I’m no Rockwell

Yikes! I’m dating myself, well – whatever. (I made a freaking Rockwell joke. I am old.)

I’ve been watching you. Well, noticing you. And I thank you for thinking of me and reading and linking.

I’m lame and haven’t done a template update in a while, but I’m going to do my annual holiday overhaul in a few weeks. You’ll see changes then - oh the changes.

For now – you should visit some of Big Red Blog’s Interweb friends like Miss Rachel at Picky Eater and Kim at Pagooey and Omega at her Diner (and her lovely husband Glen) and Zander at Beautiful Vacuum (who has a link, but you can visit him again anyway) and Gus (and his mom Janna!) at Baby Days.

Cancer free is the way to be

Hurrah! I have no tongue cancer, yeast infection, herpes, cooties, diphtheria or rabies. The small whitish area on either side of my tongue is - as expected - a function of my teeth irritating (I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you) my tongue.

The periodontist guy said he wasn't even going to bother with a biopsy. Double Hurrah! His fellow doctor guy came in and looked at my tongue too, because it was slow - and he agreed. No bad stuff, totally normal. However, I should "keep an eye on it" in case anything changes. If I have any pain or if anything looks funny I should call him.

Done and done.

And the doctor said my giant eyebrow zit is probably not a brain tumor pushing its way through my skull. Whew - that's a relief.

Many thanks to all of the nice people who emailed me or posted supportive comments. You all rock hard.

Self Diagnosis

I love the Interweb for a lot of reasons – but one of my favorites is that I can look up weird medical stuff and do some self-diagnosis.

I would never go to the doctor if it weren’t for the fact that she’ll cut off my birth control prescription if I don’t show up annually. She’s wily that way.

After doing a bit of research, I feel like I probably don’t have tongue cancer. Although – I won’t find out until after the freaking tongue biopsy (aka the birthday biopsy around my house) this afternoon. Well, until after the results are back – which better be fast because there’s nothing like the impending doom of tongue cancer to ruin the holidays.

Not like last year when the dog died AND some jerk stole presents off my front porch. Christmas, you will not win! This I vow.

Plus, I’m currently sporting a giant zit on my eyebrow courtesy of the birth control that I so relish using. Thank you prescription-drug induced adult acne. I do enjoy such things as I am about to turn 30. I just can’t believe that I would have both the giant zit and tongue cancer at the same time. It seems grossly unfair.

I did not think I would be using benzoyl peroxide and retinol at the same time.

The greatest gift ever purchased on a Saturday for less than $19

Saturday I was at Target – because that’s where I go, okay. Do not judge.

As I was cruising to the Christmas decorations on the quest for cool garland I blew past the toy section and then came to a screeching halt that nearly caused my husband to crash into a lady with like nine kids.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed! I grabbed a box from the shelf and started doing this weird happy dance. “LOOK! Look at this! Oh my God!”

“What?” Deeps asked, clearly annoyed.

“It’s Ms. Pac Man!” I cried moving into some kind of fugue state where all I could do was dream of the Pac Mans living together in happy harmony.

“We have to buy it! We have to!” I begged. Then I remembered that I’m in charge of the money and tossed it into the cart. *

I grabbed one of those little game consoles that are popping up in malls and stores around the country. It’s plug and play – you just throw in a few Double A batteries, plug it into your TV and you can play (in this case) 5 classic old-school video games: Ms. Pac Man, Galaga, Pole Position (my personal favorite), Xevious and Mappy (which was apparently popular in Japan).

This little console has taken over our happy home. The cord is just long enough to plug into the front of our VCR and where we can sit on the bed, reclining against giant fluffy pillows. Or in the living room we can play from the very popular chair. It’s the greatest thing ever. We carry it around from room to room, plugging it in and playing for a few minutes here and there.

It’s all the joy (and for me, mostly frustration) you can get from a computer game console for a lot less money. We never had anything like this at home; growing up until I was like 14 and by then I wasn’t too interested. However, when I was about 8 I would hang out at a neighbor’s house and play Frogger and Pitfall to my heart’s content. I really sucked at it but I didn’t care. It was blissful.

And now I might be able to live the dream again. I’ve heard from a little birthday fair that there’s a little Frogger console on the market and that perhaps it will find it’s way to me by Sunday.

Great day!

*Buying stuff impulsively is never encouraged and rampant, unchecked consumerism is driving the country into the financial toilet. However, in most of the rest of my life I’m pretty responsible with dough (I have an insanely detailed budget and savings plan). I’m an adult and sometimes I get to live a little – for less than $20, I was able to recapture a tiny bit of my childhood.

When H-E-Double hockey sticks freezes over

I try not to swear in the blog too much because my parents read it.

Last night was cold, cold, cold. This morning around 6 Deeps got the heat working again. Ultimately I blame myself because I should know better than to let the man wander around in the basement with a flashlight assuming he knows what he’s doing. It’s not fair to him or me.

And I was fighting a war on two fronts. First I was just trying to stay warm (front 1) and second I was fending off the aggressive attacks of one Poopus the Malevolent (cat and tormenter).

She was incredibly well behaved when my parents visited. She snuggled in laps, napped quietly, didn’t knock anything over or try to attack my face while I was sleeping. I was relieved but I knew it would not last because she is pure evil and must make her will known.

While she likes to think I’m her worst enemy at night she really has come to hate my alarm clock. It’s really small and battery operated (picked up during the great power outages of 1998) and doesn’t really harm anyone. Except the Poopus because she really just wants to knock it around on the floor every single moment that she can.

This morning Deeps commented on the war – he sleeps through most of the battles – but in light of the heat situation, he was awake.

Deeps: And this happens every night?
Me: No – it’s just bad this week.
Deeps: How long has this been going on?
Me: Off and on for like 8 years.
Deeps: No wonder you don’t sleep.
Me: I’ve been thinking, maybe we should get another cat because then they’d keep each other company at night and leave us alone. She gets really bored.
Deeps: (looks at me like I’m crazy) That is so not the answer.
Me: Sorry – it’s the lack of sleep and the frozen butt talking.

I am not interested

I’m not interested in being a grown up.

I went to a first-time homebuyer’s class tonight with Deeps. We have to sit around for eight hours and learn about buying a house. From what I’ve seen so far, I learned more from the book.

When we got home from the class we discovered that the heater was not working (again) and that the house is like 60 degrees. After two hours trying to figure out what the H is wrong – we’ve given up, despite the dropping temperature. Thankfully I have the arctic weight comforter. I didn’t think I’d have to test it to arctic temps.

And I have a freaking mouth biopsy scheduled for Thursday.

Getting old sucks.

What you don’t want to hear from the dentist

I went to the dentist today for my routine 6 month check-up.

My dentist’s office is kinda low-rent. You walk in and think “Am I at the dentist’s or a nail salon?” It could go either way.

Anyway, I went today and waited for like almost an hour before they saw me. I guess there was a dental emergency or something which made everyone run late.

I got in, got the lecture about how I need to floss more (my dentist is all stick and no carrot) and then she started breaking the bad news to me. I am getting old and hence my teeth are getting old.

“You are grinding your teeth a lot,” she hissed from behind a giant plastic face mask. “You need a mouth guard.”

Sexy is the first word that comes to mind.

“I mean it – if you don’t do it then you’re going to have nubs in a few years. You’ll grind your teeth away,” she intones.

Fantastic.

“Now hold this mirror,” she instructed – shoving a small hand mirror in my hand. “Look at your tongue – move it over towards me. Do you see that big white spot?”

I look and see something kinda white – there’s one on both sides of my tongue. “Yeth,” I say with my mouth gaping open, tongue akimbo.

“You need to have that biopsied. It could be something serious,” she replies.

What? Biopsy? Holy crap? Do have mouth cancer? I try to be cool.

“What do you think it is?”

She starts to pull off her mask and gloves. “Well it could be over developed salivary glands, or taste buds or just an irritation. But you should have it looked at next door – I’ll write you a referral. Call them Monday.”

Great – mouth cancer and I have to wait until Monday.

“And I want you to take a look at this X ray – see this shadow under your gold filling? I think its decay and it’s sitting on the nerve. We need to do something about that immediately,” she says – I think she’s relishing all the bad news.

“But otherwise, you’re fine.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as I walk into the lobby with my biopsy referral, instructions about a mouth guard and make an appointment for further exploration of the gold filling (aka pimp tooth) in my back molar.

Deeps picks me up a few minutes later. “So?” he asks.

“It didn’t go well.”

At the movies

I know someone who is hosting visitors in a few weeks – sisters with small children (infants of about 6 months old). There was a general discussion about where one could go with a child that young, given that it’s December in Boston.

One guy piped up that you could go anywhere with a baby – even to the movies.

I nearly choked.

I’ve been at movies with babies present for a while – at least 5 or 10 years. It never ends well. (Disclosure – I don’t bring the babies or know them.)

Movies are loud. Really, really loud – it’s part of the surround sound movie experience. Babies generally don’t like loud noises.

Often, parents almost never know when they should take the baby out of the theater – like when the kid starts to wail. Nope, they paid their $10 and they are staying to see the big fight or final court scene or confrontation.

We went to see The Incredibles last week and some people behind us brought their kids including a two-year-old toddler. He was really restless and didn’t want to sit for that long – and who can blame him? He’s two – he’s got stuff to do like run around and scream. (And as a sidebar – while I thought The Incredibles was a good movie, I would not say that it’s especially made for a kid audience. It’s pretty sophisticated, deals with some heavy themes, and there’s a lot of mayhem and death.)

I’m not going to begrudge anyone taking his or her child to a kid’s film where really anything goes. However, I’ve been to showings of movies with small kids – like under 5 – that were clearly too intense for kids (Xmen 2) and then there was the woman who was breastfeeding during Eyes Wide Shut – the kid wasn’t that interested and cried a lot (given the film, perhaps that was appropriate).

If you poop your pants regularly, you probably aren’t ready to be at a movie theater.

Holiday Olympics

My oldest niece – I’ll call her Blondie – wants some heinous holiday gifts – like musical CDs from Ashlee Simpson and Hilary Duff.

I bought her Britney CDs a couple of years ago when she HAD to have them. I’m not sliding down that slippery slope again.

She also wants a thing called a Fur Real Kitten – which sounds horrifying and after seeing one in person… well, my first guess wasn’t wrong. But you know – I cannot deny her.

When I was her age I’m sure I wanted something equally hideous – in fact I know I did. I really wanted this creepy “preemie” doll thing that was filled with bean crap that made it feel heavy and it was disturbing and doll-like and I HAD to have it.

I’m sure my Aunt and Uncle felt the same way about that doll as I feel about the creepy Bratz and Polly Pockets Blondie asks for. Have you seen the Bratz? They look like porn stars.

Kids like what they like. I’m the aunt. Not the parent. Still. I’m not buying those stupid CDs. Amazon thinks I like Britney and no matter how many times I explain it was a gift I keep getting Britney-related recommendations. Ick.

But I got lucky – because she also asked for books.

I was browsing through a list of nice kids books. Blondie is a big reader – despite her questionable taste in music – she has a great intellect that I’d like to encourage her to further develop. I tried to remember novels (chapter books as Blondie calls them) that I read as a kid and I asked Deeps for suggestions.

He said no one read to him and he had to read to himself when he was old enough. Of course – because the baby doesn’t know how to read. Right. So I went back to some Bev Cleary classics and picked out a few favorites along with a couple of new books.

The hard part about giving most kids books is that there’s almost never any instant gratification. They never open it and go “YAAY! I love this! It’s just what I wanted.”

And to be honest, around our house at Christmas it doesn’t happen anyway. As the grandchild of divorced grandparents – Blondie goes to like 14 Christmas celebrations with gifts all around. All the kids get lots of stuff and by the time they get to your gift, if you get a thank-you … well, you’re lucky.

But my pay-offs come later. Much, much later. I hope the kids will remember that I encouraged them to read. That they’ll do well in school and be life-long readers and really love books and stories.

Sometimes the tiny dividends are enough to sustain me.

I asked my sister, Bangles, what my nephew, Focus, would like for Christmas. She told me some toy stuff – then I asked about books. In the background I heard a resounding chorus for NATE THE GREAT!

He likes that book? - I asked her incredulously. She confirmed that it was his favorite.

I was quite pleased – that is what I gave him last year.

Look - it's a marble dog guarding a tomb. This is how we spent Thanksgiving. Not guarding tombs but inspecting them all through the Mt. Auburn Cemetary. I've got lots of pictures like this. Makes the simple grave markers you see in most modern cemetaries seem a little lame. 

I have spirit

A few weeks ago I went out to hunt for boots. I lost two good pairs over the past couple of winters – as pedestrian, good footwear is a key to success. Depending on what I do - I can walk between 2 and 5 miles a day (not counting what I do at the gym).

I vowed this would be my last attempt. As with shoes and boyfriends – sometimes it is best to not look but rather come upon them. But I digress. I was hunting.

I hit the mall and walked around for a while – searching and stalking. About an hour into my hunt I thought my search would be fruitless. Then I turned a corner and saw a giant sign that said 50% off.

I ventured inside the Easy Spirit store.

It should be noted that prior to entering the Easy Spirit store I had stopped by a few other times over the past two years. Every time I went inside I was pleasantly surprised by the clientele (women my age – in their late 20s) and by the shoe selection. They had a small offering of dowdy shoes – but most were very stylish, cute and comfortable.

I thought they had targeted a new demo, diverging from their previous target of women over 100 (approximately). Surely I’m not the only urban woman who walks a lot and would prefer not to wear sneakers and then haul the “cute shoe” to work only to find myself with a giant collection of shoes in a desk drawer. Surely.

