Fly Me To The Moon

Painfully shy does not even begin to describe me in the first 16 years of my life. I could not talk to anyone on the phone, I got straight A's in school because I was terrified of attention being drawn to me if I ever had anything other than the right answer and I rarely spoke a word to anyone.

This is a bit of background for the story I'm about to share.

When I was in morning kindergarten at the Van Duyn school in Syracuse, New York, I had an admirer named Billy Bartlett. He was my teacher. (Okay, that's gross even for me...just seeing if you were paying attention.) Billy was my age -- a peer -- a classmate -- five years old (did I just reach the point where I'm protesting too much?) In his attempts to woo me, Billy came up with many stories -- including one about him being an astronaut and going to the moon.

Apparently, Billy had a thing for the quiet types -- perhaps I came across as mysterious and compelling in my refusal to say anything out loud. Or, maybe he thought I was a mime. I don't know. But he did decide that I was the girl for him. And he was persisent. And because I was so shy, Billy somehow became my boyfriend (whatever that means in morning kindergarten), even though I don't remember having much say in all of it. (I learned later that this personality type is generally referred to as "stalker" who "preys upon women who are vulnerable and do not stand up for themselves" -- ah, the folly of youth.)

Billy's mom worked at the lunch counter at Woolworth. (How many of my younger readers are choking on their lunch as they read that last sentence? Yes, there used to be "lunch counters" and they used to be at Woolworth. Google it, whippersnappers.) Billy had his mother call my mother to arrange a lunch date one day after we got out of morning kindergarten. The plan was that Billy's older brother would pick us up from school and drive us to Woolworth and we'd have a leisurely, romantic lunch and then Billy's mom would drive me home when we were done.

I'm sure this seemed cute to the parents involved and I'm sure Billy loved it, but from the moment it was arranged I was scared to death. I knew I wouldn't be able to talk to his brother or his mom and just having to be somewhere without my mom or dad petrified me.

On the appointed day of our "date," I decided that I just could not go through with it and began my regular walk home with my friend, Cheryl. We got about a block away from school and a car pulled up next to us with Billy, Billy's older brother, and two other teenagers in it. Billy and his brother rolled down the car window and called, "Kathy....Kathy...." I stared straight ahead and kept walking toward home. My friend, Cheryl, tugged on my sleeve and said, "um...I think they're talking to you." Without looking at her, I said..."Look straight ahead and keep walking.." Billy and his brother kept calling my name for the next block or so (and yes, I could hear the other teenagers in the car laughing) and then finally just gave up and drove away. (In my defense...I was already the shyest kid on the planet...and was a nervous wreck about these plans...and then they bring in two other teenagers...just wwwaaayyy too much for my 5-year-old self to handle.)

My mom was furious when I made it home, and called Billy's mom to apologize. (I also remember a pretty intense spanking, though my mother would deny that if you asked her now.) It's amazing I was ever able to have a normal relationship as an adult.

Later that night, Billy's mom drove him over to my house. He came in with a present for me -- a plastic wedding and engagement ring set (likely from Woolworth) wrapped in an empty Cracker Jack box.

I guess the upside for him in my blowing off the date is knowing that it never would have worked out, anyway. I mean, an engagement ring on a first date? That is just moving way too fast. Also, who wants to marry a guy who's never there for you because he's in another galaxy?

The Big O

Oktoberfest is five weeks away. It gets easier every year, as now the whole team knows the drill. Pete and Amy order and pick up all of the food and pre-cook sausages in beer/butter/onions. (Excuse me while I wipe the drool from my chin.) Amanda and Leon order/pick up/set up the keg and glassware and bake and decorate about a thousand (lewdly inappropriate) lebkuchen. Canetto and I set up the festhaus in the backyard and get the house cleaned up. Kevin Morse passes on during the party. We all know our roles and work to make it all come together successfully.

It does seem that the years get shorter in between O'fests, though. Cannot believe we gotta get an invite out in the next week or so. (This year marks the SEVENTH annual Oktoberfest party. My hope is to get to ten, and then take the party to Munich for what would be the eleventh year. Seems like the right way to end the tradition...then maybe we could start doing an annual Cinqo de Mayo party or something....)

(One bit of hilarity? For the past few years, we have managed to time Oktoberfest on the official first day of the Munich Oktoberfest -- hooray for us for being so authentic. However, it has also coincided with Rosh Hashanah. This has made it impossible for my friends Hillary and Scott to make it to the party because they have family obligations for these holidays. As I've said to her for the past few years, "imagine a German celebration NOT taking into account the Jewish holy days..." Anyway...there is no conflict this year and Hillary plans to be at the party decked out in a dirndl. She's awesome.)

Love...Exciting and New...

My friends Amy and Pete had their first baby yesterday -- a little boy named Charles. The whole "Charles" thing is taking some getting used to, as during the entire pregnancy they referred to the child as "Phinneas Einstein". They had a lot of fun with that...whenever anyone asked what they were going to name him, they'd say, "Phinneas Einstein" and then wait for the inevitable, uncomfortable reaction.

When I heard the news yesterday that he had arrived and that everyone was doing well, I burst into tears. Because I hate babies. And when everyone is doing well.

I kid. I was emotional because I know what they are going to experience -- loving this little thing more than they ever thought possible. The only true unconditional love they will experience.

We went to visit them last night and so did Auntie Amanda. We figured the earlier the dilettantes get to influence him, the better. We'd hate for him to show any of us up by having any sort of attention span.

Little Charles has a head full of dark hair and some enormous testicles. He is a little sweetie, too. He let all of us hold him and swaddle him. I've offered to come over and stare at him for hours whenever they want me to.

Words I Hate, Part 4,327

leonine

There Will Be A Test On This Later

I own white pants. There is no good reason for this as I also own a three year old. I was wearing said white pants yesterday when Avery ran up to me, highlighter in hand, and drew a straight horizontal yellow line across my pant leg.

I was talking to my cousin, so I said while pointing to the highlighted area, "that is the most important part of my pants."

Words I Hate, Part 4,326

Morsel. 'Nuff said.

Oh No You Di-int

If you're gonna read my blog and *ahem* "borrow" my posting titles...the least you can do is comment on the postings now and then. I'm just sayin'...

Fab Weekend Plans

Tomorrow morning we're heading to Richmond to see friends of Tim's from high school (Fred and Barb). We have not seen them in years and are really excited to catch up. Fred and Tim were part of a group of guy friends in high school in Rochester, New York, that referred to themselves as the "Fab Five." (Yes, I am a very lucky woman. Especially when you consider that the Fab Five went to a local mall to have their faces dot-matrix-printed onto a felt wall-hanging with the title "A Touch of Class" on it. Sometimes the "A Touch of Class" wall-hanging mysteriously makes it onto the wall during gatherings with our friends. No, it will never stop being hilarious.)

Sunday, my cousin, Jay, and his wife and daughter are coming over for brunch and swimming (the brunch and the swimming are done independently of one another -- it's just too hard to balance the plates). This is our once-a-year get-together that I very much look forward to.

Sunday evening, we're heading to Pete and Amy's house in Arlington for a last hurrah before their baby is born on Tuesday. This will be their first baby and they have no idea how profoundly their life will be changing in just a few short days. They're gonna love it!

Today, Canetto has taken the day off to go to the dentist, clean the pool, do the laundry, pack for our trip to Richmond and make a grocery list so I can do the shopping later tonight. He's a gem. (With a touch of class.)

Sucker Punch

Yesterday at school, Avery wanted to sit on some cushions in the classroom that were already occupied by one of her classmates. This classmate loves his pacie, so he was relaxing there with his pacie in his mouth, minding his own business.

Avery pulled the kid's pacie out of his mouth and tossed it across the room. The kid ran to get it, and she took his place on the cushions.

I'm not thrilled that she did that instead of requesting that he simply move, but I am kinda impressed by her ingenuity.

Dramedy

Yet another Frankenstein word that I hate. Ugh.

Carving A Niche

Avery has been programmed to say that Barack Obama will be the next president of the United States. She can also identify him now. So, whenever he's on the news (or yesterday, when one of his ads popped up on the computer), she points to his picture and says, "Barack Obama."

She will also let me know that "he lives in DC" and that "so do Amanda and Leon." (I believe at one point she assumed that Amanda and Leon lived WITH Barack Obama, which, if you guys are reading, might not be a bad idea considering the upcoming home renovation -- one would imagine there are a few extra guest rooms in the White House and you could argue that you're already paying for it...)

As the idea person here, I'd expect invites to at least a few State Dinners. I could be the special "politically retarded" guest who would try to change the topic from politics to fart jokes. Whaddaya say?

Seamus's Law

It is never more desirable to do a full-body rub against my leg than when that leg is clad in dark pants and ready to head out the door to work.

When People Do Sleep Well, Do They Say They Have "Somnia"?

We're going to see The Dark Knight tonight at the Udvar-Hazy Center. (I love saying Udvar-Hazy and try to work it into conversation as much as possible. Udvar-Hazy, Udvar-Hazy, Udvar-Hazy.)

Should be fun -- I've heard good things about the movie. Would be more up for it if I had not been awakened at 3:00am by the Pants; read Money magazine and wondered if my financial planner was taking too much of a percentage until 4:30am; and then had to be at physical therapy at 7:30am.

Dear Sleep: We had some good times and I will always remember you fondly. Dear Coffee: You are the new love of my life.

We Met The Law And The Law's Fun

Last night after work, I went to dinner at my friend Terri's house. (Lemon pepper pasta with shrimp, feta, fresh spinach and tomatoes...>happy full sigh<.) After dinner, we went to her annual neighborhood ice cream social that was being held in a community park nearby. [One of her neighbors is the mayor of Fairfax -- he was also in her high school graduating class at Fairfax High -- he also owns The Sweet Life Cafe in Fairfax, so he provided all the ice cream for the social. Everyone in Fairfax City is connected in some way -- which was underscored when we spotted the mother of the VP of my company (company is located guess where? Yes, Fairfax) scooping ice cream for the neighbors.]

