissolved in a little water and drunk before you can think about how nasty it is. Killed the pain in less than 10 minutes, then staved it off again this morning at 6 a.m. when it threatened to come back.

tomorrow: August 23, 2005
Tomorrow I have to put my husband on a plane so he can start his new job. I don't see him again until September 9th. I will be spending time between here and my parents'. Other than the excuse to go see my parents, I am quite unhappy at the prospect of such a long separation.

5 snacks I enjoy
You mean now, or before I was pregnant? I'll go with "all time" stuff, after which you will see how I got to 210 pounds. 100 Grand bars, Juicy Pear jelly bellies, Swedish Fish, Mushrooms and Bleu Cheese dressing, anything but Corn Flakes out of the sugary cereal variety pack.

5 bands that I know most of their lyrics
Wish I could help you out there. Pretty much just Queen.

5 things I'd do with a million $$
Pay off a house so I could get rid of one bill a month, invest, put a GPS in my car, redo the kitchen of the paid off house with light oak cabinets and real marble countertops, put a computer in every room hooked up to a T1.

5 places I'd run away to
Honestly, I don't like to travel that much. There are a few places I wouldn't mind spending a week in. Disneyland/Disneyworld (doesn't matter which), London, Milan, the Smithsonian warehouse of things that don't fit in the museums, and Hogwarts.

5 bad habits I have
My temper, talking too much and not letting everyone else have a go, procrastination, too easily given over to frustration, and biting my cheek when I'm nervous.

5 things I like doing
Games, staying home in the quiet, watching television, reading, pondering.

5 things I wouldn't wear (Halloween costumes excepted)
Tube tops, fishnet stockings, stiletto heels, wool (allergic), a bikini.

5 TV shows I love (mostly defunct, sadly)
Veronica Mars, Entourage, The Tick, Sports Night, Max Headroom.

5 movies I love
I should just take my top 5 from the my top 50 list, but I'm going to switch it a bit to the current stuff, the ones I know will change as soon as my mood changes. Yes, one of these isn't out yet, but the anticipation of it is as good as the memory of any other movie I can think of.

Empire (but you're killing me, George Lucas), Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, The Two Towers, Love, Actually, and Woman of the Year.

5 famous people I'd like to meet
Lord, I suck at talking to famous people. I think I prefer to leave them famous and afar. Anyone I've ever met in person has become that little bit less interesting than they were before.

5 biggest joys at the moment
The mister, when the baby moves, when I don't have heartburn or nausea, naps, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

5 favorite toys
Laptop, TiVo, wireless router, digital camera, Google.

5 people to tag
The Mister (he's my husband, I can re-tag if I want to)
Brad
Karzender
Dr. Heimlich
Kindralas