Archive for January, 2010

Kids

When it comes to motherhood/kids, I think I’m pretty reasonable. I get why people don’t have them — really, I do — and it’s a choice I almost made and would have been quite happy with. It’s not for everyone, and there are plenty of people who have children who shouldn’t have, and plenty who want to, but can’t, and that’s impossibly hard. And there are plenty more who just don’t want to, because their life is full with something else, or frankly, they just don’t like kids. Which is totally fine! FINE! I mean it.

And I KNOW that my kid isn’t the center of the universe, and that while *I* think she’s beautiful and smart and interesting and funny, YOU don’t share those sentiments, and with perfectly good reason! She’s NOT YOUR KID! She’s just a kid like every other kid and no single kid is special, or at least, I like to think they ALL are, but not to people who don’t know them. If that makes sense.

HOWEVAH. My kid is a person, you know. So if she’s waving at you and smiling and clearly trying to say “HIII!” to you while you’re standing next to me, acknowledging ME, would it kill you to extend the same courtesy to her? And if she’s in a room with a bunch of adults, just do me a favor and SAY HELLO to her, and acknowledge that she’s IN THE ROOM. I mean, you wouldn’t do that to another grown-up, would you? No one’s asking you to sit on the floor and play with her, but if she’s grinning at you and waving, just SAY FUCKING HI. Yes, yes, I KNOW she’s only a baby, but see also: human being. Plus, this is how she learns how social interactions work. After you say hello, you can go back to your business. You don’t have to make goo-goo eyes at her, you don’t have to wave a toy in front of her, just acknowledge her existence with a simple hello.

I know that sounds like a crazy rant, but it happens all the time! Her little waving arms and a big old “HIIII!” in a tiny, baby-speak voice as she waits for the other person to acknowledge her, and then they just GLARE at her, like she pooped on their shoe, and it’s … it’s rude. Kids aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but they’re still people.

I can’t believe I just wrote that, but it happened yet again in the grocery store today, when Sam waved at the lady in front of us and said “Hi!” (it’s rudimentary, but she’s learning!) and the woman shot her a look that could wilt America’s gardens while saying HELLO TO ME. And it happens like, ONCE A WEEK.

Speaking of Sam, one of her little friends likes her a, um, whole lot, and is always trying to hug her — he’s two and a half to Sam’s 11 months, for reference. While at my girlfriend’s house the other day, he kept lying on top of her, hugging her and kissing her, and once — no, TWICE — he (literally) lured her into his bedroom to lay on top of her some more, and SHUT THE DOOR. Worse, he became angry and agitated when I wanted him to leave it open. And EVERY TIME I OPENED IT, he was on top of her. I know, I know, he’s TWO AND A HALF, but how lame am I that I was all, hey, kid? Stop rubbing yourself all over my daughter and LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN.

Am proving to be not as reasonable a parent as I proclaimed to be at the outset, right? Or is that creepy and I’m being TOTALLY REASONABLE?

Btw, I’m on a Pioneer Woman cooking kick, and though I had some early failures, I’ve since revisited recipes I’ve tried before and didn’t like, and loved every last one of them. Linguine with chicken thighs. Lasagna. Chicken spaghetti. Pork loin. Flank steak. WIN. WIN. WIN. WIN.

And finally, Real Housewives of Orange County. What the everloving FUCK, Lynne? Oh, these women! They’re so awful, every last one of them. Zero redeeming qualities whatsoever. And their KIDS. OH MY STARS. Lynne’s daughters are DISASTERS and she has no idea how to parent whatsoever, my God. It’s just an effing TRAINWRECK all around. A RIVETING TRAINWRECK. And yet? I love them. I love Gretchen so very much, I don’t care if she takes pictures of herself with vibrators up her ass and puts them on the Internet. I LOVE HER. I CANNOT BE CONVINCED THAT SHE IS EVIL.

Happy week! Not sure when I’ll see you again, but I’m sure I will.