We mingled, we met neighbors, we patted dogs...it was really pretty fun.

But the best part of the evening was when the policemen and the firefighters showed up -- we had so much fun with them -- especially one firefighter named Andy who was totally sarcastic and hilarious. At one point during our chat with him, he took an important call from his Chief. Apparently, they compare notes on which of these neighborhood gatherings is most fun and the most senior members of the team get to go to the good ones. (Last night was some kind of national neighborhood night out or something, so there were twelve of these scheduled in the area.)

I requested a plastic fire hat from another firefighter (he was handing them out to the kids there), telling him that I had a three-year-old who would love it. His response? "Suuuuure you do."

We ended our evening by asking a nice policeman to take a picture with us pretending we were perps who were getting arrested. He obliged, but did request that we don't put it up on "some crazy web site." Apologies there, officer.

Trespassers

I looked out my bedroom window down to the pool below this morning and saw A SNAKE swimming in the shallow end (it had obviously listened to its parents about NOT going in the deep end unless they were there with it).

Knowing this had the makins' of an adventure, I immediately woke Avery up and brought her outside with me to perform a snake rescue. Let me assure you that if we did not have a 10-foot pole (that's what she said) with a net on the end, I would have left said rescue to Canetto -- I don't need to be a hero.

As it was, I scooped up the snake and tossed him over the fence (you know, so he could find his mommy and daddy).

Then, Avery found a frog in the deep end. I could tell that we were maybe half a day late for this little guy, but Avery felt certain that we could rescue him, too. So, I went through the motions again...scoop/toss/assure toddler frog was finding mommy and daddy.

A few years ago, I also performed a chipmunk rescue from the pool. I'm beginning to think we need a five-inch-tall fence around the perimeter.

Sincere?

After Tim read books to Avery last night, she requested that I come into her room to sing songs.

I sang one, then asked her, "What was your favorite part of today?" (This is a common question I ask when we're winding down at night so we can focus on good things that we did during the day while she's *theoretically* drifting off to sleep.)

She said to me, "Eating a meal with my family. I love you so much." and then not even half a beat later, said, "Can I come downstairs now?"

The Pitfalls Of Working From Home

Today's post from Guest Blogger Amanda:
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So I'm interviewing this guy for a job at the firm today (over the phone), when Leon's Red Sox bottle opener (the kind that talks when you open a bottle) decides to malfunction.

In the middle of this nice gentleman giving me his spiel on why he's dying to work for my company, we hear, "Way back! Way back! Grand Slam! The Red Sox win this one folks!". Twice.

Luckily, I got it together enough to find the mute button on the phone and throw the opener in a drawer, but not before the guy got completely flustered and confused. Oops.

Meanwhile, I'm laughing so hard, I'm about to pee my pants. Didn't pay attention to a word the guy said. I'm passing him along to the next phase. I figure it's the least I can do.

Losin It One Marble At A Time

As I was leaving work yesterday, I stopped into the kitchen to retrieve Avery's bottle from the fridge. (I put it there when I come in every morning so that she has a nice, cold roadie for the way home.)

I looked in the fridge and it wasn't there. I took everything out and looked on every shelf -- not there. And this was the second time in a few days that this had happened. I was not quiet about this...I started complaining loudly about how weird it was that someone would take a baby bottle filled with milk. (Actually, I was sure someone was either playing a joke on me or had thrown it away when cleaning the fridge.) Whatever. One of my friends helped me look and also couldn't find it. At one point I believe I said, "I distinctly remember coming in this morning and putting the bottle on the shelf." Indignant, I was.

I called Tim on the way home and told him about the mystery of the disappearing bottles. His response? "Um...you had physical therapy this morning and I dropped Avery off, so you didn't have a bottle."

Oh.

Mean Girls

One summer, Kath and I took a Basic computer class. This was elective, so we did not take it as seriously as we should have. During the class, we were tested on what we had learned, and even though we didn't receive a grade for this, we didn't want the shame of being the only ones in the class without a certificate of successful completion.

One of the tests involved us turning in a project that we did not know how to do. So we leaned on Max, the resident smarter-than-you-can-possibly-imagine-nerd-type-who-was-not-especially-social-or-popular-and-is-probably-on-some-billionaire-list-somewhere-today guy in the class for help. He wasn't really a friend of ours, but he agreed to help because he loved computers (and probably also because he was just a nice and patient guy).

He saved our butts on this particular test so Kath and I decided that we should reciprocate by taking him out to lunch the following week after class. He seemed pretty happy with the plan.

On the appointed day, Kath and I both noticed that Max had taken extra care with his appearance. He was wearing a collared shirt and had obviously done something different to his hair. Even though we had not discussed this lunch at all in the past week, we came to a silent agreement that we just could not do it.

We still don't know why. It's not like our social status could have gotten any lower (note the elective computer class mentioned above.) We certainly didn't have anything better to do. We actually could have made a friend and learned something from this guy. Who the hell knows, except that our teen insecurities somehow made us decide to simply ignore the fact that we had asked Max to lunch. After class, we both scooted out of there and never again mentioned it. It was always a little awkward around him after that.

Now, twenty-five years later, we both still cringe whenever we think about this and are compelled to somehow make this up to Max. (Who has probably long since forgotten about it and is finding comfort in his bank account.) We have done Google searches to try and locate him and we're trying to figure out how to atone.

For someone who spent most of her life being the target of the mean girls (one in particular that I'm related to), I still cannot believe that I was capable of doing something that I knew would hurt someone's feelings. And to this day I feel like crap about it.

Virginia Beach

Homecoming

My friend, Kira, who has young boys, shared the following story with me. One day, Justin (her oldest, about 8) came to her and said, "Mom? What's a rack?" She was worried that he had heard the term used as slang reference for a woman's chest and was already outlining the whole explanation she was going to have to give about respectful terminology and how that wasn't appropriate and all that. However, she also had eight years of parenting under her belt, which taught her to first clarify. She said, "Where did you hear that?" and he said, "on the news -- they're always talking about a rack (Iraq)". She was relieved momentarily until she realized that she was now going to have to try and explain a war to her 8-year old.

On that note, we recently found out our friend, Jay, is coming home from A Rack! He's been there 9 months (and left behind his wife and now 9-month old son). He'll be home for good in about a week. Best news we've heard in a long time!

The Screening Process

A good problem we've been faced with this summer is how to take advantage of all of the really cool, free activities that are offered everywhere in this area. (If anyone knows of a better area in which to live -- especially when you have children -- I'd be interested to hear it. I cannot imagine that there is one.) In May, I printed out the schedules for the free outdoor concerts, movies, festivals and exhibits that I hoped we might be able to attend. So far, we've been doing a pretty good job of tackling the list.

We're especially excited for this coming weekend's "Drive-in Movie". Fairfax County sponsors this out in Centreville and shows kid-friendly movies with the whole drive-in experience (heavy petting? hickies?). "Bee Movie" is playing this weekend. We already saw this on Memorial Day weekend at the outdoor movie in Glyndon Park in Vienna. But, because the universal anthem of children is "AGAIN!" -- we are seeing the movie again.

Avery has already decided that she is bringing several blankies and babies with her in the car for this. And has been actively recruting her friends and teachers from day care to come along, too. It could get crowded.

Minutiae

Love me some summer weekends. This past Friday, Tim took Avery to the Vienna Town Green concert (where she saw her friend, Ava, again. The girls had a blast). I was beat from my week, so I stayed home and worked on getting the house cleaned up. On Saturday, we swam in our pool and then went to Pete's birthday party in Arlington. That was really fun, but it is just hard to have any good conversations when we have the kiddo in tow. Yesterday, I did my first major exercise since before knee surgery -- a 6-mile walk with Amanda. It felt great and it was fun to get back into the (semi-) swing of things in terms of our weekend running schedule. And, I did my grocery shopping at Whole Foods -- look at me trying to eat better...

They Call Me Sanchez

Meredith wrote me this morning that there is a public access show in NYC called "Dirty Sanchez's Skidmarks." She found it while channel surfing this weekend and immediately thought of me.

Equally appropriate was an occurrence this weekend when Avery inadvertently gave herself a chocolate mustache while eating a chocolate cupcake. While others thought it was cute, Leon immediately went down the "Dirty Sanchez" road.

Really, Leon? She's two. Do you see nothing wrong with going there? Are there no boundaries? (Besides, she strikes me much more as a Cincinnati Bowtie kinda gal.)

It Definitely Takes A Willage

A few days ago, our neighbor, Craig, came over with a locust shell and a locust that had met its demise in his birdbath. He refers to Avery as his "bugologist" and spent a considerable amount of time talking to her about how these locusts come around every 17 years and shed their exoskeletons and all that. She was diggin' it. He left both the no-longer-alive (we don't say "dead" yet) locust and the shell on the table out front so that she could check them out whenever she wanted (which has been every day since).

Also in the past few days while Connolly was visiting, she spent a tremendous amount of time with Avery (even letting Canetto and I go out to dinner alone one night -- big kiss, Connolly - muah!). One day, she bought flyswatters, Dawn liquid and about 300 small plastic cups. Since she has worked for children's musesums and currently works for a charter school, I know she always has something creative up her sleeve. The cups were to build with -- they did that while we were at dinner. And let me tell you -- 300 plastic cups to stack and re-stack and fill up with dried beans and to pass out to all of your dolls -- not just heaven -- but the heaven where Leo DiCaprio is wearing a loincloth while bringing you microbrews.

They did not get to the flyswatters and Dawn while we were out, so Tim and I grabbed those and ran upstairs with them -- yadda, yadda, yadda -- remind me to erase the camera phone.

