Signal to Noise

Going back to standard time is one of the best, most confusing times of the year. First, there’s always that moment of “Wait — what time is it?” that happens the second you wake up and then again at various points throughout the day. Unfortunately, Adam’s weekday alarm went off (we don’t know why), which had us starting the day at a ridiculously early hour, causing a domino effect culminating in dinner at 4 p.m. where, I do not make this up, I ordered the blue plate special.

We have geriatric envy. Always have. And with a baby on the way, I’m expecting these early habits (Early to bed! Early to rise! Early to eat! Hi, we like to be EARLY FOR EVERYTHING!) to become even more of a problem, if you can call it that. Just please stop me if I try to squeeze all of my appointments in before 9 a.m. so I can make it back for The 700 Club, mmkay?

But then there is that extra hour! That glorious extra hour! It’s all so conflicting.

I am not a fan, however, of this getting dark at 4 p.m. shit. Not at all, oh my lands.

We spent the weekend packing. And moving. And packing. And moving. This is easy to do when you’re moving approximately one mile away from your previous residence. This is THRILLING Adam to the very core, because if there’s one thing Adam loves, it’s moving. There are spreadsheets and lists and schedules, and, well, the man is really in his type-A element here.

Speaking of Adam, we got into a bit of a tiff last night over the status of milk. Yes, uh, milk. I’m not normally a big milk drinker, but it’s a beverage that has fallen into serious favor since I became pregnant. It’s filling, without being OVERLY filling; and it can be sweet or merely neutral, depending on the addition or lack thereof of chocolate milk or honey or whatever. But see? I just called it a beverage. And that, right there, is the problem: milk is not a beverage.

Yes, you drink it, but it is in no way thirst quenching, not unlike a martini — delicious, but not really satisfying in the hydrating sense. And yet it is filling! Deliciously filling! Therefore, I maintain that milk is a snack. It is no more a beverage than, say, a milkshake. Is a milkshake (or a frappe, if you’re a New Englander) thirst-quenching? I THOUGHT NOT.

In other news, we had a tenant who absolutely wanted to rent our house and then, in a 12-hour span, changed her mind due to family circumstances that literally changed overnight. Which: OMG, please kill me. The emotional rollercoaster is all too much to bear. I just want it DONE. DONE. DONE. OH MY GOD, DONE.

Unusual behavioral note: we’ve gotten more calls through the newspaper than we did from Craigslist. Online revolution my ASS. Although it did just occur to me that I’m talking about Florida. Specifically, the west coast of Florida, where 65 is considered sprightly and young.

Also, does anyone else find the fact that Joaquin Phoenix wrote “good bye” on his hands backwards — as in, “bye! Good” — as amusing as I did? As amusing as, say, the woman who was too stupid to realize that writing a “B” on your face IN THE MIRROR is likely to result in a backwards “B” and blow your whole story? At least Joaquin made the letters face outwards, rather than writing to himself, in a bizarre kiss-off. (Photo here.)

And finally, two things:

1) Adam’s been watching Twin Peaks on Netflix, and I haven’t really been paying attention at all. I can tell you, however, that I find it freakin’ BIZARRE that such a terrifying show was on network television. Uh, seriously? There have been EXPOSED BLOODY BRAIN PARTS and stuff, not to mention a level of surreal creep-fest that I’d previously left unimagined. I don’t even have context for half the stuff that’s gone down, and it’s given me nightmares. No seriously. NIGHTMARES.

2) A really unpleasant side effect of pregnancy I believe I mentioned before: Teen Wolf hair. You know those mysterious longish clear/white hairs that appear in odd places where they don’t belong? Like, say, your UPPER ARM? Or, I don’t know, your CHEEK? OR EAR? OR NAME THAT PLACE? Other than that, dude, the second trimester is SO the bees’ knees. I mean, continued nausea and other unpleasantness aside, I will take this over the non-stop pukefest, general malaise and utter migraine festival ANY DAY OF THE WEEK. Please don’t remind me that the third trimester is a total throwback to those days. Oh my God, I’m just trying to focus on the joy that is the next ten-ish weeks, assuming the agony of finding a tenant doesn’t kill me first.

Happy Monday!

*Peter Gabriel. And uh, it’s all noise around here.

34 comments November 2nd, 2008