*MGMT

114 comments January 31st, 2010

I’m On A Boat, Take II

A brief weekend update to what I alluded to on my last entry, this time with purpose!

About a month ago, Jennie mentioned her company was doing an upcoming anthology on True Blood. And people, you KNOW how I feel about True Blood, considering it’s the only show I’ve seen in its entirety more than twice since the Golden Girls. Ergo, and perhaps totally unsurprisingly, she suggested I submit a topic to the editor, and I did, and surprisingly, they accepted it.

The first time my words will be in something bound and it’s about … vampires and sex. Fitting! Anyway, I’m obviously very excited and can now totally come out with it (and out with Jennie, now that she’s outed herself). We’re all out! And proud! Or something.

The point of this is that the anthology is announced (it’s being released in June, with at least two or three updates on the essay from me throughout the third season), and you can go vote on the cover.

If you’re wondering, by the way, if my essay is on the sexy beast that is Eric and why/how/whatthefuck Alexander Skarsgard was thinking with those purported silicone back implants, you’re wrong. My essay is about Bill. BILL! I know! I didn’t see that one coming either, but it seems I have STRONG FEELINGS on what Alan Ball and Stephen Moyer are doing to Bill, and by association, Sookie, and folks, it’s not good. (SOOKEH! BEEEEL!)

Separately, Smart Pop Books are fantastic, you guys, and I’m not just saying that. I’ve contributed to a lot of things here and there and just taken the money and ran without making a thing of it, because the product (other than my brilliant contribution, of course), has sucked. These, however? Are beyond awesome. If you’re a fan of Television Without Pity or any of the recapping sites, you’ll love these. They have all the wit and smarts, plus deeper analysis. I’m not sure what they were thinking when they agreed to let me write for them. My personal favorite, if you were wondering, is the Charmed one (oh a pun!), which makes the series seem smart and a total win for feminism, meaning I no longer beat myself up for all those hours I spent parked in front of TNT while pregnant. Charmed! Who knew? And Lost! The Lost one is great, too. I’m sure the rest of them are ALSO spectacular, but a) I haven’t gotten to read them all yet; and b) I’m not a fan of all the shows/products they cover, so some of them won’t mean that much to me yet.

I’m not kidding. There is an entire brilliant essay on why the producers of Charmed were BALLS OUT to kill off Prue and I ATE IT UP, because it was SO TRUE and suddenly I didn’t feel so cheated by the way they just left us all dangling there with the whole Shax Did-He-Or-Didn’t-He thing.

Anyway. That’s the scoop. I’m writing and posting now in a separate post not to make a big thing of it intentionally, but because the poll is only up for the weekend, and I want to know what you think. I have an opinion of course, but I’ll save it for the very end.

Happy weekend!

22 comments January 29th, 2010

20 Years of Snow

I went to Costco today with Julie, and frankly, either one of those things on their own (a visit to Costco OR a visit with Julie) is swoon-worthy and enough entertainment for an entire week, but in combination, hoo boy, it was practically the perfect storm of wonder and delight. Witty banter! Towering 80-packs of K-cups! Giant packages of pregnancy tests placed strategically next to the condoms! A remarkably funny woman to give me a tour! A four-pound container of brownies that my husband has been complaining about all night! (“I wanted ONE brownie, Jonna, not NINETY.”)

See? Perfection. Delight! A BLT for lunch marred only by a briefly choking infant! And then I got in the car, where all hell proceeded to break loose, for it started snowing rather, uh, heavily, shall we say, and just as suddenly, to the point where I couldn’t see the road and my eyes were going all buggy from trying to focus on anything but the snowflakes hurtling toward the windshield. In fact, my eyes are quite literally crossing at the memory, and my heart rate has now elevated to 30-Day Shred levels (speaking of, my right knee is about to stage a coup). I pulled my trembling self to a gas station, where I had a serious conversation with Adam about whether I should stay in the Ho-Hum Motel (note: actual name) until the following day, because I was certain that death! destruction! torment! were all that lay ahead, and we’d NEVER MAKE IT HOME.