Just kidding -- that was to make the best bubbles in the world. We did it last night...you dip flyswatters into a Dawn/water combo and they make awesome bubbles. We played last night and of course, invited Craig over to play, too. And then we looked at the locust and the locust shell. Laugh if you will...but it was pretty much a perfect summer night.

Home High-Fructose-Corn-Syrup-Sweetened Home

As always, after a Connolly visit I become more aware of the amount of crap that we eat in our house. (Connolly is appalled by my flavored coffee creamer, the Lucky Charms that Avery eats and the fact that some of the foods in our house are processed/not organic/not local.)

We talk about it and I vow to join a CSA and buy only organic foods and to grow more of our own vegetables and herbs and just generally be more conscious about the things we're eating.

For someone who does not like to cook or grocery shop or plan meals...I need advice on how to eat better for little to no real effort on my part.

She Really Only Hates The Ones Who Deserve It

"I love humanity in an abstract way. I just hate most people one-on-one." (My good friend, Kath, summing up her view of the world.)

Don't Hate On My Glamorous Life, Bitches

We learned quickly that the nanosecond we get smug about anything in terms of our child's behavior or development, we get a big sloppy carl from the Fates.

So we should have been smarter than to discuss how lucky we'd been that Avery has never been a vomiter. Truly...not even much spit up when she was a baby.

This discussion took place two nights before we were leaving for Virginia Beach. (All of my childless friends are right now thinking, "what a relief that the sexy talk does not stop when you have kids.") The night before we left, I gave her a bottle of milk before bedtime that was apparently past its expiration date, information that was not gleaned from reading the date on the carton, mind you. (Oh, well, I've always been a visual learner.)

At about 3:00am, I had a horrible dream and asked Tim if he could sleep the guest room so that I could bring Avery into our bed. She was in our bed for about 45 minutes when she woke up projectile vomiting -- regurgitating her body weight in bad milk, pineapple and corn (you're welcome for that). However, she was only warming up.

I cleaned her up and stripped the bed (she was a champ and did not cry). She asked where daddy was and asked to go sleep with him. So, I took her down there and put her in bed with Tim. Another 45 minutes and Old Faithful was spouting again.

Tim stripped the bed and gave her a bath. And was so sweet with Avery. Truly, the man had vomit on half his body and was focused on making sure she was okay and comforting her. (Vomit-soaked husband...hot!). After the bath...one more vomit.

We still rolled the dice and drove to Va. Beach the next day and there was no more puke. Although, her Grandma and Jack thought it would be fun to take her blueberry picking while I napped. (I was up all night with her and it took FIVE HOURS to get there.) While she was blueberry picking, she ate a ton of blueberries...she was starving since she had nothing in her stomach.

The following day? Four (not a typo) blueberry diarrhea diapers whose stench, color, volume and consistency (you're welcome again -- everything I do, I do for you, gentle reader) brought me to my knees.

Happy Birthday, Krennie!

Today is my mom's birthday -- she's 64. She had two kids by the time she was 22. I'm sure it was not easy at the time (mainly because of my sister -- I was a joy of a baby -- easy, non-clingy, very even-tempered -- stop laughing, mom), but how nice is it now to be the young, cool grandma?

We're heading to Va. Beach tomorrow to celebrate with her. ("We" either being me and the Pants or the whole fam damily -- yet TBD.) We're going to pick blueberries, go to the beach, go out to dinner and go shopping. It will be a full, fun weekend.

My kiddo is always excited to visit Grandma and Jack. She has already had me paint her toenails a sparkly pink and packed her flip flops in preparation. I'm sure she'll be on me tonight about packing the sunscreen...she's pretty vigilant about that.

I Should Get Workers' Compensation

Downside of working in an office that allows dogs? Fleas have been biting my ankles for two days...

I Been Drivin' All Night My Hand's Wet On The Wheel

Since I've never received a request to talk about the best trip I've ever taken (not THAT kind of trip, Timothy Leary-ites, I have no frame of reference for that), I figured I'd go ahead and write a post about it. I'm nothing if not receptive to my audience (Hi, Amanda!)

My father died unexpectedly on Valentine's Day in 1998. I was in my last semester of grad school and had quit my job two months before to finish this last semester full time, with a full load of classes. After my father died, I made countless trips to Virginia Beach to get my mom out of her house and re-settled in a friend's house and to take care of other things. On April 30th of that year, Tim proposed to me. I graduated a few weeks later. These months were a complete blur for me -- although I remember feeling raw and angry and insane. Talk about extreme highs and extreme lows and extreme stress.

(Wow! What does that depressing paragraph have to do with the best trip you ever took, Debbie Downer? Well, I'll tell you impatient-pants...keep reading...)

I had always wanted to take a cross-country trip and had toyed with the idea numerous times. Wanting nothing more than to get away from everything (like you don't know!) and because I was without a job that I had to report to, Tim and I figured that the summer would be the time that we might actually be able to do this. So, Captain Spreadsheet planned out a two-month trip -- beginning with us flying out to Santa Barbara for our friends' wedding and then us renting a car and driving a loop through the western states. He planned so that we'd be camping a lot, but broke up the trip with stays at hotels every four or five days. (He had accumulated lots of free nights in good hotels thanks to a lot of corporate travel.) He took a leave of absence from his job at the time and we spent two fantastic months together doing a lot of hiking and camping and sight seeing (such wonderful escapism). We took a ton of pictures and I kept a journal during our travels. To this day (10 years later) we still pull out the journal and read entries occasionally and reminisce about this trip.

What an escape. And what a great way to find out if you're compatible with your spouse-to-be. In two months, we put 10,000 miles on the rental car and were never apart for more than an hour or so.

I have dreams of doing this again at some point. Preferably in Europe. And preferably with a little less camping next time.

Thank You For Being A Friend

My best friend from seventh grade, Kath, is coming to visit early next week. We met in the gifted program when we were 12 and did many dork-tastic things together during our tweener and teenage years. (For example, when normal kids were hanging out at the mall or listening to records, Kath and I were holed up in her bedroom giving each other the silliest sounding titles we could think of, then the other person had five minutes to write a poem based on the title. We also spent our summers in supplemental gifted classes instead of going to the beach. Yes, we dated much later than most of our peers -- thanks for asking.)

We took driver's ed together, were officers in the junior high French club together, played community soccer together, were camp counselors together, and hung out at each other's houses almost every single day after school. And still...we had to pass notes to each other in the hallway every day. (How else could I fully express just HOW dreamy Matt Lynn was, if not through the power of the written word?)We also used to go to the Naro theater in Norfolk to see movies. (It was an independent movie theater that showed some pretty cool stuff.) We went to see Jon Waters' "Polyester" there -- the one that was shown in "odorama" (a scratch 'n sniff card that corresponded to the action on the screen). Kath got in trouble after that at the dinner table for saying that #7 on the card was a fart.

Because of districting in Va. Beach, we ended up going to different high schools, and then senior year, her dad got a job as an editor with the New York Times, so she moved to New Jersey. Then, she went on to Brown University and then worked for Brown University and has since held jobs that are totally cool and creative and community-minded. I want to be her when I grow up.

I don't see her enough, but when I do, it's like we're 12 again. (Canetto is always like, "I've figured you two out. You say something and she laughs. Then, she repeats the exact same thing and you laugh." To which I reply, "Well, duh.") She stayed a week right after Avery was born and is one of those people that just knows how to make me laugh while I'm completely sleep-deprived and perpetually attached to a breast pump.

My parents always thought of her as a third child, and to this day I'm convinced they liked her more than they liked me. Once, when she spent the night, my parents took her and my sister out for breakfast at 1:00am because I had fallen asleep and they thought it would be fun. I had to hear about how great it was when I woke up the next day. Waking me up to join them is apparently an option that never crossed anyone's mind.

Kath has a girlfriend now and they've been together at least a couple of years and she is so happy. I have yet to meet her girlfriend and all Kath has told me about her is that she looks like Bea Arthur. Moments ago, I was replying to an e-mail from Kath and started humming something without thinking. Realized it was the theme song to "The Golden Girls." My subconscious is a card.

Da Da Da Da BUM BUM Da Da Da Da Bum Bum

Hillary has invited me to a premiere party for the new 90210 on September 2nd.

I'm hoping to dig out and bring with me:

a) my autographed headshot of Joe E. Tata

and

b) the photos I took at Jennie Garth's personal appearance at Tyson's Corner back in the 90210 heydey

(note to self: re-name blog www.screamingloser.com)

The Never-Ending SNL Skit

Last night, I took Avery to Fair Oaks Mall so we could go in the "kid pit" there. When we do this, I always park outside of JC Penney, since it's the closest store to the pit.

While we were going through the store last night, Avery spotted some pink flip flops that she had to have for our trip to the beach this weekend. She tried them on and loved them and I went to find somewhere to check out.

Apparently, at JC Penney, you have to line up behind stanchions at centrally located cashier kiosks. I took my place in line and we waited. We waited while the one cashier scanned the tag on the shirt the young woman ahead of me was buying and then talked at length to the young woman about where she was from in Russia, and asked her to provide an ID, which she didn't have, and then needed a social security number, which she also didn't have, so finally her boyfriend produced some sort of ID that was acceptable. (Mind you, there was no transaction taking place during any of the chit-chat...that would have made this a moderately efficient operation.) The conversation took several minutes, during which the cashier asked the young woman if she would like to open a JC Penney charge card to save 30% on her purchase (OF ONE SHIRT!). Guess what? OF COURSE SHE WANTED TO OPEN A CHARGE CARD. So, we waited several more minutes while the cashier typed in the relevant information and then FINALLY rang up the young woman's one item. She presented the total to the woman and the woman said, "I thought that shirt was 60% off." This led to another lengthy discussion about whether or not that particular shirt was on sale. The young woman finally decided that it was not worth it to go back and find the rack, and finally paid and left. I'm not exaggerating when I say that we stood there for ten minutes.