Back to that 50% off sign: a sign like that in a shoe store is like – it’s the thing almost any woman looking for shoes hopes for. There’s almost nothing better, except maybe 75% off. The sign had me so intrigued that I took no notice of anyone or anything around me except for the sleek black boots perched on the wall display. I picked them up and turned to the saleswoman. It was then that I noticed I was… outnumbered.

Every granny in town was parked on the little curved sofas trying on hideous shoes. With their smell of lavender and mothballs – the place was swarming. I was the only person there under 70.

Boot in hand, I paused for a moment. Was this what I wanted? What I am to become? Then, I figured what the heck – it’s 50% off. Sure the place is running rampant with old ladies. And now I’ve crossed over to the world of possibly ugly but comfortable shoes. For half off.

I took the size 8.

An Open Letter to Christmas

Dear Christmas:

Hey there, Christmas – what is up? I am fine. How are you?

I wanted to let you know that you cannot beat me. Thanks to the Interweb I did all of my Christmas shopping in like 2 hours. Yep. I’m on fire. An unstoppable gift-giving machine.

bff
Alyssa

A response from Christmas
Dear Alyssa:

Hey there Alyssa, whazzup wit you? I’m rockin’! LOL.

BTW, just wanted to let you know that there are still like 25 days left until you have to actually travel for Christmas. Let’s not forget what that’s like. I mean you’re traveling with gifts and all your girl stuff – plus your husband. I don’t think it’s a good idea to taunt me now.

M’kay?

X

A response from Alyssa
My dearest Christmas,

This morning I discovered a couple of emails saying that a few of my awesome online purchases were rejected because of a “problem” with my credit card. This seems odd to me as I just paid off said card last month and there’s a lot of room to make holiday purchases.

Did you have anything to do with this? If so – please give my credit card its sassy mojo back. I really need to buy some new sheets.

So sorry if you thought my previous message was serious. I was TOTALLY joking!

bff
Alyssa

Chapel at Mt.Auburn Cemetary - Thanksgiving Day 

Little Sarah - Mt. Auburn Cemetary, Thanksgiving Day 

Mt. Auburn Cemetary - Thanksgiving Day 

Tales of Turkey

The menu for the next few days:

Turkey sandwiches
Turkey casserole
Turkey soup
Turkey taco pie
Turkey cakes

I had no idea a 10 pound bird had so much freaking meat!

Slim and I dismembered the carcass after dinner on Thursday – Slim is really good at this part. It was very CSI.

Me: What do you think is the cause of death?
Slim: It’s hard to say – I think the lack of internal organs played a role.
Me: Right – along with the missing head.
Slim: And I can’t rule out the role that being in a 350-degree oven for several hours played.

We are hilarious.

To ourselves.

Things to do in Boston with your parents

I’ve just dropped the parents off at the airport. They’re winging their way back to Indiana as I type.

We had a good visit – I think they had a good time, I fed them pretty well, and my turkey meatloaf –cakes were a big hit! Who knew that meatloaf in the shape of cupcakes would be so beloved by all?

We played poker, hit a giant cemetery (that’s what we do for fun), watched some DVDs – including Old School which my dad told me was an “excellent film” (I have to agree), and we drove down to the ocean and walked along the beach collecting seashells for like five minutes before we decided it was too cold and headed for a shopping mall like the rest of America.

I even put up a tree this year. It’s not as sad as Rags, our tree from two years ago. I bought these little tiny trees that go on top of tables or something. It’s like Christmas-lite, which works for me since I’m not big on too many decorations. Plus decorating the tiny trees was like an arts-and-crafts activity we did while my we lured my Dad into the first season of Arrested Development.

And we built a fire! And we opened the flu and guess what – we still filled the apartment with smoke while my Dad took a nap. Slim and I had flashlights and broomsticks trying to figure out if there was an obstruction. Everything was clear – smoke was going up the chimney – but a good deal was flooding out into the living room. So the house now smells like a bad campfire.

We determined that the fireplace is crappy (like the rest of the apartment) and we abandoned our effort once I started loudly complaining about the smell and the smoke in my eyes. Yes, I’m a big baby. Whatever.

Magical turkey

I popped the turkey in the oven and covered the breast in aluminum foil and we went to the Mt. Auburn Cemetary for a walk. Seriously - how can you ever not buy a pre-cooked turkey? It's like instant dinner.

Yum.

Also - we're seriously considering "door busting" tomorrow at 7 AM - which is an hour later that suggested by both Target and Kohl's. Usually I bag out on this event, but I need some new pillows, dammit.

Will offer full reports from said busting and will also upload many nice cemetary photos - because this what we do on the holidays. We take nice long walks through beautiful cemetaries.

Oh the hilarity

Part 1 – Wherein I let the cat of the bag

So I get an email from Cuddles this morning. She’s figured out that I’ve broadcast the news of her pending spawn to the world (or at least the Interweb readers who visit my site).

Her email is short and sweet – basically, she had not been able to tell everyone about the pregnancy (it’s that new people!) and that her in-laws found out about it from the blog.

Whoops!

Now, full disclosure here – of all the pregnancies, I have usually found out about them much later than anyone else (I think it’s due to the fact that I’m usually geographically separate from the rest of the family. I get told after my sister(s) are like 10-12 weeks along. So it didn’t even occur to me that anyone wouldn’t know. I finally got in on one early! Sweet!

Additional disclosure – I’d like to offer up as evidence to the fact I’m the last to know, the following conversations:

Slim: I think it will be like when I had my gallbladder out – it’s not that invasive and I get out the next day.
Me: You had your gallbladder out? When?
Slim: Oh, like two years ago. You didn’t know?
Me: NO! Nobody tells me anything.

And even better… this one is kinda famous.

My sister Bangles was pregnant while I was finishing up my senior year of college. She was due in June – after my graduation, before I moved to Chicago. I called home around the 4th of July (about 3 weeks past her due date).

Me: Hey so – shouldn’t Bangles have had her baby by now?
Parents: Uhm….(silence)… I thought we called you.
Me: Seriously – this has got to stop.

So there you have it. I’m not totally responsible for letting the cat out of the bag. Just the same, I’ve kinda confirmed that no one is horribly mad at me and I did end up helping Cuddles out.

She said that she and BIL were trying to think of a unique way to tell the family. Done and done.

Part 2: Wherein I go to GNC because I love Slim

Slim and Pops are coming for a visit in a few days – for the big Thanksgiving. Slim is on a special diet that requires she drink these protein thingeys once a day. No big – but I had to get them at GNC so that she didn’t have to haul them on the plane from Indiana. (She is bringing her own oatmeal, so I thought I would offer up something.)

She told me the name and that I could get it at GNC. Fine – I went. I have never been inside of a GNC before and if all goes well, I’ll never have to go back again. In the name of all things holy – what is wrong with the people in there?

I dragged Deeps along, he’s a witness. I think GNC’s target audience is weenie teenage boys who are looking for a) hot bods to get girls b) some weird sex enhancers c) something more disturbing I prefer not to think about.

This was an actual conversation I overheard:

Teen boy 1: But it’ll like you know – make me feel good, right?
Middle-aged woman clerk: Uh – well, I’m not sure what you mean.
Teen boy 2: He wants to know what it does to his sex drive?
Teen boy 3: Yeah does it just make you warm and fuzzy or does it really turn you on?
Middle-aged woman clerk: I think it just really makes you feel good – it’s about the beta….

She trailed off and looked at me as I stared back in abject horror. There was no disguising it.

Middle-aged woman clerk: Can I get with you guys in a minute? I want to check out this customer.

She motioned to me to pay.

I paid and ran as fast as I could away from the GNC of the Damned.

Part 3 Wherein Slim and I have a good laugh

I called home to find out when the ‘rents are arriving. They are coming on Wednesday for Thanksgiving.

Slim answered the phone and hunted down the details – not before she laughed and laughed about the pregnancy revelation (see part 1) and my guilt/freak-out before getting the all-clear from Cuddles.

Anyway, she pulled up the information.

Slim: We come in around 8:30 on Wednesday night.
Me: Really? Because I thought the thing you sent me last month said you leave in the morning.

(there's a long pause - she's reading)

Slim: No, we fly out around 6:15 on Wednesday evening.
Me: Okay, I must have been confused. I thought you were landing in the morning. Well – whatever. Who are you flying on…?

She gasps.

Slim: Oh NO! NO! NO! I can’t believe it! NO!
Me: What’s wrong? Is everything okay?

She starts to laugh really hard.
Slim: I misread the times – I thought it said PM but it says AM!

Now I laugh – really, really, really hard. Snorting hard. Hilarious.

Slim: Oh my God! Your dad is going to be mad! He is going to have to take off of school! And I have to take the day off! And – we’ll just take a taxi from the airport and go to a restaurant or something…
Me: We already took the day off like…weeks ago, when you first sent your itinerary. I just couldn’t get into my email to confirm. So, we’ll pick you up.
Slim: Oh my god! Six o’clock on the morning! (Hysterical laughter followed by a loud door slam) Uh oh – here he comes. I’ll have to break the news to him. I’ll call you later.

*click*

Melee

I’m not sure what bothers me more – the horrifying assaults or the reaction to the consequences.

As a good Hoosier, I have loved the Pacers for many years. Sure, I don’t really follow basketball anymore – but there were several years when I followed them closely, hoping for a basketball miracle. If you have spent any time in Indiana you’d see that it’s a state that loves basketball. There are hoops everywhere. It’s bigger than football. We are devoted – from Junior Varsity right up to the Pros.

Which is why I find what happened Friday (and what’s happening today) so very disturbing.

So there was a big fight between Pacers’ players, Pistons’ players and fans attending the game. It looked very, very bad.

Yesterday the commissioner of the NBA handed down heavy suspensions for the players involved. The consequences may have effectively decimated the hopes of the Pacers’ for a championship (it’s early in the season, so it’s hard to say how viable that proposition is).

Fans in Indiana are outraged that their team was seriously penalized. I think their outrage is misplaced.

I have a hard time believing that the reporter couldn’t find anyone in Indiana who thought the suspensions were justified. But maybe he had a tight deadline. One of the best quotes from a fan comes from one Orville Henry, he says, "I think that it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. They've never suspended baseball players, football players or hockey players for the whole season. This is just terrible. It practically puts our team out of business."

I think fans were way out of line in attacking players and running out onto the court. Security was clearly lacking if fans were able to get so close as to throw food or drinks or fists. That said, your right to swing your fist ends where my nose begins. It’s just as wrong that players attacked the very people who make them a) valuable sports commodities and b) famous entertainers.

It’s all a show and you don’t assault fans. It’s like a rule you learn as a kid – don’t feed the animals, don’t poke the angry dog, don’t play with fire, don’t throw things at the players, don’t assault the fans.

How hard is it?

This year has been rough for players and fans. The San Francisco Chronicle has an alarming timeline of assaults in sports. Sure, they’re like plane crashes – they don’t happen often but they are heavily covered and publicized. But there seems to be an attitude – and a pattern – that this kind of thing is okay and to be expected.

Really?

I’m not sure why this happens. Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s the fact that buying a couple of tickets and some hot dogs at a game could set you back close to a $100 and people feel entitled. Maybe the security is bad. Maybe we’ve turned into ugly Americans and hooligans.

Or maybe we’ve lost all sense of sportsmanship. Last week people were up in arms because of a semi-racy skit at the opening of Monday Night Football. There’s no shortage of outrage over this – but I think it’s woefully misplaced. After all, won’t someone think of the children?

Guess who’s pregnant?

Not me – settle down.

That was the question I was posed this morning when I called home to find out a few specifics about food for my parents. They’re arriving in 3 days for Thanksgiving and I was doing some pre-holiday grocery shopping.

“What kind of oatmeal do you like?” I asked my step-mother, Slim. “Do you want plain or flavors?”

“Plain – actually, don’t worry about it. Guess who’s pregnant again?” she gushed excitedly.

I’m not one to drop an F-bomb in the middle of the cereal aisle… but bombs away.
“Is it Cuddles? You’re kidding! I just talked to her!” I replied. Cuddles is a champ actress when she’s keeping mum on the preggers situation.

“Yep, she’s just started telling people,” Slim replied. “You know twins run in the family for us too!” She was excited.

So the six-pack (now +1) will only hold for one Christmas. And in keeping with the pace Cuddles is at, we could have new babies every Christmas for a few more years. You know, because the older kids start getting all squirmy when you try to hold them and kiss on ‘em after a while.

They can be uncooperative.

Holiday Shopping

I’m not quite ready to bust out my holiday shopping yet. But I did hit the big Macy’s sale a few days ago. I was on the hunt for a couple of sweaters.

I was not alone.

The big Macy’s sale (50% off of everything – unless it’s not on sale or something…. you might want to ask or use that price check thingey) brings out the blue hairs in force.

I saw a woman wearing a full-length fur coat (beaver I think), fire red lipstick (applied a la Baby Jane) and a jaunty hat (probably purchased in 1949). She really wanted a Macy’s shopping bag because something she was carrying was heavy (possibly her head).

“Darling could you give me a shopping bag, please, honey? I’m just carrying too much today,” she loudly shouted at the Haitian woman ringing up the woman in line in front of me.

The woman handed Baby Jane a bag and was promptly showered with accolades and hosannas.

“Oh thank you dear, you’re very, very good. You take excellent care of your customers. I’ll tell your manager. And I’ll be back tomorrow to make some purchases from you. You are very good,” Baby Jane yelled and gushed at the woman.

The lady behind the counter laughed to herself and went back to ringing up the old lady in front of me. She wanted price checks on everything.

“How much?” she demanded – holding a blouse. (Sidebar: Why is hideous the new black this season? Anyone?)
“That’s $13,” the woman replied after scanning it.
“That’s too much!” the old lady replied.
This went on for a while – as the old lady wanted several items checked. They were all “too much!”

I finally got to the front of the line to pay, our exchange was uneventful – although I saved many dollars (no sweaters but three blouses – hurrah). As I left I heard another old lady (apparently I was shopping in the old lady department) unleash on the woman behind the counter.