And apparently I was RIGHT, for before I knew what was happening, traffic (three cars, whatever) came to a total standstill amid the terrifying whiteout (the LAST THING YOU WANT, as no one can see your stopped car), because there were at LEAST seven cars all skidding off the road, and the next thing I knew there were sirens! stretchers! People ON the stretchers! Crunched cars! Three ambulances! Two fire trucks! POLICE.

(None of the cars were ours. Beebs and I were fine, although one of us was more fine than the other, perhaps because she slept through it.)

And then: sunshine. No snow. Smooth sailing. Whatthefuck. I mean, thank GAWD I didn’t stay in the Ho-Hum, because … HO HUM, you know what I’m saying?

(That line was genius, that. It’s a real shocker that I didn’t make it on Jeopardy, isn’t it?)

Occasionally, like, say, driving in a blinding snow squall, I look back on our years in Florida with a warm, golden affection, and imagine raising Sam near the Gulf of Mexico in a land where it never snows and sixty degrees is considered “cold.” The fantasy is fun for a few minutes, until I am slapped back to the reality that while yes, there is warm sunshine, there are also torrential downpours and lightning close enough to singe your face off. And the grass! Sam would never be able to sit in the grass, because it’s hard as a pile of razor-laden straw AND it is fraught with fire ants that would gladly eat your face off faster than a Fatburger.

And the ocean is great, right? Great, yes, great. It is also teeming with sharks — real ones — and wearing silver is inadvisable during the warmer months, lest you be mistaken for a mackerel. It is also true that shuffling your feet is a necessity from May through October because, oh ho ho HO! it’s stingray season, oh happy day! And what Floridian fantasy is complete without elderly drivers being wheeled away on gurneys as they got in yet another traffic accident at a six-way stop as you sit in traffic, your face melting directly into the pavement? And GAWD, we haven’t even talked about the threat of hurricanes, which is a constant source of anxiety throughout the season, because even if you aren’t hit with one, the weathermen are perpetually full of doomsday predictions about whatever clouds are swirling in the Caribbean on any given day.

Yes, I will take snow squalls and warm fireplaces, thank you very much. Frankly, if not for the driving, I am a winter person. I love winter, so long as I’m properly dressed for it, and have no problem throwing Sam in her snowsuit, packing her into the Ergo, and heading out for a tour of downtown and some errands, no matter how cold it is. Mmmm, cold weather. Snuggly!

To close the loop on the Costco excitement, I walked out with 168 Kirkland diapers, and have high hopes, despite their lack of whatever that little comfort flex thing was on the side of the Pampers that made them seem … comfortable and flexible. (See? Am marketer’s wet dream!)

And in housekeeping news, I will likely be a little on the sparse side next week and the week after, as I finish several LOOOOOOMING deadlines on projects that are due at or near the middle of February. Most of them are not thrilling at all, but one is VERY THRILLING, at least to me, and involves something that people! like you! and my parents! can buy! in a place called a BOOKSTORE! And you can read all about it HERE.

Have a wonderful, fabulous weekend.

*Regina Spektor

26 comments January 29th, 2010

Money for Nothing

So there was a time, once, when I considered myself to be a smart person. Then, sadly, I took the Jeopardy online test and was rendered a drooling cro magnon, because GEEZUZ, you guys, that shit is HARD. How is it possible that a show — a show I consistently ROCK, I hasten to add — can be so DISCERNING in its search for contestants?

The format is this: they just start THROWING questions at you — oh, excuse me, ANSWERS, which is such Jeopardy bullshit — and you have fifteen seconds to answer them, and oh. Oh dear. I couldn’t even figure out that there were categories until it was too late, and look, I’m just going to say that during one particularly horrific, panic-stricken moment there was a clue about some desert that Chile and Peru are (were?) fighting over, and I misread it as dessert, as in who was claiming … origin, maybe? And I just typed, “CREME BRULEE” because THAT sure sounds Chilean, don’t you think?