I walked up to the register with our $4 flip-flops and a $5 bill in my hand. The cashier looked at them and told me they were missing a price tag and that I'd have to go back to where I found them to get a pair that were marked. Sure, I could have done that. Instead, I chose to throw a bit of a tantrum, saying something about "no wonder I never shop at this awful store" or something along those lines and leaving the flip flops on the counter and storming out. (I showed her!)

After half an hour in the kid pit, Avery asked about the flip flops. On the way out, we got some (with a price tag) off the rack and went to a different cashier to pay, ironically flip-flopping on my decision to never shop at that store again.

You Said It, Sister!

When I pulled into the parking lot at Avery's school this morning, there were no available parking spots. This is becoming a more common occurrence as is my level of frustration when this is the case.

I groaned and said sarcastically, "oh, that's just great -- no parking again" and then Avery said (with a big smile on her face), "that's exasperating."

When I stopped laughing, I asked her where she learned that word. She said, "school."
Of course. I'm sure if I taught a roomful of two-year-olds every day, "exasperating" would be on my "frequently used words list" as well.

I mentiond this to her teacher, Esmat. She was not surprised at all that Avery repeated this since Avery picks up everything that anyone says. She told me that yesterday Avery said, "I live in Oakton, Virginia and my grandma lives in Virginia Beach. It's her birthday."

I wonder if there is a way to make money with this?

I Watched Airplane Way Too Many Times

This weekend, I was scratching Tim's back per his request.

Wanting to make sure I got the right spot, I said, "how's this?" and he said, "lower". So, I lowered my voice a couple of octaves and said, "how's this?"

QT With My Cutie

Avery and I implemented "Operation Stay Out Of Canetto's Hair" on Saturday afternoon for a few hours. He had a lot of work to do, so she and I headed to Reston Town Center for the Reston Festival.

She did a shaving cream picture at the Children's Museum of Northern Virginia tent, got her face painted like a kitty cat, we went on a train ride and then she got an ice cream sandwich and threw some pennies into the fountain. Oh...she also danced to the music of the live band that was performing on stage there. As if we needed further proof that she not only looks like, but behaves like, my mother.

Beautiful

My friend, Amy. Isn't this a great picture?

Relationship Shorthand

I'm totally on a Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne kick right now. I rarely read non-fiction, but I just checked out collections of their work from the library and am thoroughly enjoying them. (I bought Joan Didion's book "The Year of Magical Thinking" last year and have read it twice -- once again recently -- and figured I should probably read more of her work.)

I also just read "Richistan" which is all about the "new rich" and how vastly different they are from old money in terms of sheer amount of wealth, their philosophy on giving, and also discusses how most new multi-millionaires and billionaires never truly retire or lead lives like the old money idle rich. A very interesting (and also non-fiction -- what the hell?) book that I checked out because of the title. (I also select wine based on the label.)

(The whole purpose of this post is to make me seem like I have more depth than my Denise-Richards-reality-show-watching-habits would indicate. It's also why I buy the New Yorker sometimes when I'm traveling. I'm a moron.)

Which reminds me...Canetto and I have a running script that we've had for years. If one of us ever says anything that sounds like it could be finished with, "much like your ex-girlfriend" or "much like your ex-boyfriend" we never hesitate to say it. And example was one time we were standing next to a creek and Tim said something about it, "being wider than it is deep" -- (then, according to our script, I pause and say) -- "much like your ex-girlfriend." We don't even find this funny anymore...we do it more out of some weird sense of obligation. One of many reasons why we can never divorce.

Brash Arriviste

Considering this as a new name for the blog. Or maybe just Arriviste.
Since I'll be making at least half a mil a year in ad revenues very, very soon, I'm looking for something catchier.

Thoughts?

Da Don't Ron Ron

When I was in elementary school, Shaun Cassidy was all the rage. (He was actually my first concert...followed closely by Yo Yo Ma...and then no other concerts until 9th grade when I went to see The Clash. Quite the musical timeline, huh?)

The era of Shaun Cassidy was also about the time the kiosks appeared in local malls that would take a picture of your face and then laser-jet it onto a t-shirt or coffee mug. One night, my family went to the mall and my dad, who never let a craptacular fad go by without participating (he got a CB radio and a dictionary of CB lingo), let my sister and I do this. My utter lack of any sort of fashion sense (I wore one shirt to school at least one day a week that had a glittery iron-on transfer proclaiming me a "Native New Yorker") led me to choose a mint green short-sleeved t-shirt and had my face laser-jetted onto it. I could not WAIT to go to school the next day so that everyone could see how cool I was. Seriously...I'm pretty sure I wore that t-shirt to bed that night and could barely sleep. This was totally cutting edge.

You never saw a prouder kid strut into school the next morning. I walked down the hall and into my classroom, waiting for the envious comments that were sure to come. Instead, however, Marie E. said to me in front of the whole class, "is that Shaun Cassidy on your shirt?"

I was totally deflated and never wore the shirt again. The only thing more humiliating? Re-telling this story to a younger friend a few years ago and having her say at the end of my story, "who's Shaun Cassidy?"

At Least All The Swear Words Got Beeped Out

Last night, things were a little tense at the Canetto household. No one over 30 pounds is sleeping, huge bills keep popping up for random stuff and work is stressful for both of us. I figured I'd give Tim some time alone to do some work and offered to take the Pants to Target...you know, to buy the nipples and chapstick we so desperately need.

We got her 85 pounds of gear required to leave the house and packed it into the car, then opened the garage door. I put the key into the ignition and then...BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...at an approximate decibel level of SKULL BEING SPLIT OPEN SLOWLY WITH A RUSTY NAIL.

Tim came running out into the garage so we could figure out how to turn the damn thing off. We couldn't. Avery started freaking out, so we untethered her from her car seat and got her into the house, then we closed the garage door so our neighbors would not kill us, and then finally the alarm stopped. So, I did what anyone would do...tried again. And...BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP (times a hundred million).

At this point, our next-door neighbor had come over and was ringing the doorbell to make sure that everything was okay. (For a total paranoid freak like me...I cannot tell you how much I love that our neighbors actually come over when they see or hear anything out of the ordinary. I love that people are looking out for us.)

Deciding not to push our luck further, when the alarm stopped...I migrated everything into Tim's car and we took that to Target. All the way to the store, in her little worried voice, Avery kept saying, "what's wrong with the car, mommy?"

Poor little thing. Either she truly was traumatized or she was banking on the fact that I'm a soft touch...all I know is that she ended up with some Hello Kitty underpants.

Maybe We Should Move To Ashburn

Items on the shopping list next to our phone in the kitchen:

1) Nipples
2) Chapstick

And Don't Let The Cot Bugs Bite

Something I've repressed for a long time came to the surface this weekend. Everyone has their issues and I don't believe in bringing people down by delving into some of the darker parts of my past. However, I've known the dilettantes for so many years now that I trusted I could share this particular baggage, and that maybe by sharing, I could begin to heal.

Feeling very vulnerable, I told them all how for three years when I was a teenager, I was forced to sleep on a cot. That's right. A cot.

My parents bought a beautiful home in Virginia Beach when I was in ninth grade. It was a ranch house with four bedrooms -- three on the main level and one on the opposite end of the house over the garage -- it was the only room on the second floor. This room was huge and had its own full bath en suite. Had I been my parents, I would have made this room the master bedroom -- it was much larger than the master and set apart from everything else. However, they decided that my (one year older) sister should have this. And bought her a new king-sized bed to go in it. (They also cried when she went off to kindergarten AND college; AND finished her baby book. Not that anyone's keeping track.)

I was relegated to a small room on the main level -- right across from my parents and right next to the same-sized guest room. A guest room that had two twin beds in it. Even though we had company about once a year, we had a fully outfitted guest room with two beds in it.

It was at that point that my parents ran out of either energy or resources, because they stuck a cot that used to be in my grandmother's attic in my room. It was supposedly temporary, but somehow I ended up sleeping on that cot for THREE years until my sister went to college and I finally moved up to her old room.

Sure, I tried to mask the pain by saying things like, "it's past my cot time" and joking about how my mother required me to "make my cot" before I went to school in the morning. But keeping up the charade got harder and harder. I'd start to dread Christmas every year, with the inevitable telling of "A Night Before Christmas" and pretending that I knew how it felt to be "nestled all snug in my bed" like all the other kids.

It was very therapeutic, talking about this and not having to live with my awful secret anymore. The dilettantes were extremely supportive. And by that, I mean they laughed in my face.

A Glorious Fourth

Friday we went to a cookout with new people. A former co-worker of mine invited us and we knew only her and one more person there. However, everyone was so cool and so friendly...it rocked. We felt totally comfortable there and Tim and I kinda split up and mingled -- taking turns watching Avery, who was also mingling pretty well. The food was excellent -- just ask Avery who had Doritos for the first time -- roughly 600 tons of them. The house where this was held was really nice, and had a huge deck. I tested the waters with a, "women love guys with big decks" and an "I love deck jokes" -- and people laughed. The litmus test for knowing whether or not people have evolved senses of humor? They laugh at my jokes.

Saturday morning, Avery and I headed to Dulles airport to see our friend, Meredith, during her two-hour layover there. We got there at 6:00am (yawn) and had a great visit. I miss her. We see each other so rarely even though we live only three hours away. Then I headed to Amy's house for our monthly dilettante club activity. We've been doing this for 2 1/2 years now, and I still get excited about it every month. As per usual, we were laughing the entire time we "crafted" (ACK!) -- http://dilettanteclub.blogspot.com. Then, the dilettante spouses (and kiddo) joined us for a cookout and judging of the crafts. It would be interesting to see if I could ever make it through more than half an hour with this group without laughing so hard that I'm crying. I honestly don't think it's possible.