Now I know whatever happened to Baby Jane.

In the name of science - my Seasonale report

I now give you the girly, Seasonale science report.

Disclaimer: If you’re a dude or squeamish about birth control – click away now! Here, go visit someone else nice like DaddyTypes. He’s doing some lovely writing about well-designed baby furniture (among other things - like good places to change diapers in public).

Also – I’m not a doctor or anything. I’m just sharing what happened when I started taking it because like 15,000 women asked me to tell them what happened.

Still here?

Okay. I started on Seasonale a little over three months ago. I chose to write about my experiences now because a) any woman I told got excited about the idea of it and b) because everyone was like – tell me what happens!

The pitch: Seasonale does in an easy way what doctors have been doing for women with chronic menstrual problems (painful menstrual cycles, ovarian problems, etc) for years. It’s a form of birth control that also reduces your cycles from once a month to once every three months.

Why would you want to drop your monthly cycle to a quarterly cycle? Well for me – I call it “the curse” for a reason. I like not having to deal with it, not having the crankies, and generally prefer living my life without having to think about the pending curse. Is it coming? Is it going? Is it here yet?

The Pros: Just four periods a year; periods are like your other BC-regulated periods (short and relatively light); less PMS – see only 4x a year; according to my doctor it’s as safe as other BC, it’s just less periods; less trips to the pharmacy because you have to get 3 months at a time

Cons: Cost – until very recently my Seasonale was not covered by insurance so I had to shell out $150 cash for my 3 month supply; Still new and no one I knew was taking it, so I had no guinea pigs to bother about it (hence my blog entry); breakthrough bleeding – I had a lot more spotting during this pill than I ever had with any other pill I’ve taken (primarily Ortho-tricyclen); the stupid packaging – they could work on this to make it a bit less bulky and include labels for days of the week (as alternatives of S-Sa, because not all of us start on Sunday)

What happened to me:
Month 1: Nothing – just like normal and I was pleasantly surprised when the end of the first pack (you get three packs, stacked up) and had no PMS symptoms. I sailed into Month 2.
Month 2: More good stuff – still nothing happened. Again, I sailed right into Month 3.
Month 3: The good times ended for a week while I had light spotting every day (usually in the morning – dissipating by the afternoon). After that first week – which my doctor did warn me (as does Seasonale literature) about as a side effect during the first 3-6 months of taking the drug- I had no problems and returned to my normal, happy period-free lifestyle. When the curse did arrive (seriously – you get that I refer to it as the “curse” in jest – I’m all ironic and stuff) it was like any other period I’ve had while on the pill. It was light, lasted a bit less than 4 days and then it was gone.

Anything else?
I’m not sure if I’m totally happy being off of Ortho-tricyclen. One of the side benefits of that pill is that you have pretty clear skin. When I switched to Seasonale I think I gave that up. I have noticed a few more breakouts than I normally have. However, that might be because I’ve also switched moisturizer (FYI – I’m 30 in like 2 weeks, so I don’t usually have acne issues anymore). Anyway, it’s something I’ve noticed over the past 3 or 4 weeks – I’ll have to do more investigating. It’s probably not enough to make me switch back.

And good news – I have JUST learned that my insurance company will cover Seasonale now so when I get another pack (sometime in January) I will only have to pay the co-pay on a 3 month supply (which for me is about $60). Plus I’ve added the cost of the prescription (co-pays) to my medical flexible spending account allotment for the year and I’ll be able to reimburse myself for the cost of the drug.

The verdict:
Everyone is much happier – I’m less moody at the end of every month, whereas now I’m hormonally-induced moody only once a quarter. The cost has come down enough that it’s more affordable for me to continue to take Seasonale. I have not suffered any side effects that I can’t deal with (light spotting for 1 week) and I’m not sure about the light break-out thing. I think it’s the moisturizer. I switched to something with retinol (I’m 30!) and that might be the problem. I hate the stupid bulky packs, but it’s better than hauling around tampons all the time. I’m sticking with Seasonale until we go crazy and decide to try to have a baby (which isn’t happening for a while – thanks for asking, Cuddles).

Updated Dec. 21, 2004: I'm still happy with the results and my skin seems to have stabilized. I'm having much fewer breakouts. I gathered a bit more anecdotal evidence to indicate that the change in hormones (from the Seasonale) probably resulted in some breakouts/skin irritations.

I'm almost through my fifth month and have seen an improvement in my skin - at least, I've seen fewer breakouts. If this trend continues, I'm going to keep up with Seasonale. I think my body has adjusted enough - hopefully - to the new dosage that I don't experience any side effects. I'm also curious to see how month 6 goes as I experienced a lot of spotting (for about 2 weeks) during month three of my last 3 month pack.

I've seen a fair amount of traffic to this entry, as I expect people are curious about how the drug works and what, if any, side effects manifest. I'll do what I can to update through the next 3 month pack and provide whatever anecdotal information I experience.

Updated Feb. 20, 2005: I'm still sticking with my decision. I've been through two full cycles and the skin breakouts have gone away. I wish I'd known about this homemade recipe (which is apparently quite effective) much earlier - it would have made the transition easier.

The only thing that still lingers is the month three spotting (when you get to the last month of the pack). At the start of the third pack I spot lightly for about 4 days then it goes away. When I get my period at the end of the pack it is very, very light (but heavier than the spotting) and only lasts about 3 days. So far, I'm pleased and have suffered no weird side effects or had any health-related issues in taking Seasonale.

Fun with Links (because it is Friday)

All of the following links have arrived in my email over the past 24 hours.

Amazing, no?

Everybody Poops Sometimes

Is it a good idea to crib from someone who personally knows a serial killer?

Leave our homos alone

Ellen DeGeneres: Dance Dance Revolution!

Results from the Creationist Science Fair (No – this is not a fake story from The Onion)

Sometimes I’m so glad to be a woman

Something about chapstick and old tissues reminds me of you

Talking Turkey

America – we need to talk.

It’s that time of year again; we drag out the big roasting pans and scrounge for anything that might possibly resemble a gravy boat.

I know I’ll spend at least 20 minutes this weekend searching for mine.

Some people really go all out – whole hog (or turkey) if you will – for Thanksgiving. They make gigantic birds; they make pounds and pounds of starches (Atkins be damned!), vegetables, and pies. They eat and eat and eat and eat. They eat more.

The stress over cooking such an enormous meal (even if you’re feeding a small group) is intense and the task is daunting.

With that in mind, I offer up this modest proposal – it’s time to “cheat”.

I’ll share with you my little “secret”. I order a pre-cooked turkey dinner from a local grocery store and it is excellent. For less than $50 I get a pre-cooked Butterball, mashed potatoes (just like your mom wished she could make), rolls, green beans, stuffing, squash and pie. I think I get enough food to overfeed 7 or 8 hearty eaters or 10 less hearty eaters. All I do is put a bunch of stuff in the oven at 400 degrees and set the timer.

My parents like to come visit us for Thanksgiving because we have such a low-key event plus we have no kids, so they can lounge around and relax. We go on a nice brisk walk up and around Harvard and Radcliff – then we wander home for a nap. While everyone else is having pre-meal dreams, I pre-heat the oven.

By that point my biggest challenge is just making sure I have enough serving dishes and big spoons.

I throw together a salad and defrost some peas and wait. In less than 2 hours everything is thoroughly heated, piping hot and ready for eating.

There’s no crying, there’s no pots clanged in frustration or snippy exchanges over the drippings.

I call it very civilized living.

Greatest Hits

Wow – I used to get the bulk of my traffic to a couple of places….
A Seinfeld story I wrote for the Chicago Tribune way back in 1998 and a story I wrote about the CIA way back in 1996.

Good times.

But now…. well I am happy to present the first ever greatest hits list. Some items on this list make sense – topics I wrote about months ago that are in the news. (Nick Lachey– I’m looking at you.) Or maybe something that’s just unique to me like pictures of a blizzard or my sweet Apartment Screener.

I present, in no particular order, the short list:

I’m not still not a Desperate Housewife (yet)

Nick Lachey and the Golden Handcuffs

The Apartment Screener PDF – it’s not the most elegantly designed form I’ve ever made, but it still holds up pretty well when conducting an apartment search.

Blizzard in 2003

I went to France and got VAT

The Big E! (People can’t get enough of the Big E.)

And then there’s the weird stuff – someone has some Google ‘splaining to do.
Too Much Splenda

I know the baby doesn’t read

The following is a true story. For reals.

Deeps’ cousin recently had a baby. We decided to take down a little gift to the wee one – we spent some time picking out an assortment of excellent children’s books and a squishy toy.

For the record - books and squishy toy is our standard new baby gift because most people don’t get books for their kids when they are that little – but reading to babies helps them to develop their brains faster/better, to develop language skills, and generally helps them to (someday) become better readers.

This was the actual reaction to our gift.
Deeps’ parents: Can I see the gift?

Me: Sure.

I hand them the Curious George bag with some books and a little stuffed monkey inside. It should be noted that I voted for a stuffed chicken but Deeps really liked the monkey.

Deeps’ parents: Books?

They quickly switch from English to their dialect and talk directly to Deeps. I piece together what they’re saying. Below is my rough approximation.

Deeps’ parents (not in English): Why did you buy him books?

Deeps: Because it’s good to read…

Deeps’ parents (not in English): But he can’t read! He’s just a baby!

Deeps: I know he’s a baby, Dad. But you’re supposed to read to the baby.

Deeps’ parents (still not in English): How silly to buy books for a baby. He can’t read. You should just have given them money. Why didn’t you give money like everyone else?

I swear to you that this actually happened. The best part is that this reaction was not limited to Deeps’ parents. His aunt and uncle said the same thing.

A cry in the dark

The three-entry arc involving my cat and some her unrequited love/hate for a leaf may be my saddest blog entry to date.

Forgive me....

Sometimes she's just so freaking loud! This is what happens when The Daily Show is a repeat.

The leaf and I - a story in three acts (and pictures)

The cat loves a damn leaf. She could care less about me - her owner, food bringer and litter box cleaner. But that leaf is her best friend and worst enemy and greatest temptation.

For the past hour all I've heard is "MEOW!MEOW!" followed by a BANG!BANG!BANG! as she tries to get through the door from the office to our front hallway. There's a leaf there and she's got to do something about it! (Above, the leaf in question)  

I cave and let the cat into the hallway (in the hopes that she will just shut up). I know my actions are futile.

The great fat hunter waits quietly for her prey to settle down, she will make her deadliest move when the leaf least suspects it. 

After a few tenative minutes assessing the danger posed by the leaf the cat makes a move. What she learns is that she has a serious leaf problem and that she needs to get help. But her shame is too great, so she lives a life of quiet desperation - embracing her denial like a cold dead leaf in the night.

Behold her shame! 

Baby it's cold outside

A convergence of events – a new, drafty apartment; record high-heating costs; and the first snow of the winter – have driven us to look for a new down comforter.

We had one for a while, but it was kinda cheap and there were feathers everywhere. I think the cat would sometimes make out with it – eww.

Then we had a cheapo fiberfill one that was okay but just not so warm. Now I live with the human popsicle. He’s always cold. I tell him to put on a sweater. He does and he’s still cold. (For the record, when we visited his family this weekend everyone had their thermostat set at 75 or higher.)

I figure some of you might be buying a down comforter this winter, so I bring to you some fun facts about down comforters. Think of it as one of those PSA’s you see on TV – like The More You Know!

Fill – it’s imporant, or so say the allergy people. The highest fill you can get is 800, but I guess most cheap ones are in the 400 (or less range). The one I just ordered is a whopper at 700 – I couldn’t find an 800 for less than $500. If you’re reading this you’ve probably read my blog before and you know I’m not going to pay $500 for a freaking blanket.

Down – Apparently to qualify for a “down” listing it’s going to have at least 70% down in the filling. Looks like if you h ave allergies or an aversion to being poked with feathers you should avoid the down/feather combinations. Also, the fill plays a role in what kind of down/feather stuffing you get.

Duvet – You should probably spring for the duvet to put your comforter in. It really can protect the comforter and look how pretty it is? Plus you can wash the duvet and for the most part you can’t wash down comforters.

Weight – you can buy summer, winter and medium weight comforters. I live in New England and our new apartment is super drafty, so I’ve gone with winter (aka arctic). It may be more than I need, but I figure it’ll keep Dr. Freeze happy.

What it feels like....

Diwali was surprisingly okay. I mean, it wasn't exactly fun - but it wasn't terrible. For me, going to visit Deeps' family for Diwali reminds me of the times when I'd go home with a friend for Thanksgiving. I could never afford to fly home for Thanksgiving and Christmas (and frankly, would rather die than ask for the money for a ticket) so I usually crashed with a friend.

So here's this well-oiled machine of a family that knows each other well and laughs at their in-jokes and fights about stuff that makes no sense to you and they try to include you but it's hard because you're not one of them. Now imagine that with a foreign language you don't understand and multiply that by their total confusion at your lactose intolerance.

See what a fun time it can be?

It could have been much worse. This time there were no cracks about my weight (apparently a popular topic of discussion) or inappropriate health questions. And I'm happy to report I didn't hear any of the normal arguments about how Deeps should be more religious or just do something because his parents say so. That was a huge improvement.

But there are still areas that could use development - like the chatting and the casual conversation. This family is just a bit socially awkward (my husband's words - so don't send me hate mail) and they're just not really up for small talk. At any given time I'm willing to converse casually about any number of topics including: sports, the stock market, real estate, the weather, movies, books, or television. That's a nice cross-section of topics that can make an evening a bit more interesting without raising anyone's ire (like when you talk about sex or politics or religion).

I tried to trot out some real-estate discussion. No one bit. I raised the topic of the weather since we had "Diwali Snow" which is unusual, even for the US. Again, no takers.