What I’m telling you is that you should not expect to look for me on Jeopardy anytime soon, and that if you DO know someone who is on Jeopardy who does not wear a pocket protector and/or spend their entire days studying obscure facts about Russian politicians of the 18th century, you should be in fucking AWE.

CREME BRULEE.

Bullets! Because I am tired:

— LOST is back on next Tuesday for the final season. Lost! LOST LOST LOST LOST. And I am hopeful that it will be fraught with lots of JACOB, because I find Jacob weirdly attractive, even though the first time we were introduced to Jacob — or rather, the actor who PLAYS Jacob — was when he was Rita’s abusive husband in the first (second?) season of Dexter. And it will be, sadly, the last time we see Sayid in character. So much hotness. So little time left.

— Few things seem less pointless to me than giving up caffeine or salt. I realize that for some people, they are unhealthy habits, but you will pry the salt shaker from my cold, dead hands (or when high blood pressure kicks in, whichever comes first) and dude, coffee has ANTIOXIDANTS, no kidding, and the health benefits far outweigh the risks, in my opinion. (And several medical professionals as well.) Further, when I recently saw green tea recommended as a substitute for caffeinated beverages and coffee, it was all I could do not to laugh, because yes, green tea is good for you, but, um, it is caffeinated. Highly so. So while yes, green tea is awesome, I must heartily and happily say that, hey, coffee is, too.

This bullet point sponsored by Keurig. (NOT REALLY.) (I ONLY WISH.) (KEURIG, CALL ME. WILL SHILL FOR K-CUPS.)

— I’ve been holding out on you with my most inappropriate, odd crush, and I can’t keep it in any more. You know those Free Credit Report commercials? With the jingle? And the guy in the, um, mullet? Him. Yes, him. I find him strangely attractive, particularly in the most recent ANNIVERSARY ad, if you will, and … oh forget it, it’s too awful to elaborate on, but yes, Free Credit Guy, this one’s for you.

— An update on the Pampers situation: They gave me my money back. And, uh, frankly, it was a little too easy, which means THEY KNOW. They know the new Cruisers suck and they’re BUYING US OFF. I’m onto you Pampers! I should start a crazy-ass campaign/crusade and act like a total lunatic on Twitter and start a Facebook group and comment in baby forums about how PAMPERS CONSIDERS ME THE ENEMY and … oh, wait.

(Sadly, it’s true. They’re totally buying people off so we don’t flip out on them. Dude, I didn’t even have to give them a RECEIPT to prove what I paid for them. They just fired me off a check, and I didn’t even have to ASK. They were, within five seconds of the call, “Well, let us reimburse you for those diapers!” ORILLY PAMPERS?)

(I’m done with Pampers. Forever. Up yours, PG&E I mean, P&G (wow, someone watched Erin Brockovich one too many times). But you are also totally right that if you DIDN’T reimburse me, things would be even more hideous. Am sheep!)

— Have you been to Style Lush lately? If you were wondering about the L’Oreal EverPure line, which I was, I tried it out and LOVED IT. Go check it, and all the other great stuff there, out.

— Still shredding. Can now move quadriceps, but my calves are still screaming in agony after cardio circuit one and it’s the ONLY THING that will force me to stay at level 1 for the entire month. THE ONLY THING. Well, that, and I’d like to live. That, too.

*Dire Straits

53 comments January 26th, 2010

The Mystery Zone

We’re going through a bit of a stressy situation over here at chez jonniker that really isn’t worth going into for right now, but on levels of family stresses of the largeish variety is about as mundane as it gets. However, what is frustrating me most about this particular stressy situation is that we PLANNED for it and are WELL PREPARED for it, as much as one can be, and there is no real reason for me to stress at this exact moment. And yet, I am. And do you know WHAT I am stressing about?