This morning, we had some friends and their two kids over. They just moved back into the area after being away for a few years. The kids hit it off -- got along swimmingly, especially when we were in the pool. (har har). I was telling our guest about the dilettante club yesterday and she said, "which one is the really funny one?" (referring, of course, to Amanda), but to which Tim immediately replied, "Kathleen." I love that guy -- chipped tooth and all.

Right now? Kid just went down for a nap, Canetto is doing some work, the house is spotless, the laundry is done, and I'm blogging and watching Gary Gulman and Brian Regan doing stand up on Comedy Central. Life is beautiful.

The Early Bird Gets To Squirm

As I see it, the only differences between getting to work at 7:30 (like I did today -- thanks slackers on my team who are giving me ulcers) and 9:00 (like I normally do) are:

1) Much better parking space
2) Many more contractors at the 7-11 who let me know that I have pretty feet

It's Always* Something

Avery had a hard time sleeping this weekend, what with all the parties, the steady diet of crap and the new Disney Princess cell phone.

Saturday afternoon I tried to get her to lay down and take a nap while Tim ran out to the grocery store. When it was obvious that she was not going to do that, I figured that I may as well take a shower and start to get ready for the party we were going to later that afternoon.

I brought Avery into the bathroom with me while I showered. She immediately found the basket I keep on the back of the toilet tank to store things like extra soap, TP and panty liners.

While I showered, she proceeded to open a bunch of panty liners and have some fun with them -- she stuck some on the shower door, put one on her leg like a band-aid, and fashioned a coozie out of the others for her bottle.

(Yes, she's two years and eight months old. Yes, that is probably too old to have a bottle. Yes, we are awful parents and are probably dooming her to a life of soft helmets and no friends. And no, they don't ask when your kid gave up their bottle on most college applications.)

Shortly after I finished my shower and had removed most of the panty liners from our home furnishings and our child, she climbed into bed and finally fell asleep. A little while later, Tim came home from the grocery store and went upstairs to check on her.

He came back down, helped put the groceries away, looked through the mail and then casually mentioned to me, "she has panty liners stuck on her bottle, you know."

*Please to appreciate the pun.

Overheard At Sephora

It rained last night, so we took Avery to the kid pit at the mall to let her burn off some energy. Tim stayed with her while I ran to Sephora to buy yet more beauty products. (I've spent a ton on this kind of stuff in the past month or so. Figuring, I guess, that if I take more time dolling up my hair and face, people won't focus as much on my gimpy elephantine knees and the fact that I walk like I'm 80.)

I looked all over for a Shu Uemura eyelash curler. I finally found it and was reaching for it at exactly the same time a woman who could have walked off the "Married to the Mob" set was (she had huge hair, very blue eyeshadow and a very, very loud shirt with plastic hoop earrings that matched it perfectly).

A salesperson walked by at exactly this time and mentioned, "that is the best eyelash curler made." I said, "I'm glad you said that, I've heard really good things about it."

Married to the Mob (MTTM) bellowed, "DOES THIS COME WITH EXTRA RUBBERS?"

The salesperson said, "it comes with one replacement silicone pad, if that's what you mean."

MTTM screamed, "ONE RUBBER? FOR THAT PRICE? FORGET IT. I'M GOING TO WAL-MART."

Oh, well...they probably have a better selection of blue mascara there, anyway.

(Saucer of milk, please.)

Impatience Is My Virtue

Wanna know something funny? Even though my doctor told me not to do any sort of exercise for another 4-6 weeks at my follow-up appointment on Friday, June 13th, I (ha ha) was feeling so good that I (giggle) headed off to the gym Tuesday night for a 30-minute bike workout. In my past cardio-rific life (three months ago), this would have been a waste-of-time workout, but I thought it was the (snicker) perfect way to ease back into exercise.

Thanks to my impatience, the past two days were a nightmare. I was in as much pain as I was right before surgery. Elephantitis knees, severe pain...you name it. Awful.

Today, I'm finally feeling recovered from that, though my knees are still slightly swollen.

I learned my lesson the hard way and will now respect my doctor's wishes. I have to, really -- I'm almost out of Vicodin and have no refills left. The only alternative is to get better, already.

The Order Of Things

Avery and I have a morning routine when I drop her off at school. I park, unbuckle her car seat, and she climbs into the front passenger seat of the car. She pulls the visor down and opens the mirror and puts on the pink lip gloss that I always carry in my purse for just this purpose.

I tell her she looks beautiful, then ask her if she wants to walk into school or if she wants me to carry her. (Mondays are usually carry days.)

This morning, we got to school a little bit late and her class was already outside on the playground. I went out with her. She held my hand to help her balance as she walked on the curb around the jungle gym. After a couple of laps, she found a tricycle and sat down on it. She looked up at me and said, "go to work, Mama" and gave me a kiss. I walked a couple of steps toward the door and she got off the tricycle and ran over and gave me a hug and said, "make sure my bunny and blankey are in my cubby for nap time." Then she went back to the tricycle and started to ride it.

I love that little piece of work.

Love Thy Neighbor

I think my morbid fascination with swinging began at a friend's wedding several years ago. I was a bridesmaid and had gone to the bachelorette party with the bride and many of her friends a few weeks prior to the wedding. After the bachelorette party, I showed the photos from that night to Canetto. He mentioned casually that he thought one woman in the pictures was attractive.

At the wedding, I was chatting with this woman. She said to me, "Wow, your husband it really good looking." So I said to her (in an innocent, returning-the-compliment-kind-of-way), "You know, he said the same thing about you when he saw the pictures from the bachelorette party."

Tim walked over at that moment and what happened next is kind of fuzzy, because as soon as she made a not-so-subtle reference to the fact that she and her husband were looking for another couple to "have some fun with" -- I hightailed it out of there --pretending that the bride needed some assistance that only I could provide. (Tim loves this about me...whenever things get awkward I take off and leave him to deal with it. Hi, sweetie!) Of course, her husband was a cop and she was a teacher. Not surprising, from what I've read about this "lifestyle".

A few months after the wedding, I told the bride the whole story, leaving out names so as not to incriminate anyone. The bride said, "That was Rachel, right?". Don't know what's more disturbing...that my friend was friends with a swinger, or that she didn't give me the heads-up about it.

This weekend, we're going to a housewarming party for one of the dilettantes. She and her husband just moved to Ashburn. Apparently, Ashburn has a huge swinging community. (So retro, right?) So, guess what the rest of us dilettantes are getting her for a housewarming gift? A fishbowl, a keychain, some condoms and a copy of "The Ice Storm." God, we're hilarious.

Beer Tasting With L'Amanda

Last night, Canetto and I went to the Dogfish Head beer tasting dinner with Leon and Amanda (heretofore known as L'Amanda because 1) everyone in Hollywood is doin' it and 2) who doesn't love a name with an apostrophe in it?)

L'Amanda, it turns out, were dressed identically to the authors of "She Said Wine, He Said Beer" that was passed around the tasting. They claimed it was not on purpose. We know better.

There were the usual shenanigans: someone asking if we had seen the "small wood" (a piece of the wooden vessel in which Palo Santo Marron is brewed that was being passed around). Amanda and I said simultaneously, "we haven't seen small wood since junior high." (Pause for laughter that never came...well, other than from us.) Also, Amanda had a boyfriend at the next table wearing an "I >heart< beer" button.

We also tried the 90 and 120-minute IPAs, the Immort Ale (my favorite, and not just because of the name, though it did have something to do with it) and the seasonal Festina Peche (preferred by the Indonesians).

This was all paired with about twelve tons of food. Which was nice, because the 83 pounds I gained over the weekend weren't enough. (A highlight was the portobello and sirloin soup.)

At one point in the evening when 1/2 of L'Amanda went to the ladies room, the host of the beer dinner made an announcement that he was going to wait for the "blonde in the red shirt to return from the restroom" before drawing the number for the door prize (Nationals Tickets). So, when Amanda came back from the restroom, the entire beer dinner was staring at her, and then broke into a round of applause. Now, this happens pretty often for Amanda (as she mentioned), but she was still a little surprised by it. None of us won the door prize, but Amanda did manage to convince Mr.-Beer-Dinner-Who-Noticed-Exactly-What-She-Was-Wearing that she deserved a prize for being such a good sport. With a little subtle urging from the other half of L'Amanda, she ended up with a Dogfish Head trucker hat, that she insisted on wearing the rest of the evening. (Hey, if the F-150's rockin' don't come a knockin')

Addendum 1: As hard as we tried, we never got Leon past the double-shush (our personal best is the triple)

Addendum 2: My liver needs a break.

I Really Hope That's A Gun In His Pocket...

Petro called this morning. A quick check of weather.com indicated that hell had not, in fact, frozen over, so I determined that he must need something.

And he did. He is interviewing for a job with our former employer. An employer who DOES NOT HATE FREEDOM. It is such a small world that it turns out he's interviewing with the same guy I interviewed with a couple of years ago when I was going back to work after a short stint as a stay-at-home-mom. Different position, though. Anyway, Petro needs me as a reference. Kind of hilarious when you think about it. He's using me as a reference with a guy who decided not to hire me. That should give him quite a bit of credibility. (Although, after not hiring me, this guy did hire me to do some freelance writing at a ridiculously high hourly rate, so I guess he didn't think I was a total moron.) (Stay with me here. Rationalization makes me happy.)

Petro and I worked together for this employer who is FIGHTING FOR YOUR RIGHTS for years back in the 90s, and then again in the early 2000s for an Internet start-up company. Before it was even trendy, he was totally my work husband. My work husband who CHEATED ON ME WITH SKANKY CO-WORKERS AND HAD A SECRET GAY LOVER. (I see that and raise him a Smelly Dave.)