So I waited for the questions that I knew would invariably come - they ask me the same questions every time.
1. Do you like Indian food?
Answer: Yes, I have been a fan for years.
2. How is your family?
Answer: They are fine. Blah something about my Dad and my Mom and maybe one of my sisters (whoever is spawning most recently).
3. Is that too spicy?
Answer: No. I eat spicy food.

Once I have answered those three questions to their satisfaction then they ignore me until later when they ask me the same question again. I've tried but I think I'm giving up - the fact that we've reached a somewhat neutral cease-fire agreement (with less yelling in foreign languages, pouting, crying and glowering) is to me as much as I can hope for. We don't have much in common. And I used to try harder - but my husband is a bad example.

We sat apart from the group of people, women on one side and men on the other, we watched them poorly interacting. Mostly the women all stared at the new baby or would ask if anyone needed more tea. And the men played with their cell phones. The room was mostly silent.

Deeps turned to me and quietly whispered "It's a room full of people that I love but ultimately don't have anything in common with."

He's right. He's very different from the rest of the family. Like I'm different from the rest of my family - but luckily we all love TV and movies and books and I'll talk sports with my dad and we'll play cards. Because when I'm in a room with them, I realize that I love them and thankfully we have a few things in common.

Nightswimming

Charles River view of Cambridge, tonight at dusk.

Autumnal Vista

This is my neighborhood about 2 weeks ago. The trees were not even at peak color - but as you can see, it's quite autumnal. All you need is a fleece jacket and some mulled cider to round out the picture. This picture becomes important later.... as you'll see (below).

White Diwali

This was my street on Saturday morning. We were expecting a light dusting, instead we had about 3 inches of snow. I love autumn.

The unexpected snow also marked the Indian holiday - Diwali (Indian New Year). Deeps' and I were driving down to Jersey to visit his family and celebrate the new year (his parents are from India). What we didn't expect was a White Diwali - and we're pretty sure there weren't many people waking up to one in Mumbai.

Going on 30

A month from today I turn 30.

I’m not freaking out about. I’m thinking a bit – reflecting. Did I get everything I wanted to do in my 20s done? Not really – I did a radical restructuring of my work and personal life several years ago which resulted in…I guess it brought me where I am today.

I am totally cool with that. I'm happy with it. I have a charmed life.

However.

Last week I had an odd conversation with a person. She is in Chicago and I am in Boston – so we don’t really encounter each other in person often. In fact, before my last trip to Chicago I had not met her in person.

When we talked last week (after my trip) she mentioned it was nice to meet me in person.

Me: Yeah, I forget sometimes that I’m just a voice on the phone for some people.
Her: Well, you just were not what I expected.
Me: Really (pauses – goes for standard joke). Did you think I would be taller?
Her: No, I thought you’d be younger.

To quote Jon Stewart: Whaaaaaaaa??/

The conversation didn’t really improve after that. In some backhanded way, later, she tried to explain that there were “a lot of young girls around” the office and that I wasn’t one. Still not exactly a ringing endorsement is it?

Well – you should know that I’m hideously disfigured and have many, many wrinkles, and shocking white hair which I wear very short, in a perm.

For the love of Pete, I don’t know where this woman went to charm school – but I’m not an old lady. I don’t think I even look my age. I think if I keep my mouth shut (hard to imagine, but work with me) I might clock in a couple of years younger. I use like 4 kinds of moisturizer every day (I know all moisturizer is roughly the same, but since I bought them all – I’m using them all until they’re gone). I have good hair that is relatively well-maintained.

Not today – but other days. It’s rather nice.

I have pretty clear, smooth skin – well not today – but usually. (I’ll write about that more later when I write my special “for ladies only” Seasonale experiment update).

I don’t get it – I’m not old. I’m not a raging hottie – but I never have been. I don’t curdle milk – but will not get a calendar deal (like most of America except this guy). I’m pretty professional with my colleagues. I don’t get it.

What’s more, I made the mistake of telling people about this weird conversation.

Now they like to call me oldie. Old! I was specifically told by Katie Couric on the Today show that 50 is the new 30!

Jerks.

...
...

But I can’t begrudge them, because if the tables were turned…I’d do the same thing.

At War

I am having a secret war with you.

You have no freaking idea.

For the record, you started it. I'd call or write or say hello - you did not respond. And not respond. And not respond. And not respond.

There's only so much rejection a girl is willing to take from a) a person who is not her mother, b) a person she's not dating/sleeping with/married to c) someone she gave birth to.

The war part is easy. I can be hostile but you never know. There are no bullets to dodge. There are barely mean looks to avoid.

But please know - it's war.

Happy Birthday, Dad

This is a picture of my sister, Peeper, my Dad and me from circa 1982.
If you're a regular reader then you've cracked the case of my true hair color.

I guess I was a Brownie. Who loved France.

I remember this night vaguely. I think it was part of the big Brownie induction ceremony where we had to stare into a mirror and say some poem. I was not long for the Brownie world - I only lasted a few weeks. I think there might have been an incident with a girl in the troop. (Okay, I know there was.)

In this photo, my Dad was about the same age I am now - which is alarming to think about. He had some kids and a house and job. He was responsible and adult.

I found this Polaroid several years ago and I keep it hanging on the fridge. I like to remember my Dad like this - young and geeky and totally in love with his kids. Looking at this picture I know what comes next for him - heartaches, struggles, joys and sorrow. But he always smiles. He's always ready with a weird joke or laugh.

And despite the passing of time - all these years later, he's still a little geeky and totally young at heart. He's still totally in love with his kids - but best part is that he's now completely enamored of his grandkids.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

He may have a PhD

We finally got a hold of the landlady who made an aside (I'm thinking it's snide) that if it were her house she'd wait until tomorrow to have someone come out, but since we're tenants she has to get someone out immediately to fix our heat.

But what about the babies?

I mean I'm the biggest freaking baby in the world. Ask ANYONE. Strangers will tell you.

I can't tell if she was being snide or if she's got Tourette's or if she's just old and kinda loony. I mean, I know she's old. She's so old she's nearly transparent.

Anyway, Deeps was in the basement for a while doing stuff like looking at the furnace and looking at some pipes. He sometimes speaks with incredible authority about things he knows nothing about - but I don't necessarily always know that.

I suggested that he follow some instructions that were carefully taped to the side of the furnace (and under a gross layer of grime) because they directions might be relevant. He suggested they were not.

Turns out they were - but we didn't figure that out before: Deeps and the old lady spent a lot of time in the basement, a random plumber guy called me and started asking me questions, and I realized that the two people least qualified to deal with this problem were in the basement with the furnace.

The landlady never really had to deal with this stuff either since stuff in the basement fell into her late husband's domain. And my husband is fantastic with all types of computer hardware and complicated VCR programming but is not allowed to hammer. The landlady took it upon herself to let me know this.

"He may have a PhD but....your husband...." she sort of fumbled. "He doesn't really know anything about furnaces."

It's totally true but I'm not sure I needed to hear that from the world's oldest living Confederate widow.

So the heat is back. The cat, in the excitement, decided she couldn't take it anymore and threw up all over some bank statements that had been carefully piled on the floor by my husband. He started yelling "Poopus! No!"

I laughed so hard I started to see those stars you see before you pass out and I pulled a muscle in my side.

Good times. You've got to remember to laugh.

It's getting.... in herre.....

It was cold this morning when I woke up. But it's usually cold when I wake up. It was just a little extra cold this morning. The temp was hovering around 60, but we figured it was because the heat comes on late in the morning.

No big right? Please - if you're reading this far, you know better.

Where's the freaking heat now? Gone I tell ya. I came home from work and the house was still like 60. Heat never happened. Then I turned up the thermostat - 72, 74, and 80. Nothing. There's no sound, no heat, nothing.

So we're calling the landlord every few minutes, checking the furnace, huddling together for warmth and planning for the next ice age.

The Birthday Boy

Macaroni marks his first birthday by doing a face palant into what looks like a gourmet white cake. Please note his devil-may-care half-smile. He's already a ladies man.

I'm sad he's wearing so many clothes because you can't see the real beauty of Mac and Michelin Man - but then again leaving a kid to run around in is diapers is very.... well, it's like a holiday episode of Cops. 

From here we launch our attack

My nephews (from l to r), Focus and Macaroni, and niece Peanut sit next to a couple of neighbor kids. It's all part of the birthday fun.

No, I have no idea why they're in an alley. I'm guessing it involves passing a bottle of rum and maybe some dirty magazines or something. I just thought it was hysterical. Not as hysterical as my sister Bangles' poncho - seriously, she wore a poncho! - but very very funny. More on the poncho later. 

Me and my tumors

Since I'm opening up my twisted psyche all week - I thought I'd share a bit more from the dark recess of my brain. Maybe this happens to you. You’re in the shower, you’re loofahing away (it’s important to exfoliate) and you’re checking yourself out. Women are told all the time to check themselves in the shower to make sure there are no lumps or anything.

In fact, in the showers at my gym they have these big water-proof pictures that show you how to do a self-exam. If you're not doing it, check yourself out!

Anyway, so on a few occasions I’ve had a massive freak out because I think I have a tumor. A few months ago I was loofahing my legs and ran my hand over the back of my leg; I brush up against something and had this instant panic. Holy crap I thought – I have a lump on my leg and that’s not right.

So I checked again and it turned out that it wasn’t a tumor – it was a muscle. It wasn’t a bump but something called – the hamstring. This kind of thing has happened about 4 times over the past 18 months. Basically, since I started going to the gym on a regular basis.

I’m building up muscles that in the past had been, uhm… what do you call it – puny. And so you know your own body and when you come across something unfamiliar – like a muscle you’re a little unsure for a second.

I did this most recently last night. I thought for sure I had like some raging lymph node or something, turns out it was just an arm muscle. I’m totally getting some guns.

Except on girls they’re not guns –they’re just arms. Still – I’m slowly getting hot arms! And for the most part muscles are not tumors, not that I’m a doctor or anything – but I did do a Google search.

This entry is brought to you by the letter F for freak.

Adventures in Marriage #8712 - Why we are married

After I voted on Tuesday I got polled by a couple of people – including a woman from the Gay and Lesbian Alliance. She asked my opinions about gay marriage.

I told her I didn’t think anyone should get married because weddings are horrible and complicated and make people crazy and cost too much money. But I didn’t care if anyone wanted to get married – gay, straight, whatever.

Get married – fall into the wedding trap. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I don’t think she got my sarcasm until the end.

Anyway, I’m married as you may have read about in my various editions about the Adventures in Marriage (namely my marriage). The adventures themselves are not so adventurous, but today’s installment goes to why – specifically – we are married to each other.

I think you’ll see pretty quickly – no one else would put up with us.

Yesterday
“I’m going to snuggle up with the cat and read my Sephora catalog,” Deeps said. “If you unload the dishwasher I may consider letting you read it.”
“Wait, it came addressed to you?” I asked.
“Yep – I’m a sophisticated man. Leave me alone, I’m reading.”

Saturday
“What do you want to do tonight?”
“I really think we should install the new thermostat,” I suggested.
“Fine, but you have to be in charge of the screwdriver.”
“Okay,” I said, “but you can’t be afraid of power tools forever.”

Friday
"Can you hammer a nail into the wall for me?" he asked.
"Of course, dear."
"I need to hang a picture," he said.
"Oooh – I’ll get my laser level."
"Sweet."

Thursday
"Do you know the name of the old men who used to sit up in the balcony and bicker on the Muppet Show?" I asked.
"Yeah – Statler and Waldorf."
"Of course you know! That's why I married you."

I am the Abba

So Mr. Mac’s birthday party is this weekend, he’s turning one – a fantastic age for any young man. You shove your face in the cake and get excellent gifts. Sadly, he probably won’t remember it.

Happy Birthday big fella!

He’s a happy, chubby kid – I almost suggested his mother paint him white for Halloween and take him out as the Michelin man, but I thought she might punch me. It would have been an awesome costume.

Anyway, as the Abba* – look I know it’s a 70’s Swedish Super Group, and don’t think that doesn’t make my special “auntie” name a bit better – I must deliver a good gift before the birthday. Sometimes I don’t always make it; as was the case with Peanut, who got her gift a couple days after her second birthday. Thankfully, Peanut is not one to hold a grudge if you’re willing to make an offering in the form of Elmo. Any Elmo will do, as she’ll tell you (loudly).

So we’re at that time of year when I must start my quest for excellent holiday gifts for the six-pack. At the rate my sisters are reproducing, I would not be surprised if there were seven next year. Anyway, I must focus on the six at hand.

Your ideas are welcome. I’m leaning towards books because I love reading and like to encourage that. Plus, I get that excellent discount. I mean it – there are six!

*How does one become the Abba? Well, you would not be surprised if you had kids. Apparently they have an affinity for certain letter combinations when they’re in the earliest stages of language development. Simple or repetition is easy for them – which is why Cuddles is called KK and Bangles is called JJ. My oldest niece and nephew had a hard time with Alyssa – and it came out in this kind of Abba form. And it stuck.

I think the best part about being Abba and not always Alyssa, it’s my (well it was) my secret identity and it really confused the kids for a while whenever an ABBA Behind-the-music special came on TV.

Losing it
There’s a lot to be excited about – there’s really good TV this year.

I’m looking for the bright side people.

Aside from my (until now, secret) love of The OC, I’m completely engaged by Lost. Every episode pushes along the story of the people stranded on the island while filling in each character’s compelling backstory. You may feel like you can’t catch up – but you can and you should. Like adventure, tropical locales, beautiful (if not sometimes dirty) people? Check out Lost.

My dirty secret

I love The OC.

I loved the 90210 (at least for the first couple of years) and now I’m almost 30 and I love to follow the lives those snarky kids – and better yet, their hot parents.