The fact that I am not really stressing. Ergo, I am currently mired in a delightful circular pattern of worrying about my lack of worry, because, as I mentioned as recently as last week, I believe that worry is PROTECTIVE, because after all, nothing I’ve really worried about has come to fruition. No no, I am usually BLINDSIDED by things I did not worry about. Then again, there is this dangling bit of irony in that I DID worry about this particular thing, and PLANNED for it so that I did NOT have to worry about it, and here I am! Not worrying about it, except when I am WORRYING about not WORRYING ABOUT IT.

Did you get that? This is why I am unabashedly medicated, friends.

In other thrilling news of the mundane variety, my Wii Fit workouts were becoming a bit too easy, which made me embarrassingly proud until I remembered that they weren’t really designed to be workouts, but were designed to be GAMES, but whatever, Wii! Nine and a half pounds down and STILL THE MII MUFFIN TOP PERSISTS. Up yours! So, like everyone else, I started doing the 30 Day Shred, figuring that meh, it’s 20 minutes, how bad can it be? The answer is: very bad. Very, very bad. Except that it IS only 20 minutes of Very Bad-ness, which is eminently survivable, except at the very end of the first cardio circuit, when I am fairly certain that my FEET, of all things, are going to detach from my body like a faulty set of airplane wheels. And of course, afterwards, when my quadriceps felt like I’d been in one of those World’s Strongest Man competitions and used my legs to help lift a monster truck over my head.

My arms, strangely, are FINE, thanks to daily push-ups and almost eleven months of hauling a small person around, but oh, my LEGS. MY LEEEEEGGSS. A friend of mine is back in town visiting, and after witnessing me literally hobbling up the library steps to meet her, naturally asked what in God’s name I’d done to myself. And when I mentioned the Shred’s 20-minute convenience, she announced that it was PERFECT, then, because then she could do it TWICE a day! Once in the morning and again in the evening! Oh ho Ho HO! She was off to get it right away, then!

My reaction: *blink* *blink* *blink* *blink*

Because really, come on. No.

And finally, two things:

— I am currently engaged in a Maytag-like, uh, discussion-slash-rant about Pampers and how they have RUINED CRUISERS FOREVER. I am enraged, y’all. They “updated” Cruisers to be WORSE than Baby Dry, as if such things were humanly possible, and now, in addition to a truly wretchedly ineffective diaper (LEAKS AHOY), the chemical smell emanating from my daughter’s ass will burn your nostrils off. Tomorrow, I am calling the company to discuss and, in a move I can’t believe I’m making, see if I can get my money back, because I am stranded with $45 worth of diapers that I can’t even use.

This is all somewhat irrelevant except to illustrate to you that I cannot believe my life has come to this. This is the most worked up I’ve been in ages, and it’s about PAMPERS changing the formula (?) of my kid’s DIAPERS and I’m reading this, and my related tweets about it, and wondering where I went wrong. How have I turned into a suburban housewife who’s all RAGING AGAINST THE PAMPERS MACHINE?

Book Lushes! Oh I know, I beat you over the head with this shit, but you know, the forums are so much fun, and I’m getting some seriously fantastic recommendations in them, from memoirs to vampire novels to the best kids’ picture books. And, a lot of people are wrapping up the first book and starting to discuss it (but if you haven’t, and are nowhere close, that is FINE. You are not behind! It’s just that some people are mysteriously AHEAD!), but most importantly, we’re taking nominations for the next book, and we’re aiming for something a little older, cheaper and available at libraries and in paperback, so if you missed the first one, consider the next! Or if you’re just looking for recommendations in general. We’re your peeps!