Anyway, we're going to try and "do lunch" sometime next week to catch up. Last time we tried this, I went into labor and blew him off. (I'm inconsiderate like that.)

(There, Petro, are you happy? An entire post devoted to you.)

The Post Where I Say "Thong" Five Times

Finally...I own some hanky pankys. After hearing some of my thong-wearing friends rave about this underwear for the past year, I finally bit the bullet (thanks to my Trousseau gift certificate) and bought a pair. I cannot wait to try these on and see what makes them so different from other thongs. (For what they cost, they better make my butt look like I LIVE on the stairmaster.)

When I was pregnant with Avery, I wore (very, very LARGE) thongs. One time, I bent over to pick something up in front of my mom and she could see that I was wearing a thong. She thought it was awful that I was wearing one while I was pregnant. To which I replied, "So, at a time in my life when my ass is the largest it has ever been, I'm supposed to draw MORE attention to it with gigantic-panty lines?"

I Like vIKE

Up until the past few days, I never really understood pill addictions.

Alcoholism I can get behind: booze tastes good. It is always served in social settings. It's fun. Even pot. There is at least an action associated with it. It smells good. I can see why people do it. (Even though I don't.)

But pills? You swallow 'em down and then you're done. They're about as satisfying as eating a rice cake.

This week I became enlightened. My post-surgery knee has been giving me some pain so I tried the prescription I got for Vicodin. A couple of pills give me a little happy buzz and make the pain go away.

Right now, I'm just looking forward to them...it's not a problem until I start to need them. Right? I mean, I can quit any time I want to.

I Share DNA With This

Back in the 70s, my aunt was recently divorced and looking to find an apartment for her and her young daughter.

She was checking out a brand-new upscale apartment complex with a lot of amenities. She wanted to make a good impression, so she was wearing a nice dress and heels.

She got to the apartment a little bit early for her appointment to see a unit, so the sales representative suggested that she take a look around the property. My aunt walked into the state-of-the-art workout room which had a wall of mirrors and the following equipment:

Those "exercise" belts were all the rage back in the 70s and my aunt could not wait to try one out. So, she got on the machine, put the belt around her, faced the mirror, and turned it on.

A few minutes later, a tour group came through the workout room with the sales rep. Some people in the group looked at her in horror, others averted their eyes. She was pretty embarrassed, of course, because here she was all dressed up and shaking away on the exercise equipment.

The sales rep quickly escorted the group out of the room. It was only then that my aunt looked in the mirror and realized that the machine had shaken her underpants down around her ankles.

A Real "I D Ten T" Error

One of my favorite quotes in the world is from Dolly Parton: "Dumb blonde jokes don't offend me, because I know I'm not dumb...and I'm also not blonde."

Sadly, only part of that quote rings true with me. To wit:

(IMPORTANT FACT TO KNOW BEFORE READING STORY: All CSS e-mails follow the convention of initial(s), last name @ consolidatedsafety.com)

I was sending my first corporate newsletter out yesterday -- asked the IT Department if the "CSS All" distribution list reached everyone in the entire company (we have a million people in the field all over the country). They said, "yes". So, I sent the newsletter out to that distribution list, and within a few seconds, got a delivery failure notice from one e-mail address.

Just as I was receiving that, Damon (IT guy/friend) said to me, "I forgot that you don't have permission to mail to that list. I need to change permissions so you can do that." And I said to him, "I'm pretty sure I do, Damon, becuase my e-mail went through...as a matter of fact, I already got one delivery failure notice."

So, he says to me, whose e-mail address is it? And I say (not even kidding here and with total seriousness): "C.S. Sall"

Worst part? As it was coming out of my mouth, I realized what I was saying. Just a few seconds too late.

She Works With A Moderate Degree Of Effort For The Money (So With A Moderate Degree Of Effort For It, Honey)

I have a confession to make. I love my job. There, I said it. I love my job.

I have always been a job-hopper, figuring life was too short to stay at a job that I didn't like or work with people I didn't like. (Fortunately, I work in an area with a ton of jobs...I'm well aware that not everyone has that luxury.)

But seriously...I think this is a dream job. The work is interesting and varied enough that I don't get bored. I work 8:30 to 4:30 and not a minute more. I like and respect (and have fun with) my boss and co-workers. I can work from home whenever I want to or need to. I get paid well. They have a matching program for the 401K. My commute is short. I wear jeans to work every day. It is a rare occasion when I stress about (or even think about) work in the evenings or on the weekend.

If I had thought up an "ideal job scenario" to have when going back to work after having Avery -- this would have been it.

>ducking now to avoid rotten virtual tomatoes that Canetto is lobbing -- he's not in quite the same work situation at this moment<

Disclaimer: If I win the lottery tomorrow, you can just ignore everything I wrote above.

Sesame-Palooza

We spent Father's Day weekend at Sesame Place -- just outside Philadelphia. Below are a few special memories:

1 - Avery wanted to help pack for Sesame Place. She busied herself in her room finding things to put in her suitcase. When I surveyed her progress? She had packed a stuffed piglet, a polaroid picture of her with the Geico lizard and half a bag of sun chips.

2 - At the park, she decided that she must have her face painted. I tried to steer her toward the Mike Tyson-esque "tribal tattoo", but she opted for "pretty princess" (apologies to Gloria Steinem)

3 - The sugar content in Elmo cupcakes and "long lollipops" combined with the excitement of Sesame Place keep a toddler awake for 14 hours straight.

4 - A couple of the Harlem Globetrotters were on-site making an appearance and taking pictures. Curly Neal was there! Seriously! I was probably more excited about that than I should have been.

5 - Levittown, PA, is an armpit. One of our hotel amenities was a crazy, drunken person running around near the hotel entrance. Shirtless, of course.

6 - At the end of the first day of Sesame-Palooza, we needed beer, STAT. Of course, one does not just pop into a convenience store in PA to buy beer. We had to drive to a special beer store and pay $10 per six pack (we needed two) for the goods.

7 - Seeing the utter joy on my kid's face as she splashed through all of the water features at the park? Worth the whole experience.

8 - Oh...and Avery is now smiling for pictures, but we may have a new problem:

Pharm Party

Canetto just got a prescription for Ambien. Sometimes his work stress prevents him from sleeping and the bourbon was getting expensive, so Ambien it is.

Earlier this evening he was reading the drug information sheet from the pharmacy out loud to me. It included the following information: "Some patients taking this medicine have performed certain activities while they were not fully awake. These have included sleep-driving, making and eating food, making phone calls, and having sex. Patients often do not remember these events after they happen."

So, it does have the same side effects as the bourbon. That's reassuring.

Of course, since he told me this, I've already walked into the room while buttoning my pants telling him that he's a stallion and it was the best sex I've ever had.

Prescription drugs are a laugh riot.

And Now A Downer...

...I just read that Tim Russert died. Why is it that certain deaths really knock you for a loop and make you so sad? Only 58. Didn't know him at all...although Canetto and I saw him on the ski slopes during one of our ski vacations...

So sorry for his family. Especially on Father's Day weekend.

Walking On Sunshine

I am officially stitch-less! Hooray!

My visit to Dr. Handsome began with the PA (that's PHYSICIAN assistant, not PRODUCTION assistant, my LA friends) removing my stitches. I did not feel a thing. And...he said to me, "you don't look like you just had surgery" because I am now walking normally.

Then, Dr. Handsome showed me the before-and-after shots of the inside of my knee. I love medical technology. They did find a little pre-arthritic stuff...but cleaned it up. He said that in 85% of all cases, people don't experience symptoms again, so I'm (of course) hoping for that. There's no way to tell who will and who won't, so he said the best things to do are (in his words), "stay thin like you are" >swoon< and "resume physical activity in 7-10 days."

I asked if I could wear high heels again and he said, "I actually prefer you in them." (Maybe I'm not remembering that exactly as he said it, it may have been more along the lines of, "yes, that's fine.")

I also asked if it was okay that I traipse all over Sesame Place tomorrow and he totally lit up and said, "you'll love that -- we went a couple of years ago." (I'm hoping he has kids, otherwise, that's kinda strange.)

So...my gimpiness has hopefully come to an end. I'm so happy.

Sesame And The City

I'm seeing the Sex and the City movie tonight with two girlfriends -- both of whom were sorority sisters of mine in college. In the past year, we've gotten together for a New Year's girls' trip to Vegas, a pole dancing class, and a topless tickle fight (the last one is a fabrication, but it just seemed to fit.) (Aside: what's the difference between a circus and a sorority? One is a cunning array of stunts....)

I never watched this show when it was on TV (I'm way too cheap to pay for HBO). Although, I used to hear from a lot of people that I reminded them of Samantha. I'm hoping that's more of a physical than behavioral similarity (as does my husband, I'm sure).

This is the only grown-up event of the weekend. Tomorrow morning, Canetto, Pants and I are headed to Sesame Place near Philadelphia. We're meeting our friends there for a Father's Day weekend o' fun. Thank God Avery's school is bringing in a moon bounce for the kids today or there is no way she would have gone to school willingly. She's been begging us to leave for Sesame Place for two days now.

In addition to this fabulous, all-expenses paid trip to Sesame, part of Canetto's Father's Day gift was the picture below published in our local paper for a father's day spread they did. (Can I get a collective, "awwwwwww" here? Thanks.)

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNO QRSTUVWXYZ

Me: Okay...so I just peed my pants. Well, not like that, exactly. I got knee surgery last week and have a whole lot of contorting to do in the bathroom stall as a result...and I end up hovering way above the toilet. Anyway, my aim was apparently wayyyy off and there are two large, round, wet areas on the back of one of me jeans legs. And they smell like pee (mainly because they are). And I have to go chat with my boss soon and I have no idea what to do. I sent an emergency message to a friend of mine who works across the hall to see if she has perfume or lotion that I can use to mask it. I also just spent about ten minutes back in the bathroom blotting. I don't want to walk around too much to air out because it is quite obvious. Why do I feel like my first grade self when I was wearing all purple for picture day and my mom got called to bring me dry tights (ahem) and the only color that was clean was red...so in my school picture I'm in an all-purple outfit with red tights.