It’s sad when grown women meet every morning after to discuss the goings-on of the young, rich and beautiful of Newport Beach. But we totally do it.

I was a little slow on the uptake; I didn’t start watching until the Thanksgiving episode. I didn't totally commit until like, the New Year's episode - but then it became clear. This was exactly the thing I needed - funny, entertaining, good use of music, and excellent use of Peter Gallagher.

So if you have not been sure about what you’re going to watch on Thursday nights, might I offer up the delicious stylings of The OC?

It’s Sethalicious.

Cocoon

I’m not ready to really face it yet. It’s hit me harder than I thought it would – and ultimately, I’m not surprised by the results. I guess only time will tell what the implications of this election will be. But for now, for me - I choose denial.

Today I’m not reading the paper or listening to the news. I can’t quite bring myself to do it yet. Luckily, I’m not really a political blogger – so tomorrow I’ll go back to writing about my life and my family and my lame adventures in adulthood.

On an unrelated note, I’ve been reading a book about Hell. Perhaps it is appropriate.

Why not just reinstate the poll tax?

For those of you who don’t remember about the poll tax from your American History class – here’s a short lesson on paying for your right to vote (it was created to deter new black or poor voters from participating in elections and was only repealed in 1964 courtesy of the 24th amendment).

So in Ohio, Republicans are sending in “challengers” to “urban” (that’s code for black) districts. The job of the challenger is to “challenge” (that’s code for intimidate) voters on the legitimacy of their registration in said district (that’s code for right to vote).

I’m pretty sure that this is something that the Bush White House is against in places like Afghanistan (which just held elections) and in Iraq for scheduled elections in January. However, they’re cool with it in the US.

In Iraq and Afghanistan people risk their lives to vote – so the US wanted to bring in all kinds of outside election observers to help ensure that people would not be intimidated. Over there – that’s called terrorism. In Ohio I guess it is patriotism.

Either way it’s vile.

Don’t forget to vote.

Halloweenies!

We’re in a different apartment on a different street – this year the crowds were not as big as previous ‘weens. Last year we gave out almost 14 bags of candy. This year we gave out about five, so now I have a bunch of leftover candy haunting my apartment. It will need to be exorcised immediately. I'm not totally sure, but I think the guy down the street who thought it was HI-Larious to scare kids probably helped keep numbers low. (At least three different times last night I heard blood-curdling screams followed by "Help ME! There's a Monster!" - way to stunt a child's emotional development, dude.)

Regarding all this extra cand - luckily, I can sometimes call upon the human goat (my husband) to consume food (usually sweets) that must be dealt with in a speedy fashion.

As for the Halloweenies themselves, well they were okay. I had a lot of very small kids who were – let’s call them pre-verbal. And then I had a couple of kids who may have been out on parole. Seriously! They were huge and kind of menacing – they had facial hair (hand to God). Of course, they wore no costume.

Now I was dressed as the woman who was going to the gym until her husband started yelling, about the ‘weenies coming and when would I take care of them? Clearly small children in costumes frighten him. Anyway, my non-menacing “costume” and strong desire to be left alone meant I wasn’t going to have any kind of intervention with the parolees. I handed them some candy and they went on their merry way. Eric Zorn would not approve (scroll down to his Oct. 29 entry about Halloween rules) . But then again, Zorn wasn't alone on Monster Street while the husband was roaming around record stores in Harvard Square. Also, I know for a fact that Zorn doesn't have a husband.

Anyway, the kids were okay - if not totally petrified, tired, or generally freaked out. Some of them were grabby - most were not sure what to do. Several, including the parolees, wished me a Happy Halloween.

For my Halloween festivities, I tried to watch a couple of delightfully trashy movies. I did catch some Vincent Price/Roger Corman/Poe action - but in the end I didn't get to see much, besides a really horrible movie with one of those chubby London twins.

The Horror, the horror.

Noncho

Please do not call it a poncho. This is an asymmetrical shawl. At least that's what my friend in Chicago told me when she proudly showed me her first knitted creation.

"So, that's not a poncho?" I asked, trying not to burst out laughing.
"No, it's an asymmetrical shawl," she replied. "I don't like the word poncho."
"I see - so it's a Non-cho?" I snarked. "I get it."
"No! It's a shawl," she cried. I nodded, she smiled and started to walk away.

"Whatever Non-cho."
 

Spooky, spooky, spooky

I love the Halloween – not so much for the dressing up and begging, but more for the opportunity to watch dozens and dozens of scary movies. God do I love a good (and frankly, a not-so-good) horror movie.

I have no idea where I got it from. It’s like being liberal or liking spicy food – I’m the only one in the family.

Anyway, if you too enjoy the spooky and scary, you might want to hit the video store tonight (if you did not already plan ahead with your Netlfix) to pick up a couple of movies.

Over on RogerEbert.com (I heart Ebert), there’s a nice essay about four overlooked horror films that are now out on DVD. Sadly, Rog didn’t write it – but the list is still valid.

Sidebar - Did I mention I heart Ebert? (I hearted him even more when I read about the crossing of literary swords he’s been having with Lord Black. Seriously, just because you’re a Lord doesn’t mean you should engage with Ebert – you’re going to lose man!)


Anyway, I think it’s worth mentioning a few others – you probably know about some, but others are a bit lesser known.

The Classics:
The Haunting – a tremendously atmospheric spinetingler. The movie had a horrible remake a few years ago – avoid it at all costs. I think Ray Wise’s original is spooky and if you watch it in a dark house you’ll get creeped out.

House on Haunted Hill – I think this is a fine Vincent Price/William Castle collaboration – equally funny and dark, with a few good “jump moments” you can enjoy this classic again and again. (For the record, avoid the remake like the plague.)
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0051744/

The Changeling – Another great haunted house movie, I think this movie is probably the creepiest of the three. George C. Scott hasn’t made a lot of horror flicks, but this thriller/ghost story is as compelling as it is spooky. (I’d also make the argument for renting the underrated, Exorcist 3, starring George. If you ignore the whole “Exorcist” angle, it’s not a bad flick and it’s a quietly creepy film with disturbing imagery.)


The Gross
You know about Wes Craven, John Carpenter and Peter Jackson’s grosses movies: Nightmare on Elm Street, The Thing, and Dead Alive(respectively) however you might want to try something a little different.

Everyone is talking about the new Asian horror wave - and they're right, the Koreans and the Japanese have absolutely pushed horror films into a new realm. Those people aren't wrong. But I say hit the video store and look for anything made in the 70s by Italian directors.

People like Fulci, Bava and Argento excelled at making garish films in the Guginol style with over-the-top effects.

I think Fulci personally perfected the squishing eyeball which I believe appears at least once in every movie (it’s his signature, like John Woo and those doves). And Bava's works influenced everyone in Italy and across the world - you can see his influence in more recent works like Pitch Black. And of course, he brought a bit of S&M to his most saturated, technicolor works.

Argento’s masterpiece, Suspira, is his most coherent and watchable film. Let’s just say he’s one who prefers style over plot, but this time they almost kind of merge.

No matter what you say

In the interests of fairness - I present Macaroni (left) and Peanut (right). Together they fight crime, poop their pants, and make a mess. I would not want anyone else on my team. 

Thank you! Goodnight! Seriously. I can't turn this into the "look at these freaking cute kids blog," but it's tempting. 

I think they look like old men having a heated discussion that quickly came to a halt when them both started spontaneously napping.Also - don't ask me to tell you which one is which, cause....I do not think I know. My guess is Jay is on the left and Bran is on the right. 

Gavin

Gavin and his mom sat in the seat behind me on the plane from Boston to Chicago. I’d say Gavin was about 4.

I sat next to the human elbow – in my side – the entire flight. But that’s a different (less interesting) story.

Things went okay. I napped for about 15 minutes until the airline steward decided to wake me up to give me some pretzels. Gee, thanks lady.

Then I read the crappy techno thriller I picked up a few days earlier. (I can do another whole entry about my new-found love of cheesy techno thrillers. I heart them so!)

I was having an enjoyable if uneventful flight. Gavin was chattering away the whole time, in his squeaky kid voice. He’d say stuff like “twee” and “afwaid”. I thought he might be faking it. But I’m cynical.

Just as I was settling down to an exciting jungle chase I felt this sudden jolt. Gavin was closing the seat-table behind me. Okay, no big. You’ve got to do it sometime and I’ve been known to jostle people.

But it didn’t stop with once. Gavin apparently found it very entertaining to open and close his tray – slamming my seat over and over again. I let this go on for a few minutes, figuring his mother would say something. Even the elbow was getting a little indirect jostling. I waited a few more minutes, because I wasn’t totally convinced Gavin’s mom would do nothing.

I was wrong.

After about 20 or so minutes of this – I started looking around, like “Gee, what is that jostling all about?” I hoped Gavin’s mom would get a clue.

Nope.

Finally, after about 30 minutes I turned around and spoke to his mother.

“Hi,” I smiled to Gavin’s mom.
“Hi,” Gavin’s mom replied.
“I don’t know what he’s doing,” I said, still smiling. “But he’s kicking my seat or something. He needs to stop.”
Gavin’s mother gave me the “How dare you!” look. I sneered at her, turned around and sat down again.

The elbow seemed relieved that I intervened.

I heard Gavin’s mom gently chastise Gavin. He started to get all weepy. But then the overly-attentive steward arrived and presented him with some pretzels. I continued to get the “look” from Gavin’s mom and the flight attendant.

Whatever.

This is why I don’t have kids. Cuddles, stop asking when.

Faking it like a fan

So the Red Sox are in the World Series and they beat the dreaded Yankees. (For the record, I do not dread them – but I hear they’re Boston’s arch-rivals/enemies.) I guess it’s a really big deal.

Well, I know it’s a big deal because I hear about it EVERY HOUR OF EVERY DAY.

In the past week I have watched not one, not two, but three games. I only watched one completely (with my Dad), bailing on the other two because baseball is really, really slow and incredibly boring (to me). I’d prefer to watch something where stuff blows up or someone slept with someone else’s brother or whatever.

I have also learned a lot about the Red Sox, despite my best efforts to ignore them (in fairness, they ignore me back). I know theyir names and their weird hairdos and their strange rituals. We reside in the same city, but I’m starting to wonder if this town is big enough for the both of us.

To make nice with the natives, I’m faking like I’m interested when needed. For example, the residents of the area are very interested in chatting about the game all the time. I have my standard questions responses.

“Boy, these late games are killing me.”
or
“What time does the game start tonight?”
or
“Wow, Schilling is just a workhorse.”

These three comments, especially if you can combine two into a paragraph seem to be just enough to get you by with most folks. It’s a lot like knowing how to order a beer and find the bathroom in a foreign country – you’ll be amazed how far it gets you.

But one thing I’ve noticed about Red Sox fan (I hear they are a nation!) vs. non-Red Sox fans is how they watch the game. I think >Rob Corddry summed it up best – the fans are cautiously optimistic.

But they are not overly confident that the Red Sox will win. For example, I was in Chicago last week with several colleagues from the Boston office. We watched the game at Harry Caray’s bar. The Chicagoans watched the game and kind of lost interest after the second or third inning when the Sox were up like 6 over the Yankees.

The Boston fans could not lose interest and they were visibly tense. Basically, you watch they leading and hope they can continue to fend off the opponent. Everyone else is like, “The Sox will probably win, and I’ll watch something else.”

The tension for the Sox fan is so great that they’re not totally sure that the game is “in the bag” until the last pitch (if even then).

I can’t believe that something so slow and boring (to me) can be so tense – but it is. I’ve seen it myself.

For now, I’m resigned that for at least another few days people will be tense and freaked out. They’ll be stressed about baseball. I’ll be stressed about the elections. I guess the people of Boston and I are both looking to reverse the curse.

Twice as nice

Twins!

Honestly, they're cute - you don't have to deny it. I know. Okay, they do kinda look like little old men. But cute, little old men!

Both are home. Probably sleeping if I had to guess. Or possibly eating. Or maybe pooping. You can't ever tell with those two. Scroll down and see the pictures.

I'll also be posting more on my adventures in Chicago and Indy. Oh the stories I have.

Brandon again - he was really tired. But he's a good eater when you wake him up. That's usually my job - either I wake them up taking their picture or with my poking. It's been my official job now for 4 of 6 babies. Sweet! 

This is Jay with his eyes open. You can see that he's still hooked up to all kinds of fun monitors and stuff, but that's just to keep an eye on him. And he was sprung from the NICU with his brother on Sunday, just 5 days after they were born. 

Brandon - he's a little smaller, but still has mighty lungs. Also completely zonked. 

Jaylen - he's totally passed out. Cute, huh? 

Adventures on the Red Line

So I was in Chicago. Okay – Chicago friends, do not get mad. I’m sorry, I kept it under my hat because I was swamped with meetings; with a quick family visit with Cuddles, the Kids and Life Coach BIL; then I flew south to Indy for big baby fun. See, it was hard?

I rode the El down to my sister’s house on Thursday. Now I’ve been reading, with interest, some hilarious articles about adventures on the El.

Anyway, I had my own adventure. The ride down was uneventful. Well, it was eventful – but low-key. Mostly it was just a gorgeous evening, a fast ride and a great way to see the city. All for a $1.75!

I left Cuddle’s house around 9ish, still early enough to ride the El back to my hotel. I climbed on, found a seat and headed north. Somewhere around… Loyola, things started to get a little dicey. Some gigantic dudes got on the train and sat very close to me. They were talking to the woman behind me, giving her hell. Note – they also reeked of like, somewhere around 500 metric tons of liquor. Gah.

They weren’t bothering me and I wasn’t bothering them. But then they figured out the chick was married or something; they started scanning the car for other marks. And all eyes went to red hair apparently. It’s good and bad to be a redhead. You are recognizable and easy to spot in a crowd. Of course, those things work against you when you’re a beacon for belligerent drunks.