I’m finishing The Help tonight, for what it’s worth. After that, I’m returning to the slogfest that is Suite Francaise, as I alternate easy reading with something more challenging, and while it’s interesting, it’s not exactly FAST-MOVING and I feel like I’ll be reading it until KINGDOM COME, although I am emboldened by the fact that I survived The Historian, for which I strongly feel I deserve a commemorative T-shirt.

I hope you have a fantastic Monday and beyond!

*Spoon

34 comments January 24th, 2010

I Will Not Take These Things For Granted

I can’t believe I neglected to mention that while watching Martha Stewart the other day, I witnessed her getting her exercise on a — well, it was on a stripper pole, friends. While she had the sense to turn down the request from the guest (a strip class instructor, natch) to do that upside-down stripper thing that probably has a more technical name other than “hump the pole upside down,” she still did that side swing thing that usually precedes it. I am completely traumatized, because again, if you missed it: MARTHA STEWART ON A STRIPPER POLE, DING DONG AND ALSO HALLO. During the same segment, she also admitted that she signed up for her first stripper-aerobics class and … well, God, thanks for the additional visual, Martha. Appreciate that.

I’m not sure if now is the time to admit that I have the television on almost the entire day while I’m home with Sam, but either way, there it is: I have the TV on quite a bit. I like to think I’d be one of those people who speaks of the evils of television and intelligently cites studies and articles about the loss of vocabulary in children who are exposed to it, and how television — even the most benign — encourages kids to be angry and violent, but I’m not. I can’t be. I want to be, but the truth is having adult conversation and adult themes in the background (even in the form of Martha humping the pole) is as important to me as it is to breathe.

The thing is, she doesn’t even look up at it or watch it. I am on the floor playing with my kid for most of the day. We read books at least three times every day. We have a ton of playdates and playgroups. We take time out to listen to music and dance around the living room. We build things with her kiddie-sized Legos, and I almost always catch her before she splits her lip on the coffee table. But yes, the television is on, and most days, I don’t feel bad about it, except when I do, which is also most days, when I worry that she’s going to become a non-verbal angry violent serial killer because I exposed her to too much Meredith Viera, and the occasional Bill Henrickson, including that very unfortunate time that he was boinking Margene.

***

Whenever I hear that someone is getting a divorce or is already divorced or is in the process of marital woe, I have an overwhelming urge to pick at it like a scab. If it’s a blogger, I go combing through the archives, desperately trying to find out what went wrong; I make three times the effort if I find out that they have children. I am of the futile mentality that by dissecting others’ relationships, I can prevent the same dynamics from occurring in my own marriage, as though fact-finding mixed with selfish, paranoid worry is protective, even though I am acutely aware that it isn’t.

I do this even though my marriage is among the most realistically happy I know. Some days I love him so much I can hardly contain myself. Like the love I feel for Sam, I want to pour him into a tall glass and drink him to make sure he’s comfortably inside me, safe and warm. Other days I wish we lived in a cartoon world where I could break him down limb by limb and put him in a wood chipper, taking immense pleasure in his demise, only to watch him put himself together again. Most days I just love him, and feel very lucky.

Have a happy Thursday.

*Toad the Wet Sprocket

34 comments January 20th, 2010

I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You

One of the awful, terrible, annoying side effects of parenthood is that I can no longer just enjoy American Idol for the fluffy piece of SPUN FLUFF it is meant to be. Oh no no no. I can’t even get off on watching the asshole kids who think they can sing screw up royally and stomp off into the ether. OH NO NO NO. NOPE. What am I doing instead? I’m getting choked up and upset and and thinking THAT IS SOMEONE’S CHILD. (Yes, feel free to punch me, because isn’t THAT annoying as fuck.) And when I *do* get angry? I’m angry at the parents. I’m angry that the parents encouraged their kid to make a total ass of themselves on national television and were so freakin’ BLINDED BY LOVE that they thought their child could sing!

Please. Please give me the wisdom and strength to stop my child from auditioning for American Idol if, indeed, she cannot sing. Give me the courage to redirect her into something she CAN do, even if that thing is something as mundane as BASKET WEAVING.