Scott: Cigarette lighter? Once in a rare moon I've been hammered enough to catch the side of my fly while going to the bathroom...not a big deal unless you start peeing before you whip it completely out. Nothing waving a cigarette lighter under for a minute or two won't help. Urine evaporated pretty quick. Can't speak to the smell. Just tell the boss you have kidney disease. IMPORTANT. Keep the lighter moving if you don't want to ignite your drawers.

Me: Re-read this sentence that was part of my earlier
e-mail...apparently, I'm a pants-wetting pirate: "Anyway, my aim was apparently wayyyy off and there are two large, round, wet areas on the back of one of me jeans legs" Thanks for the suggestion...I'm afraid that would raise more eyebrows if I asked someone for their lighter. I did get scented lotion and slathered about a ton of it up and down my arms...that's pretty much all you can smell right now.

Scott: Or a piss-sodden leprechaun. "Oh looky tere, she wet her fook'n pants'

Me: Incidentally, today is the first day in about a gazillion years that I am going straight out from work instead of picking my kid up and going home first. Which means I will be wearing my pee-pee pants to the hairdresser where she will be working in close proximity to me for a couple of hours as she colors my hair. This is a great day!!!

Scott: go for broke and shit yerself.

The Woman Never Met A Generic She Didn't Like

When my mom visited last weekend, she brought Avery a few little toys and things that she got from the dollar store. Sure...it's fine at this age...but (hypothetically, of course) when you're 12 and the entire world has leather Docksiders brand deck shoes to wear with their preppy ensembles and you are forced to wear vinyl Decksiders brand deck shoes, you may never be able to move on from that (hypothetically, of course).

One of the gifts she brought was "magic dough" -- the Dollar Store's answer to PlayDoh.

Like all two-year-olds, Avery loves PlayDoh and dug right in...or tried to.

After trying for a few minutes to knead the magic dough, she whined to my mom, "Grandma...it doesn't move."

Stop And Smell The Neuroses

The doctor doing my surgery tomorrow is my age and pretty attractive, albeit it a bit handsy.

I'm so shallow that I'm more worried about him seeing me with no makeup and with elephantitis knees (oh, and also under anesthesia so not able to hold my stomach in) than I am about the actual surgery.

I guess admitting it is half the battle.

Happy Baby To You

This past Saturday, I hosted a baby shower for the first time for my friend and fellow dilettante, Amy. She is due August 13th with a boy. She's doing a jungle theme in the nursery, so I did a jungle theme with the party. (You know me -- I love a good theme.)

The party was fun -- especially the part where everyone but the dilettantes, Amy's college sorority sisters and my mom went home. We all stayed and drank and shared dilettante/college stories -- all of which involved drinking.

We even did a couple of dorky games at the baby shower -- one involved freezing small plastic babies into ice cubes and seeing who could thaw their baby first and shout, "my water broke!" Amy's college friends took all the plastic babies after the shower and planted them around her house for her to find after they left. Plastic babies are funny.

Sugar And Spice And Everything Nice

When I walked into Avery's classroom to pick her up last night, she did her usual running leap into my arms. I gave her a big hug and then put her down so we could gather her things.

(It was at this point I noticed that her Crocs were on the wrong feet. This is why kids always think their moms know everything, because I said to her, "Wow. Did you put your own Crocs on?" and she very proudly said, "Yes. I'm a big girl.")

Her teacher said to me, "Do you want to hear a cute story from today?" (note to teachers: always). She said that one of the little girls in Avery's class was having a tough day (teacherspeak for a kid being a holy terror -- I know -- Avery has had a couple of "tough days"). This little girl finally laid down on her cot at the end of the day to take a nap. While she was trying to calm down and sleep, Avery and her friend, Kennedy, both sat next to this little girl and rubbed her back to soothe her.

>sniff<

Very High Dollar (subtitle: Hey, A Girl's Gotta Do What A Girl's Gotta Do)

I left work for a while today to buy some things I need for a baby shower I'm hosting on Saturday. After I was finished with my errand I was stopped at a traffic light and almost nodded off -- don't know if it is the heat or the pregnancy (ha ha ha -- just seeing if you were paying attention) or the fact THAT I HAVE NOT HAD A DECENT NIGHT'S SLEEP IN TWO AND A HALF YEARS, AVERY KATHARINE.

Anyway, I pulled into an office parking lot near where I work, cracked the windows, reclined the seat, turned the car off and apparently, promptly fell asleep.

About half an hour later, I was awakened by a very polite maintenance person who was standing back from the window saying, "ma'am? ma'am? I need to get into that gate you're parked near and I was afraid the noise would wake you up and you'd get scared." He went on to say that he noticed the baby car seat in the back and because he has young kids, he knows how important the power naps are and that it looked like I was sleeping pretty soundly.

His simple act of kindness really made my day. (Well, that and the power nap.)

A Very Steenberg Bathtime

When my sister and I were growing up, we loved it when our dad gave us baths. (Well, until high school, then it just got weird.)

I kid. He made bathtime so much fun (apologies to rubber ducky here). He gave each of our body parts special names that made us giggle uncontrollably:

legs were "legotomies"
arms were "armadillos"
chest was "a chest of drawers"
butt was "a dufty doodle"
feet were "tootsies"

Then, to dry off, he'd have us stand on a towel and lift us up and down like it was an elevator.

Needless to say, we've taught Avery the nonsensical names of her body parts since her very first bath. She loves it as much as I used to. I'm sure my dad would be thrilled with this legacy.

Memorial Day Weekend

What a fun weekend. Lots of different (and kid-friendly) activities and gorgeous weather!

Friday night we went to see "The Bee Movie" at Glyndon Park in Vienna. It was a very small crowd, and Avery loved the whole experience of laying on a blanket in a park watching a movie. She stayed awake for the entire thing and was pretty fascinated with the movie and at the end when "Here comes the Sun" played in the movie sound track she turned to me and said, "Hey -- that's what you sing". (I sing it to her a lot. So now that the song was in an animated movie, she thinks I'm a rock star.)

Saturday we had a play date at our house with Amanda and her daughter, Allison. The girls had a great time. Tim had a play date (bike riding) with his friend, Joe. Sadly, Joe's bike broke about a mile from the house, so Tim had to ride alone. That night, Tim and I set a tent up in our backyard (hee hee Tim pitched a tent) and told Avery we were going to camp out back. She loved the whole idea of it, and fell asleep in the tent after reading a couple of books by flashlight. Tim, however, was pushed off the air mattress by Avery and I in the middle of the night, so he wanted to go into the house around 2am, thus ending our camping adventure.

Sunday, Amanda came over with her friend, Tanti, and we headed to the Strawberry Festival in Delaplane. Beautiful day for a drive out through Virginia wine country. The festival itself was small and a little disappointing (very few strawberries, for instance, and we missed the strawberry-eating contest by one day). But it was a gorgeous day to sit in the sun with friends, so whatever. We cooked out when we got back and ate by the pool. Did I mention it was a gorgeous day? Dilettanti, especially, seemed to enjoy herself. (Video to come...)Leon couldn't make it, because he hates strawberries and gorgeous days.

Monday, we met the Beenhouwers at Viva Vienna! to watch Rocknoceros perform and go on a few rides. (Avery was more interested in the rides than the band. Every time they finished a song, she'd say, "All done?" hopefully -- knowing that the rides were the next thing we were going to do.) At the festival, she got a balloon from some vendor...so last night, I taught her how funny it is when mommy sucks helium and sings "Mickey Mouse".

Today? Back to the life-suckiness the work can sometimes be. Why isn't every work week four days long?

More Intellectual Discourse With Scotty

Scott: farts are funny!

Me: pharts are phunny, phag

Scott: heh heh heh. I'm off to load more crap into the truck. phuqr.

Me: better than crapping a load in the truck, I suppose. Or have you done that already? unitard.

Scott: I may have baked up a batch of "work'n man's" brownies

Me: with nuts?

And with that, Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone!

Really?

Went to the ATM at BB&T at lunchtime to take out $20. Tried to put my card in. Didn't work. Tried again. Didn't work. Looked at diagram, verified card was in right position, tried again. Didn't work. Tried one more time. Didn't work.

Walked inside bank. Waited for person ahead of me to finish transaction. Said to teller, "did you know your ATM out front is not working?" and he said, "yes" >smirk<

So I politely suggested that he may want to put a sign on the ATM letting people know this so that they would not try several times to insert their card. He ignored this.

In my super funky funk today...this is just what I needed.

Revisionist History

This morning, Avery asked to bring irises from our yard to her teachers, Esmat and Jessica. So I screamed, "NO! you are a rotten little brat!" Just kidding, of course. I said it in a very civil tone.

Of course I said we could -- how cute is that? We cut them and wrapped them up and she insisted on carrying them into the school. (I told her to be careful with them, which somehow translated into her walking vvveeeerrryyy slowly.)

When we got to her classroom, she got very shy. Her teachers loved the gesture and thanked her and kissed her, and then she got all embarrassed and wanted to hug me. So, I pantsed her and ran out the door, laughing maniacally.

I'm Great In Emergencies, It's True!

When my mom, my dad and I were visiting my sister in Florida one Christmas, she took us on a tour of the University of Miami, where she was a law student.

We were walking into the courtroom where the moot court trials took place and as I walked into the room and near the jury box, I noticed an opened bag of potato chips sitting on the railing. Without missing a beat, my sister said, "sometimes, the jury eats potato chips" and we all laughed.