So it began.
HEY RED.
Kee-rist.
I’m evaluating my options. It’s Chicago, so I’m on my own. I’ve learned that women in Chicago are more likely to come to your rescue than men. However, there were not a lot of women and these guys were approximately the size of a small building. I figured the fastest and easiest way is to just hop off at the next exit and head to another car.

For the record, in living in Chicago for six years and riding the train regularly at all hours – I had never had a problem. Well one time, but it was pretty low-key. Anyway, this is problem two in like eight years.

So the train stops, I hop off – giant dudes stay on and I get caught in a big crowd. I back up a bit and bide my time, waiting for the next train. In a few seconds, the train pulls away and the platform empties. Down the way, several hundred feet, I can see a man with a backpack. Considering we’re close to campus it’s not unusual or anything. I sit and wait for a few minutes. I sense he’s getting closer. Then I hear him.

He’s ranting. And quickly it becomes apparent that he’s raving. To no one. It’s just him, and me and he’s having a very heated argument – with lots of yelling and cursing – with someone I cannot see.

WHY DO YOU DO IT THEN? WHY DO YOU DRAG YOURSELF HERE EVERY DAY? TELL ME! ANSWER ME!

He rails against the empty sky. I sit quietly, trying not to actively participate in his delusion. But I start to chuckle a bit. Just like me to go out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Luckily another couple of people showed up. They started walking past me; they were about 4 feet away when the Lunatic starts ranting again. They quickly turn and walk back to me. I smile at them. They smile back.

It’s just another Thursday night in Chicago.

Baby, Baby

So the twins were born on Wednesday. My sister, Peeper, had a C-section after a full-day of excruciating labor. I figure that C-section came about a day late, but whatever - everyone is fine and healthy.

Brandon is smaller - he's 4 pounds, 13 ounces and Jaylen is 5 pounds 4 ounces. They're both about 19 inches long which is long for kids that were a little over a month early. So instead of being turkey babies they're Halloweenies. They've got lots of black hair and aren't too wrinkly - they're pretty cute. Also, they've got mighty lungs. I fear for their mother in the coming months. Seriously, lungs.

I'll post pictures on Monday when I'm back in Boston (the city that goes from zero to riot in less than 10 minutes).

I Noodle You

I was watching TV the other night – flipping around, wondering what lame thing I could watch on a Monday when I saw a listing on my cable guide for the Okie Noodling documentary.


Huzzah – great day! I can see the dudes who do something that the fine folks at King of the Hill referred to last season as “catfisting”. (From the episode the Redneck on Rainey St.)

Yep, these men fish in swamps, creeks, and rivers for 80 pound catfish with their bare hands.

I thought I’d be in for a night of hilarious laughs. And while there are some genuinely funny moments, I was more struck by the evident pathos of the film. This is a way of life – albeit their sporting/recreational life – for these men. And it’s a dying artform that has been passed down from father to son for several generations.

Throw the movie in your netflix queue, it’s not something you’re going to see everyday.

Babywatch - again!

Apparently today or tomorrow will be the big day. It's very exciting around the ol' Boehm homestead as we'll be waiting for babies and my step-mother is having the gastric by-pass surgery. Oh yes, we're working out our Blue Cross cards this week.

I'm thinking about getting some shots or something so that I can also participate.

Instead, I'm flying back to the land of corn and babies to visit babies (they better be here by then), hang with my sister Cuddles in Chicago, and do some excellent work with my fine Northshore colleagues. Sometimes they forget what I look like, so I have to leave the Boston confines and travel west.

But more about babies - the twins are clocking in over 5 pounds, so they're probably in pretty good shape for post-birth adventures. We're hopeful they won't have to go to NICU for any real period of time. My sister is more than ready to deliver, but apparentlyt the babies are not - so she's being induced this morning. I voted for a C-section, why not get it over with? But I'm not a doctor and no one cares about my opinion.

Except you dear readers. And for that - I thank you. All three of you.

That city that never sleeps

Some might think it's NYC - but last night, apparently, it was Boston. This morning, the city had quite a hangover. Apparently everyone (except me) stayed up late to watch the game.

I have exactly zero interest in baseball. But I have empathy for the hapless Sox fans who watch their team struggle. It's better than thinking about the war in Iraq or how almost 2 million more Americans are living in poverty or about the looming deficit or even about the looming election fiasco.

Nope. I'm with you. For tonight, it's baseball.

Jon Stewart Goes Nuts

I'm so sad that I missed this. Thank God for the Interweb - I'm able to recreate the entire event in the comfort of my home office, which is really nice because it smells like wood in here.

Anyway, if you hadn't heard - Jon was a guest on Crossfire and went after the lame-o hosts. Good for him. You can find some interesting transcripts of the event at CNN or read the highlights at Media Matters.

If you've got the high-speed Interweb, you can watch the video clip highlights. Or visit Wonkette's site for a fine collection of alternative viewing locales. They are all delicious.

Mr. Stewart, I salute you.

Fashion Police

I hate the poncho. It's a horrible fashion trend. It's like wearing a tablecloth or a curtain. It's not good for you. It's not flattering. It's not practical.

Cuddles - do not buy a poncho!

Ahem.

I do enjoy covering the poncho count daily when my husband picks me up from the T station in Harvard Square. It's the favorite topic of discussion during the short drive to our apartment. Last week I had a record high 9 ponchos. Yesterday I spotted a hideous fashion abomination: Ugg botts, shorts, and poncho worn by a short blonde woman with big Jackie O sunglasses. Hideous.

My friend EK in LA (that rhymes!) told me she sees it all the time. Do not yield to the horrors of the poncho! It is not the new black.

Clammy

I’m at the end of my gross cold cycle, which has lasted almost a whole week. Fun!

Right now I’m kinda clammy and a little sweaty. It’s very attractive. I’m pale and no amount of product can change that fact. Plus my hair is doing the weird red frizz/fro thing – so I look like a zombie Li’l Orphan Annie.

That’s kinda funny.

Heh.

I did learn some important things while I was sick. I haven’t had a nasty cold in a while – so I’d forgotten important things like:
The cat snores like a mo’fo and she is not allowed to take naps with me. Although, she really, really likes to take naps with me. Plus she’s warm.

Also the cat grooms herself really, really loudly. Seriously. Get a room, cat!

I have to give my husband very specific directions about what cold medicine to buy or he’ll come home with liquid Robitussin. I hate the taste of cough medicine and I’m a grown up and I don’t have to take it. That’s why we have the gel caps.


And I learned important things like:
I love tea, but after like 4 or 5 days, I hate it.

Same for chicken soup.

And toast.

Also juice.

Vincent Price movies do not aid in the recovery process directly, however they do not hurt.

I live with the world’s loudest quiet man – he’s most loud when trying to be quiet.

I sound like a scary man when I have a cold. Really scary.

I think some things are really funny when I have a cold.

Your inner ear is important for balance.

Do not mix cold meds and fire.

Babywatch

So my sister, Peeper, is very close to delivery - the twins are getting anxious and she's been having contractions for a couple of days. Apparently they're ready to be born, although not quite ready because they're not here yet. I expect she'll blow in the next few days.

I just saw a picture and blow is the term you'd use. Holy mother, she's like a house. A house of babies.

Fountains of Wah

My little sore throat turned out to be a cold. I've been in bed since...Friday night. It's been excellent. I did drag my butt out of bed on Sunday because I thought I was feeling better - but turns out it was a false alarm.

I missed seeing a free Fountains of Wayne show with my lovely friends, the Marrieds. I missed out on a gorgeous weekend. I missed out on some cool movies at the Harvard Film Archive. I totally just... missed out.

The weirdest part of my cold is that I've really avoided taking cold medicine. It makes me feel really drunk and I hate it. That's not a typo. Here's the thing, feeling drunk when you feel bad is not fun. It's hard. And I get paranoid that I'll set the house on fire or pass out in the shower or something.

Anyway, I was taking half doses because I was so weird and drunk-like from simple over-the-counter cold meds. I couldn't sleep but was really tired - so I'd just lay and stare. And get really fixated on something random, like old episodes of Soap. Man, that show was funny!

Meanwhile, my beloved is out of sorts without me dragging him around on the weekends. I left him to his own devices as I spent quality time on the couch watching SpongeBob and reading a trashy novel. I'm not sure what he did all weekend, but I do know that he now owns a shirt with French cuffs.

Or should I say Freedom cuffs? I love Columbus Day sales.

Blabbermouth

Anyone who has met my husband usually says he's quiet. He is, at first. When he gets to know you and you get to know him he's really chatty.

But he's like a skittish pet or a kid - he takes a little while to warm up to someone new.

Of course, this flies in the face of my behavior. I'm pretty chatty. I'll talk to anyone about anything. Unless I don't. But that's usually an experiment. Around me, it's hard to get a word in edgewise.

So today I have a little bit of a sore throat. Nothing major - in fact I feel totally fine otherwise, but my throat is sore. So I'm not talking much. This is deeply unnerving to my husband. He's been chattering for the past hour while I made dinner (this might be a personal record - I've made dinner four nights this week!).

When he figured out I wouldn't be doing much more than smiling a big and nodding, he went away. I was quickly reminded of an article I read a few months ago on Slate - a woman who conducts social experiments that readers send in did a 48 hour vow of silence. It was unnerving to her family too.

A little rest, a little tea and a little honey - I expect tomorrow I'll be back in full form. For now, I'm enjoying the peace and quiet.

If you're going to vote

You should vote if you have some information, are informed (see information), and have made up your mind. I don't do a lot of overtly political writing, so we'll see what happens.

I would say you should not vote if you don't know anything, and you're voting because some dude on E! is wearing a Vote or Die t-shirt. But that's not fair - you're over 18, you're a citizen, it's your right and you may exercise it as you will. I'd prefer that you have some ideas and have made some decisions, but I guess... well, you can't look a gift voter in the mouth.

Anyway, I'm a lefty. A liberal. A pinko. A tree-hugger. A feminazi. Whatever. Yep - that's me. I'm so crazy with my centrist, Midwestern sensibilities about good schools, a decent environment, reasonable taxes and responsible fiscal spending, the government staying the hell out of my bedroom, and not legislating what I can and cannot do with my body. I like the Constitution and I even know what the amendments mean - like the 4th amendment, it's all about illegal search and seizure. Ooooh, fear me. I'm insane with my college-educated thinking!

Ahem.

I've saw a quick throwaway headline on the news last week that men overwhelmingly support Bush, but that women are split. I think women may decide the election. So, if that's the case you should know some things that affect you directly.

For example, if you think that it's important that abortion remain a safe and legal medical procedure in the United States, you might want to think about who you choose in the polling booth. According to a recent survey, as many as 31 states would seriously limit or outlaw abortion procedures if Roe vs. Wade were overturned by the Supreme Court. (Just as an aside, allowing for the option of abortion to exist in the world does not mean that you personally have to have one - contrary to popular thinking.)

Maybe you're pro-life. That's fine - I can understand that position. But maybe you like having the right to use and enjoy birth control pills or other contraceptive devices. But with a new bill that's just moved through the House pharmacists and doctors have will have the legal right to deny you access to legal, FDA-regulated and approved medication and procedures because of their personal beliefs.

Perhaps you do not use BC, but for those of us who do - well, it's scary. This bill (it's not a law yet) doesn't just apply to things like the "Morning After" pill - it could be something like my beloved Seasonale. Do you want someone behind the counter deciding what you can and cannot have access to, based on his/her whims?

If you find this legislation and these trends unnerving, upsetting or outrageous - you should remember this when you vote.

Desperate Housewife

I’m not really a housewife, as I log more office hours per week than my husband. And desperation isn’t really my bag either.

However, I did get in touch with my inner Martha this week – I can’t say it’s a role that I relish. But sometimes being old-school wifey is a necessary evil.

So far this week I have:
Roasted a turkey
Painted old radiators
Baked a cake (white chocolate cake with a dark chocolate ganache)
Made a mushroom gallette
Made tuna noodle casserole (see, old school)
Scraped old paint off of walls
Patched said walls
Painted said walls (2 coats!)
Had furniture delivered
Vacuumed everything I possibly could
Swept away yet more spiders
Scrubbed the bathtub within an inch of its life (well, former life)

It’s only Wednesday.

I’m not sure where this sudden inspiration came from. I have some suspicions – this apartment is not nearly as swanky as our previous place, so I wanted to spruce it up. And we’re running out of time to do such things easily (seriously, winter could happen any time out here). I have dreams of having a party soon.

Plus I came to the conclusion that if we want to buy a house next year we need to do a lot more eating in and much less dining out. I love the dining out because I’m just too tired to cook. Or too lazy. Or both. And while Deeps is many things, a cook is not one of them. But he does the laundry, which is something I’m loath to do. Plus he cleans up afterwards, so cooking is less of a chore.

And I ran the numbers on the amount of money we spend eating out per month. It's almost 4 digits long. That doesn't include the cents either.

With that in mind, I grabbed my two easiest cookbooks (The Cake Mix Doctor and The Dinner Doctor) and set to work making a menu, a grocery list, and a meal plan for the week. That’s when I felt my most-Martha like. Except I’m pretty sure when she does it she’s not wearing her old Yoga pants and a t-shirt with a stain on it.

At least, not prior to her arrival in West Virginia.

Yaay! Sofa! Chair! Coffee Table! And look - I already bought some sassy new pillows! Oh the magic of vacuuming and new furniture. Take that extreme home makeover! 

This is my living room before - well, it's after I gave away the couch and all I had left was a chair and a footstool. Deeps and the cat fought over this chair for two weeks. The arrival of the new furniture cannot happen soon enough. 

This is the Dana kitty - note that she's got the glassy eyes and behind her you'll see lots of cat nip. That's how I've lured her to use the cat (dog) bed. Diabolical. 