About two seconds later, I noticed some filthy, dirty feet sticking out from under a blanket -- also near the jury box. It was obviously a homeless person who had set up camp in the courtroom while all the students were on Christmas break. What I didn't know was if this person might be dangerous. Because, you see, I was so busy pushing my father (two hands on his chest -- pushing!) out of my way to run out of the courtroom with complete and utter disregard for the fates of my family members, that I wouldn't have known if he was a crazy, knife-wielding lunatic until after all of my family was sliced into bloody ribbons and I was hearing about it on the evening news.

(And to rub it in, not only did all of my family members survive, but re-told this story for years -- as a follow-on to the kitchen grease fire story of '77 -- you know, the one where after the fire was exinguished, they found me three blocks away. The second my mom had said, "fire" and everyone else pitched in to put it out -- I bolted out the front door and just kept going.)

The Sound Of Things Falling Apart

(Stealing the title of this post from the name of a mix tape that a guy I hooked up with during my years at JMU made for me. I thought he was the coolest -- especially because he cut out the letters from magazines and taped them onto the cassette.)

But I digress. The sound of things falling apart is what I am faced with every morning lately. In addition to my pre-op left knee, I'm fairly certain that the right knee will also require surgery in the not-too-distant future; I seem to have a repetitive stress injury in my elbow (probably from typing on the computer -- blogging helps (snarf)); and my jaw is so sore right now that I cannot chew food. (I know there's a joke in here somewhere about that never happening BEFORE I got married...but I'll skip it, thanks.)

And now I'm becoming one of those people that cannot stop talking about their freaking ailments...because the freaking ailments are taking over my life.

In addition to scheduling a trillion doctors' appointments, I have taken to drinking my dinner (and not just because I can't chew...if you know what I'm saying.)

What A Puss

Every night, when Avery and I come home, we are greeted at the door by our two cats, meowing and begging for their dinner.

It wasn't always this way. When we only had Brooke, we could leave her food bowl filled at all times. She's good at self-regulating food and would graze daintily all day.

When Seamus joined the family we quickly learned that he dined with all the grace of a Hoover vacuum. Often eating so much so fast that it would cause him to vomit up a pile of mostly unchewed food. Yes...eating so fast, that he did not even take the time to chew it up.

After an embarrassing trip to the vet for their annual checkups (and the vet not listening to my protestations of "but he's big-boned") we now have to feed the cats set portions twice a day. We also have to feed them separately, so Seamus does not eat Brooke's food. Further? We have to put golf balls in Seamus' bowl. This supposedly forces him to eat around those, which slows down his eating.

To add to that charming visual, let me give you this: Seamus has to be touching me at all times and will gnaw on anything plastic in the house -- easter eggs, bags, toys, credit cards....I refer to him as my "special needs" cat, but I could not love him more. He purrs the second you pat him and when I say "bubbles" he will come running (with his gigantic stomach swinging from side to side) so that he and Avery can pop bubbles as I blow them. He is always available to take a nap with me, and is just the sweetest cat in the world.

Last night, when we walked in, we were greeted by only one cat -- Brooke. Odd, because of the two, Seamus is usually the more eager for his dinner.

I went downstairs and found him on the rug in the bathroom -- next to a tiny baby field mouse. The mouse was completely unharmed and seemed okay -- except for his ridiculously fast heartbeat.

Because I am so good in emergencies, I shooed Seamus out of the bathroom, closed the door, and waited for Tim to get home. While we waited, my two-year-old said to me, "Daddy is much better at this stuff."

Tim came home and put the mouse in a box and he and Avery walked outside and let the mouse go.

Yes -- I know that the mouse will come back. I also know that we probably need an exterminator and where there's one baby mouse, there are likely other mice. However, in every scenario the cute little mice do not live happily ever after, so at this point, I am unwilling to discuss that.

The part that I love? In a house with two (hungry) cats -- one was completely ambivalent and one befriended the mouse.

Housecleaning

Just this morning, I tossed out the fertility monitor.
If we ever get crazy enough to have a kid again...it will be adopted.

True, Dat

My wizened little 70 year old father in law just bought a Hummer- and
not the kind you buy for 50 bucks on Malcom X Ave.

Nothing screams "run" like a 70 year old asian guy in an 8
thousand pound truck.

(thanks for the visual, Lovey Sunshine)

All You Need Is Love (And Cocktails)

From the wedding we went to on Saturday. It was scheduled to take place in Mason District Park and hallelujah! Saturday was the one nice day we've had in weeks. Setting was gorgeous and the coolest part? The groom's sister sang all of the wedding music and played keyboard and the bride's brother played guitar. (She sang songs by Norah Jones, Ben Folds Five, Van Morrison and then All you Need is Love by the Beatles for the recessional). That, with the outdoor setting made for a very cool and very emotional ceremony. (And the fact that she had a fantastic voice -- you always wonder if that's a good idea when someone says their sister is singing in their wedding.)

All I know is that my dress was perfect for the dilettante dip and there was nary a dilettante in sight. >sigh<.

Next Year, They're Hiring Angry Men

Tonight I get to meet Buzz Aldrin.

My friend, Hillary, works for a PR firm that hosts very cool anniversary parties every year (they're pretty small, intimate affairs held at an Irish pub). Last year, for their 10th, they hired Bo Derek (she starred in "10" -- get it?) to come and mingle. This year, for their 11th, they've hired Buzz Aldrin (he piloted Apollo 11-- get it?). Even though he's not nearly as accomplished as Bo Derek, I'm pretty thrilled to meet him.

Doing a little research on him today, I found out his mother's maiden name was "Moon" -- that's fantastic.

Hopefully, a picture of Buzz and I will be in this post tomorrow.

What's A Nice Girl Like Me Doing With A Joint Like This?

Those who know me know that I'm not one to gloat, but let me just say this: my patellar retinaculum is intact. Moreover, my lateral meniscus is normal and my ACL and PCL are intact. (Take THAT, girls who were mean to me in junior high!)

In case you're wondering, I got the results of my MRI and went over them with my doctor this morning. My doctor kept tossing in words like, "effusion" and "myositis" -- which meant I kept tossing in words like, "huh" and "what?"

Bottom line: I need arthroscopic surgery on my left knee. Good times. Because, really, isn't surgery a treat? Especially when it doesn't result in better boobs or fewer wrinkles?

Poop.

(My elephantitis hit an all-time low yesterday -- so freakishly gross that I showed it to a guy I work with. Even through my jeans he could see how swollen and disgusting my knee was. He was very sympathetic, though -- and referred to me as "thunder knees" for the rest of the day.)

Reel Happy

We've been on a big kick of renting movies lately to watch while Avery naps on the weekend. We're seeing tons of great movies that the rest of the world saw ages ago:
"Waitress", "Into the Wild", "Atonement", "Michael Clayton"...

I even suggested that Tim rent "Sunset Boulevard" -- we're watching that later tonight.

Pleasantly surprised by all of the above mentioned movies -- had lost faith there for a while....Superbad.

Laser? I Just Met Her.

Canetto got his lasik today!

We got there around 8:45 and we left at around 9:30 -- amazing! He got about halfway through the big breakfast I made him (he was instructed to "eat light" this morning and he has a metabolism that doesn't do "eating light" -- especially after not eating all night, so he could not wait to dig in after the surgery) before the Valium started wearing off and he started getting uncomfortable. Fortunately, the nice people at TLC had given him Tylenol PM, so as soon as it started hurting, he fell asleep. (Not IN his breakfast, but almost. Too bad -- I could have added that to the photo album I've started that also includes photos him wearing goggles and being all drugged out. Lasik is funny.)

I've heard from everyone I know who has had this done that he is not even going to believe how good his eyesight will be. How exciting for him. How frightening for me --I tend to look better in "blurry."

Ooooh, Baby

One of our vendors at work just sent a plea to some of my co-workers and me to sign a petition he has drafted for Marriott to get them to "stop peddling porn" -- (offering pay-per-view movies in their hotel rooms). He's part of some sort of "focus on the family" organization or something that is solving the world's ills one hotel room pay-per-view movie at a time.

Will all that is going on in the world, THIS is what he chooses fight?

I just offered my co-worker $20 to sign the petition as "Jenna Jameson"

Self-Awareness

Aside from hurting an animal or a person, there's not a lot I would refuse to do for five million dollars.

Scandal!

http://forbesparkcon.blogspot.com/2008/05/secrets-of-manny-pangilinan-and-david.html

I have absolutely nothing to do with this, and yet I get a mention. I love that!

Spot On. From Weingarten's Gene Pool.

Observations: Male vs Female, Feeding Ducks At A Pond

Female: attempts to distribute bread evenly among ducks. Tries to make sure smallest duck gets some extra pieces. Gets annoyed at duck bullies. Gives some bread to stranger's child.

Male: attempts to land bread pieces on duck's back. Throws entire slice of bread to see if ducks fight over it. Throws bread to one side, then the other, to make ducks swim back and forth. Tries to see if ducks will also eat tacos.

As Sweet As She Is Beautiful

Without A Leg To Stand On

At the risk of sounding like a big, fat whiner...I'm gonna be a big, fat whiner.

My freaking legs and knees have been KILLING me since running the 1/2 marathon and Cherry Blossom 10-miler within a few weeks of each other. I've been on anti-inflammatories and have been icing my knees, and I see small improvements, and then they hurt again. (And I have a very high tolerance for pain -- after all, I dated Rob for three years.)

The orthopaedist did not find anything serious wrong with me (physically, anyway) so I wasn't scared until last night when I noticed that left leg was extra-sore, swollen and sporting a cankle. I think the visual hurts almost more than the actual pain.

For chrissakes...I'm so miserable and miserable to be around right now. Poor Canetto. Last night, I just cried because it hurt so badly. Maybe I can get a leg transplant -- Angelina Jolie seems like a benevolent type -- hmmmm....