The big day

The couch is arriving today. Along with the chair and the coffee table - it's very exciting.

I've taken the day off work to accept the delivery. They should be here within the next three hours. In the meantime, I've made myself busy in the bathroom doing some light plastering and painting.

The handyman henchman was supposed to come over yesterday to do some light electrical work (replacing an old outlet), repair the shower head plate, and repair and paint the walls in the bathroom. Exactly none of these things happened. He said he couldn't do it again until next week - I'm leaving the shower fixture repair to him, but we installed the electrical box last night and I'm going to town on the walls this morning. I already have bits of plaster in my hair. I'm hot!

The biggest benefit of being raised by a somewhat sexist man (he's really eased up over the years, but you know - this was the 70s and 80s) was that he treated all us girls the same way he'd treat boys. He also taught us stuff - like changing a tire, doing some light rewiring, light plumbing, a little carpentry, painting, etc. I'm surprisingly handy for a renter. I own my own tools. In fact, all the tools in the house (with the exception of Deeps' Swiss Army knife) are mine and were picked out by me.

I've learned more over the years because I've lived in crappier apartments than my sisters - so I was in the lead for a while. But then they all purchased homes so they've leapfrogged my skills. They have done tile work, floor installation, and more complicated repairs.

I'm still perfecting my spackling skills.

Undecided?
So I missed the debates. I slept through them actually– apparently my lack of sleep over the past week resulted in a spontaneous coma. I woke up around 3 a.m. confused and freaked out when I realized that I was still wearing glasses, was propped up with pillows and had a book over me. My husband just leaves me like that – what a prince.

Anyway, I slept the sleep of the dead.

But a lot of people watched these debates, including a group of 12 undecided voters that were interviewed by the local news station here in MA. I missed a good deal of the televised report, but I did catch the most important part. Of the 12 people who watched the debate, only 3 had been able to make a decision afterwards.

Seriously?

I didn’t even watch the debates and I’d made up my mind. One of the people said she didn’t really know enough. That’s for sure sister – I’m guessing you also don’t know enough to drive either.

Apparently I’m not alone in this thinking. Some people think you're doing it for attention. How sad.

Look, I don’t care whom you vote for. (Okay I care – but I’m not going to say you should do this or you should do that. That’s what the Government and Fox News are for).

It’s your choice. However, there’s not really a shortage of information available about the candidates. Have you heard of Google? Do you read a paper? Magazine? How about watch the news? The Daily Show? Anything? Hello?

It’s a month before the election and you still do not know. Really? Not even a leaning? One guy has been in office for four years – hasn’t he done enough stuff so that you might know if you agree with him or not?

Kerry and Bush are flying all across the country on a daily basis giving speeches and talks and outlining their ideas. They’re doing it all for you, undecided. I’m pretty sure you’re not going to decide. What if there’s a sale at the Gap that day. You might miss out.

I've included a lot of links in this entry. Click away and go visit some sites and figure some stuff out. Make sure that you're registered to vote.

If you can’t make a decision by say – let’s say a week from today – then you probably should not vote. You should probably start thinking about whether or not you’re going to have mashed potatoes or macaroni for Thanksgiving. I figure 6 weeks should give you enough time to make up your mind.

CSI: My Office

I don’t write about work very often, but this was just… I can’t stop the laughing.

There are several contractors working on some technology project for the company. They all work on laptops and log some odd hours (which makes some sense since I think most of them bill hourly). So some come early to the office.

Earlier this week one of them came to work in the wee hours, I think before 7 AM. She worked for a while, went to the bathroom for a few minutes, came back and discovered that her laptop, power cord, Cat 5 cable and mouse were missing. Someone stole it right off her desk.

At the time I thought, huh. But a few minutes later it became clear that the crack squad of other contractors was on the case. In the span of a few minutes, three dudes had come together to solve the case. It was a cross between Law and Order and CSI. Below is an approximation of their chat. I will say this, I’ve taken some liberties for narrative purposes but they did actually use all the jargon that they’ve learned from cop shows. Really.

My office
9:30 AM
Cubicle aisle way
Dude1: It’s shocking.
Dude2: I should really lock my desk more often.
Dude 1: She was just going to the bathroom.
Dude 3 (walks up and joins in): It had to have been an inside job.
Other dudes look on in horror.
Dude 2 (excitedly): Yeah, they could have been staking out the place.
Dude 1(interrupting): Exactly – they had to case the joint.
Dude 3: A perp like this was fast, in and out. He knew what he was doing. He’s not an amateur.
Dude 2: He saw his opportunity and he made his move.
They all nod in agreement.

It was like watching one of those commercials on Spike! Where they advertise the CSI reruns. Except that this all happened without irony.

The case is still unsolved.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Per tradition giant red roses have been delivered from me and Deeps - and I've been sure to apprise her of the following facts:
* She doesn't look a day over 29.
* She's the youngest mom at school.
* I figured I'd save the automatic litter box for a more appropriate occasion, like Christmas.

My mother was a wee lass when I was born, having just turned 21 a few months before I arrived. That made her one of the, if not the, youngest mom of any my friends growing up. Also I remember when she was 29 (I was just 8) that she said she's never get older than 29. I think we celebrated several 29th birthdays. For all I know, she might think she's only 43 or something. She's not - because that would make me like 22 and that just isn't true. I can do some things with product, but I'm not a miracle worker.

Happy Birthday!

Small miracles

The couch has arrived in the state of MA. Sadly, it will not be able to arrive at our apartment until next week. I emailed my boss and told her that I needed to take the day off for the delivery - to save my marriage.

Thankfully my boss is extremely understanding.

It's been good though, this whole learning about life without a couch. We need a couch. Simple. I had no idea it was so critical.

In other exciting news someone else is going to paint our bathroom! Our landlord and her handyman came to do a little look at the showerhead thingey (it's coming off the wall) and figured they could do a repair next week. Then the handyman said he'd be painting the bathroom too. I told him I'd already bought some special bathroom paint but just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

There's a good chance that by this time next week I could have new furniture and a freshly repaired and painted loo.

These are heady days.

Much ado about Conan

Deeps and I like to speculate about TV because we a) do not have children and b) do not have a sofa. We have a lot of awkward conversations perched upon old rocking chairs and sketchy ottomans (the footstool, not the empire).

Anyway, we've been chatting about the whole Leno retiring (in five years) and Conan taking over The Tonight Show deal. There's been some good coverage about the timing, the negotiations, the Leno factor, and such. Deeps question was along the lines of, "How'd Conan get sucked into such a crappy deal?" and mine was "Why does anyone care anymore?" Not because Conan isn't great or deserving but because of Leno's lame comedy, his lame interviews, and his lame show - I'm not sure the Tonight Show is so relevant anymore. It's not like must-see TV or tune-in television (TM by me) - it's what I watch to fall asleep. Literally. It's that boring.

More and more viewers are moving to cable, the Daily Show is being heaped with accolades, praise, indie cred, and awards. Letterman is sharp and has been gaining on Leno (The Tonight show has beaten Letterman season after season since the OJ trial - remember the comedic genius of the Dancing Itos? Didn't think so) despite still being an also-ran. It just makes me wonder - what kind of raw deal is Conan really getting?

Bump and grind

I’ve read several interesting things about public transportation lately – primarily in NYC and Chicago, but the findings apply to Boston.

The Times ran a story around the beginning of September (sorry, it’s all archived now so you’ll have to Google yerself) about a prof who was recreating an experiment first conducted in the 70s. The prof sent out teams of grad students (in pairs) to visit the subway and tries to get people to give up their seats. They had a few ways of doing it: they’d ask directly without specifying why they needed to sit, they’d ask their partner if they should ask for a seat (while standing next to a possible “mark”), or they’d say something like can I have your seat because I have trouble reading while standing. They asked men and women and people over and under 40 equally.

The interesting thing is that if you ask without specifying why, you’re more likely to get a seat (like 70% of the time). Everything else results in mean looks and worse results. But more interesting was the sickly reaction that the students had when they asked. All of them reported being sick to their stomachs, getting nervous and shaking. The Times interviewed the people from the original experiment to describe their experiences (listed above) and found that people had incredible recollection of really vivid, horrifying reactions.

Meanwhile in Chicago, Eric Zorn (a guy I worked for whilst at the Trib back in the 20th century) wrote a hilarious entry about his encounter with one of the EL religious ranters. You may have encountered this person before – he/she stands up and starts preaching loudly about how you’re going to Hell and that you are a minion of Satan. Apparently Zorn isn’t alone in his recent encounter.

I haven’t run into the zealous evangelists on the train in Boston yet, however I have been in close proximity to a man who wet himself; the crazy mumbler who I think might not have a tongue (at worst) or at best is a guy who can’t enunciate to save his life; the F word guy who kept saying that some guy was F*(^%#@ crazy and what did he expect with that family (I know no more…); and the usual freaks on the train like the pole clutchers and door huggers.

The crazies – well you can spot them quickly and try to avoid them. For me it’s harder because I have red hair and I think that’s like God’s natural crazy attracter. But for the pole clutchers and door huggers - these people just don’t get out of the way or make room for their fellow riders. It’s bad manners really. So I take matter into my own hands – literally. I’ve become the bumper.

If you walk just inside the door of the train and stop, I will bump you – probably kinda hard. You won’t expect it from me – the somewhat businessy looking redhead, but I’ll do it. I’m not above whacking you (accidentally of course) with my bag, brushing by with my hands in a forward pushing manner or loudly stammering “Oh my, excuse me!” and generally speaking to you like you’ve recently escaped from a mental facility. Be warned.

Mmmm...Movies

So we saw two enjoyable films this weekend: Shaun of the Dead and Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. (Go see them!)

Shaun
What a fantastically enjoyable film: hilarious, gross, surprisingly moving and so British. I loved it! I knew it would be a delightful film going experience before the first previews rolled and we saw the new Tears for Fears video. Deeps and I thought the zombies had started early - nope just old rockers. Or as we like to call them For Fears.

Sky Captain
It was all British all the time. Well not so much - but GP and AJ both fake their Brit on and Jude is all Britalicious. This is a beautiful movie to look at - in full sepia glory and I think I must have had a giant smile on my face for the first 30 minutes or more. The movie was old-school in many ways, from the look to the construct of the story. It wasn't too modern Hollywood - we were deep into action within the first 12 or so minutes.

Aside from thinking Jude is lovely, I've never had much of an opinion about him. He still seems a bit light for a roll as a dashing pilot, but just a bit. He was fine. I had no strong opinion about Angelina either - but she was okay too. I'm not a fan of Gwen P and this movie did nothing to change my opinion of the fish stick. Her character wasn't really well-written. See in old-school movies like this there's a lot of good banter. The push and pull helps you to understand that these people are both interesting and terrible at the same time. Jude was mostly a put-upon man and GP was an annoying harpy. I desperately wanted him to uses his gun or machete or maybe a stray coconut on her. Seriously - shut up fish stick!

But the movie was so enjoyable she couldn't ruin it. If they make a sequel I'd suggest the writer rent His Girl Friday before hammering out the first draft of the script.

Best morning ever

I tried to go down the street (in the car - I never drive, weekend driving is F-U-N!) to the schmancy place to get croissants and the yummy yogurt that reminds of Paris. We didn't really love Paris all that much, but we did love the food. Good God.

Digression #1... So there was no place to park. I guess there was some Anti-Bush fundraiser/bake sale/garage sale thingey and the Cambridgians were running wild. So I went with plan B which is Dunkies. I drove over and got a couple of donuts and some coffee and choco milk (for my man - he was still sleeping) then blazed out into the Rotary of Doom (my emphasis). There was a woman in some late model Buick heading the wrong way in the rotary. She was flipping out, traffic was stopped and she started shaking and crying and put her head in her hands.

I've never seen this before and clearly no one else had either because in a totally unBostonian move - there was this weird stunned silence. No horns, no blaring, nothing. So this big van takes pity on the sad sack (she was also wearing a poncho) and kinda blocks the entry to the rotary so that poncho-gal can reverse out and drive the right way.

So it was the best morning ever - I saw something totally weird in the world of rotary traffic and the woman was wearing a poncho so I already have a poncho count at 1 before Deeps even rolls his sorry butt out of bed.

The story of the XP and the waiting

Deeps updated our machine with the XP service back which has been out for a while, which is why we waited. The thing with those Microsoft people is that they break stuff and they deploy a patch or something, and why not let someone test that out first? It’s like a polio vaccine. I’m not the first one in line, but I’ll eventually take the shot.

The reason we delayed the update was the fear that the update would be unstable and wipe out our data or mess up our machine. Deeps felt pretty confident that the service pack wouldn’t really cause us any problems.

Of course, if you read this blog with any regularity, you know that was a wrong assumption.

We lost all of our stuff. Software, data, and bookmarks – everything is gone. We’ve been rebuilding and re-installing all week. I still have like 3 or 4 pieces of software to reload. Luckily, I was able to find some of my special writing projects hidden away on alternate back-up discs – so some of that work is still available.

But this made me think, I should have a laptop. Why? Well maybe I’d write more if I didn’t have to wait for Deeps to get off the computer. Or if I could write in the living room or while I was laying around in the bed because I’ve lost the freaking sofa. But like everything else, I have this realization much too late. I could have gotten a laptop for a song just a few weeks ago during back-to-school sales. But now, no such luck. They cost a lot and there are no sales for me.

Plus, let’s be real – with my track record there’s a very real possibility that they’d be on back-order. So if have to wait, then I might as well wait until there’s a sale. So I’m waiting. I’m becoming British I wait so well. Don’t mind me. Just waiting.

The Wait list:
File cabinet
Sofa
Chair
Coffee Table
Laptop
Airfare sales for Christmas flights

Recently removed from the wait list:
Desk – gave up after almost 6 weeks and got another one
Desk chair – for once, something arrived on time

Overheard

I was walking to the bus and passed two old ladies dressed in matching outfits: light aqua sweat pants, doily-decorated shirts and baby pink cardigans.

Old Lady 1: Oh my God! (with thick Boston accent, so it was more like OOOOO My GAAAWWD.
Old Lady 2: What (again with the thick Boston accent, it was more like WAAAAAT?
OL1: Look at the HerAAAALD.
OL2: WAAAAT does it SAAAAAAY?
OL1: Britney didn't even get MAAAAAAAARIED
OL2: That girl has problems.

You're not kidding old ladies, you’re not kidding.

Ed. note: Seriously - I've tried to capture the accent, but it's just not the same. So my apologies. But what you see above is (phonetically) how I heard it. For reals.

To the big Valley in the sky

Russ Meyer has passed away. I can't say I've seen all of his films - but I've seen a lot of them. They remind me of weird episodes of Xena except that the women were incredibly bosomy. Or like Wonder Woman episodes with bikers and crappier dialogue. Well, I guess the dialogue was probably about the same.

Anyway, he and Roger Ebert made one of my all-time favorite camp films, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. This movie is so freaking weird and trippy and funny you can't help but watch it. It's the cinematic equivalent of a train wreck and a... twinkie maybe? It has no nutritional value. It's really enjoyable and you can't look away? Something like that.

Ebert wrote a fantastic obit for Mr. Meyer who had suffered from dementia in his later years. I can only hope that in his final days he was transported to a time and place that made him most happy. If you've seen any of his films, it's easy to guess where that might be.

No more couch

Apparently my couch was delayed by the hurricane. See, most furniture manufactured in the US comes from the Carolinas. And so with all the weird weather and problems with flooding, the shipment has been delayed. For a week.

So next week we might get our couch.

And this week I hear a lot about "confirmation" and "verification" - a girl gives away the whole living room suite and you'd think it's the end of the world.

Das couchenfreund

We went couch shopping several weeks back - I guess it's been about 6 weeks ago. I had this idea that if we buy a house next year we won’t be able to afford to buy new furniture for it. Since some of the stuff we own is…. tatty, why not buy now when we could (in theory) afford it. My little logic puzzle worked on my husband and off we went for adventures.

We found a great sale, got a fantastic deal, placed an order with Mimi. We paid and got a nice little receipt that carefully outlined that the couch, chair and coffee table (I was on a roll) would be ready for delivery no later than September 20.

That was yesterday.

I called last week, Friday, to confirm. Yes, I was told, everything seems to be on track for the stuff to arrive on Monday. You'll be able to get you stuff on Tuesday or Thursday. So I activated my rapid get-rid-of-old-couch-and-chair plan. I posted a picture on my office's Intranet message board and in about 10 minutes I got a zillion offers to haul it away. Sunday night someone came to pick it up and away they went.

Deeps was a little concerned. "Did you call to confirm we're getting stuff this week? You know for certain that we're getting the couch?"

I told him what I knew - everything was on track for Monday. I'm such a stupid girl.

Yesterday I waited for the call. I waited and waited. I caved after lunch and called them to find out what's up. I didn't get good news. The couch wasn't in and then there was something about the chair maybe not coming at the same time. What? Huh? Where's Mimi?

So there's nothing in the living room except our old coffee table that we'll be delivering to a friend soon, a rocking chair and a chair from the office. The cat is annoyed that we took away one of her napping places. She's actually started sleeping in her dog bed (okay - if I coat it in cat nip). Deeps is annoyed that he can't lounge in the office chair to watch TV.

"It's not really comfortable for laying around," he muttered before disappearing into our office to break the computer (you'll have to wait for that entry).

So now we wait and rock and hope. I was watching TV and I saw this couch that looked kind of like the one we ordered - it's been so damn long now that I've kinda forgotten what it looks like. I hated those TV people, and then felt bad, then realized it was Charlie Sheen and then I changed my mind. Sheen is totally hateable.

Baby Party

We went to a party for a one-year-old boy on Saturday. It was surprisingly okay - I've been to several such birthday parties for friends who are desperate to not have lame parties for their kids.

I can happily report that there were no clowns, however there was some alarming children’s' music that made my ears bleed a bit. Luckily, the CD was over after 1 play and not on limitless repeat.

There were some lessons learned (not by me - but by some moms). You can have too much cake. Strangers and babies don't always mix. You must have an exit strategy otherwise adults will linger when they don't know how to tactfully extract themselves from the festivities when it's clear that the kids need to be fed or need naps. Next year say the party is just from 2 to 4 or something - then everyone knows what the plan is.

Best of all - a baby love affair was born, possibly, between the birthday boy and a little girl just a couple of days younger than him. She's smaller but spry - she went after him over and over again like some sort of baby free-for-all. At one point she was sitting on his back and gnawing on his head. He cried for his mother.

That's how I got Deeps to marry me.

Price check

So I was at the check out of the store I go to all the time (aka Target - seriously, I'm not going this weekend. I mean it!). The woman was running things through the scanner: bicycle pump, a pedometer, cat nip, some lip balm, a pack of gum and....

She gets to an item without a SKU number - Deeps looks at me with horror.
"Rookie mistake,” he mutters. I nod. "It happens to everyone," he sighs.
"I know - it's just, I'm usually so much better," I reply.

Then a manager-type lady comes over and starts looking at my item. She and the cashier are talking in Spanish and I'm kinda following along. The gist of it is they don't know what my item is.

Finally, manager-type lady turns to me and asks, "What is this?"

"A hacksaw." I smile at the woman.

"A what?" she is still confused. "A saw?"

"A HACK saw," I emphasize because not all saws are created equal. She looks at me as she talks into her walkie-talkie. Finally she sighs and heads off to the Home Improvement department.

In the meantime the line has started to fill up behind me as angry women start to unload their carts. We all wait a couple of minutes. Finally I look over at them and fill them in on what's going on, “They’re price-checking my hacksaw."

One woman rolls her eyes, but the other.... I feel like she understands. Every girl needs a hacksaw.

Foot shame

My colleague, Curly, returned from vacation yesterday. I hadn't seen her since before I moved. So we caught up happily and chatted and then she talked about how she desperately needed a pedicure because she climbed and hiked on vacation. She showed me her feet and they were a mess.

Then she looked at my feet. I'll admit, I've been lax on the pedi front since before the move. I dropped boxes and stuff and things on my feet during the move. My hands had been shredded to bits packing and unpacking boxes. I know at one point I had a big bruise on my foot. I felt like I had an excuse, then I looked down.

Hooves!

So I was quickly shamed into going for a pedicure during lunch. Thank God such problems can be remedied in under 45 minutes. I've never been foot shamed before.

Sweater count

It's that time of year again - it's cooler and new folks are finding their way to Boston for the first time. It doesn't really matter why they're here. What matters is the sweater count.

Deeps and I started keeping track of the sweaters when we first came here to do a little apartment hunting back in July of 2002. You'd see people casually strolling around with sweaters tied around their necks. You know - old school preppie - like you see in bad movies from the 80s. You don't really see people in other parts of the country do this, but I see it all the time when I pass through Harvard Square. Maybe it's a special Harvard thing.

So today was a real red-letter day for sweater counts: 8 sweaters were knotted around necks and draped over shoulders. As a bonus, we've started counting ponchos - I only saw 3 today.

I'm not sure what happens when you get to Cambridge that you have to wear the sweater knotted like that - but it happens. There are special fashion trends that seem to linger in the Northeast: blue blazers for women, dickies, knotted sweaters and those stupid quilted bags. Sometimes I feel like the whole region dresses like my great Aunt Gladys - phasers set on fuddy.

But that's neither here nor there. I had to explain the poncho thing to Deeps. He was puzzled at first but then commented that at least those ponchos covered up the weirdly-formed love handles caused by excessively low-riding jeans. He still doesn't get that look. Neither do I.

Garden State

Last night Deeps and I capped our summer movie run with Garden State. It was the last movie on our short list of 'must-see' summer flicks. I'm not sure why we waited so long, but it was a good night for a movie.

I think it's a great movie to watch - it's very interesting from a visual perspective. Most of the jokes are visual. They're more complex than a mere sight gag, but ultimately fall into that category. It's a smart sight gag. The dialogue is very natural. There were a few moments when I had a Mamet flashes with all the "ums" and "ehs" and "ohs" scattered about. But it was good. I'm interested in seeing more from Zach Braff in the future.

I've really liked Peter Sarsgaard for a while and have loved Braff on Scrubs. They had a natural rapport onscreen that worked for the story. I realized last night I had no real opinion about Nathalie Portman before the movie. She doesn't do anything for me one way or another. Overall I thought she was pretty good - there were a few scenes where she was a little stiff, a bit awkward but overall she worked.

It's not a wildly plot-driven film. In that way it reminds of things like Lost in Translation and to a lesser degree Eternal Sunshine. They're really films about characters and mood - they're very evocative of a particular time and place in life. I guess as I get older I like being so fully transported and engaged with people. Their stories are rather simple but they are incredibly complex.

So there you have it - it's funny and entertaining, talky without being too talky and has a great aesthetic without beating you about the head and neck with it.

Cuddles - throw it in your Netflix queue. Everyone else, get thee to a theater.

The saddest cat in the neighborhood

So I have a cat and she was pretty cheesed off by the move. It's been almost 2 weeks and she's still mad. I know this because she's taken to attacking my feet while I sleep. Plus she likes to walk around and yowl at ungodly hours of the night and early morning.

She seems happiest when she is cuddled up in her cat carrier (a soft-sided duffle bag like item with open mesh sides). I put her in it during the move for a couple hours. Over the next couple of days I'd put her back in for a few minutes to keep her out of trouble while we lugged things in and out. I left the carrier under a table, open - now she's got her own personal cat fortress of solitude.

Since she seems so into the carrier I thought she might finally use a cat bed. I spent some QT at Target (where I go every weekend apparently) and was looking at pet beds. Here's the thing, the cat (aka Poopus), Dana Kitty - is a bit chubby. She's fat. She's too fat for a regular cat bed. She won't fit. My husband likes to point this out to me often and if possible, in public.

She's a housecat. Of course she's fat. She's older too - like 8. I mean, let's not kid ourselves.

So I had to buy her a bigger bed - a dog bed. I think she knows because she looked at it and just ignored it. I put the frog in the bed and a couple of new catnip toys but she's not going for it. I'm starting to devise new plans to get her to love it.

This morning I was flipping the bed around for a perfect placement in the room. I then discovered that the mattress flips over and has a flannel side. It had a giant dog toy - a frisbee with a dogs head and "good boy!" written on it. I heard a weird noise and looked up to see the cat watching.

I'm pretty sure she's figured out what's going on. I may never get a normal night's sleep again.

What they don't tell you

We haven't unpacked all the boxes yet, but we're already planning our next move, which would (hopefully) be to a place we buy. Our hope is that we might be able to do it next year.

The problem - the upfront cash and also the monthly payments. We horde a tremendous amount of money each month in the house fund over at the ING which brings in a whopping 2.2% savings rate (almost 5x what we'd get from our primary bank). So that money grows a little every month. We add to it. We're diligent. We budget. We plan. I don't know if it will ever be enough.

The problem is that the Boston real estate market, not unlike markets in New York and California, is really tough. We start to think about where we might live and what we might like and what makes sense for us to live in for the next 3-5 years and then we pull out a calculator.

It's really daunting.

To find something that we think would work for us and our lifestyle (working in the city and commuting from a distance that's not too far) we're going to have to spend.... at least X dollars if we want a 2 or 3 bedroom condo that clocks in around 1000 square feet. (We can make do with 2 but 3 might be smarter if I go crazy one day and decide we should have a kid.) And to be honest, that X is really, really low.

Earlier this week Deeps, in an uncharacteristic moment of pessimism, told me that he could easily calculate by the minute what it costs us not to buy. He's serious - he's a mathematician - and he's serious because there's an actual calculable number by the minute! No half pennies people - it's really numbers and it's terrifying. If we don't buy next year, we should just assume that the costs of a place that was $X in 2004 is probably going to be more like X+12% as soon as 2006.

So there it is - the big scary thing that makes it hard to sleep at night. Should we jump on the buying bandwagon? Will we be in over our heads? My husband isn't even allowed to use a hammer - how can we ever be homeowners? Can we raise enough money? Should I borrow from my parents? Should I sell some blood?

I never really had any big ideas about being a homeowner. In Chicago we found a nice place that was decent and pretty large and was very affordable compared to what some of our friends paid (of course we did live across the street from a mental institution - so that helped keep costs lower). When we moved to Boston and got the big sticker shock of paying almost 3x what we paid in Chicago the discussions immediately turned to buying because it seemed more prudent to build equity.

It's not all doom and gloom. We're saving extra because our new apartment (while dirty and spider-infested) is much cheaper than our old place. All that extra money goes to the House fund and that makes me feel better. Plus we're practicing doing some fixer-upper things on this place because our landlady said she'd cover the costs of supplies if we did the labor. So I can learn about light plumbing work and do a little construction. My husband might be allowed to use a hammer (with strict supervision).

Just the other day Deeps asked if we could figure out a better way to do something - and suggested we call upon my dad for some advice and help.

I laughed because it's just what my dad used to do with my gramps. It's part of the cycle - we just need to figure out when we're ready to start.

New TV

So I guess it kind of snuck up on me - the new fall season. I thought I still had a couple of weeks. Guess not.

I didn't have a plan or really read much about what I should watch this season, so I'm winging it. I watched Father of the Pride last week because it was the night we were packing (before the move) and honestly - I wanted to see the train wreck. It was really unfunny. I've laughed more at an episode of Mystery! The only slightly funny bits involved the humans and that really seems to not be the focus of the show.

So it's not funny and on NBC and the critics hate it so I expect we'll be seeing it for another 7 to 10 seasons. Rejoice.