Speaking of my progeny, did I tell you guys we spent Friday afternoon at the pediatrician’s office because I found a — wait for it — LUMP in my child’s, um, BREAST? Yes. Fantastic. I mean, don’t you think ten months old is a bit YOUNG to initiate BSE’s? Seriously, y’all, it was a fracking MASS. A MASS. Well, it IS a mass, I should say. As it turns out, however, it is a normal mass, and the result of her picking up MY hormones in the womb and WOW BIOLOGY IS SOME FREAKY, DISTURBING SHIT.

In thrilling news, I have lost eight pounds. Eight! On my Wii Fit! For SERIOUS! Yes, there are diet changes as well, but honestly, nothing too drastic. I eat pretty healthily as it is, and though I cut my portions a little (and by “a little,” I mean, “Stop sticking your face in the feed bag like it’s some kind of endless TROUGH”). The worst part? You can’t even tell, swear to Jebus. You can’t tell! It’s all the SAME up in this piece. My Mii still has a muffin top, it still hollers at me that I’m overweight, and it STILL says “Oh!” in a horribly accusatory tone when I step on to start a new exercise. You guys, all I want to do is fit into my old jeans and pants so I don’t have to buy new ones. THAT IS ALL I WANT. Am lazy! And ironically, the way to maintain my laziness is to exercise. Yes, friends, in the battle between exercise and buying new clothes, I have chosen exercise as the lesser of two evils. That’s how much I hate shopping.

And finally, because a day is not a day unless I’m kvetching about something meaningless and yet strangely offensive to a select group of people: Do you know what I find very strange? When people parade their significant others out there as pieces of meat for others to envy. I find it weirder if it’s your husband. Yes, I get that you love him and yes, he’s adorable, but … I … what? Are you REALLY trying to make me COVET your husband? I think that’s odd! I do! I mean, do YOU like him? Awesome! Good thing you married him! Hooray for you! I love my husband, too.

Believe me, it’s not that I don’t want to hear about your relationship, because I do! I really do! And I’m SO GLAD he is awesome and I want to hear how thoughtful he is, because I think YOU are great and you deserve it, but I don’t … I don’t know, I guess there is a TONE in the way some people refer to their significant others that is a little ODD, and I am doing a VERY BAD JOB of explaining this, but I think it’s WEIRD when I’m being put into a position that, again, I’m feeling like you’re trying to make me JEALOUS of the fact that you have a hot husband and I … eh?

This is not limited to the blog world, I must hastily add. This is one of those UNIVERSAL phenomenons that perplexes me offline and on in equal measure.

Again, I ask, does this make sense?

No. No it doesn’t. BUT IT IS WEIRD, YOU MUST TRUST ME.

Happy Wednesday! I have to make three loaves of banana bread for playgroup, and again, I tell you, I’m starting to feel like I have an elementary schooler who constantly needs CUPCAKES. BAH.

*Black Kids

31 comments January 19th, 2010

Out from Under

You know what still grates my cheese from time to time? Before I had Sam and loved to sleep in, people really loved to act like it was a bad habit and helpfully remind me that once I had children, I wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. You know what? NO SHIT. But Jesus Christ, I KNEW THAT, and also, I maintain that it is an AWESOME habit, and everyone who can do it, should.

All those changes that happened when I had a baby were somewhat natural and easy, uh, relatively speaking. The whole thing is such a fucking shellshock that you’re not sitting around wondering why you’re not sleeping late, because you’re wondering why you’re not sleeping at all, I guess. I mean, you’re not going to sleep until 10 when you have a bleating newborn, and you just ADJUST. Yes, you’re tired, yes, it’s hard, but EEFRACKINGGADS, you can’t PLAN for them. And GOD it is so not HELPFUL to say that to someone who doesn’t have kids, and screeching, “You think YOU’RE tired!” is also not helpful and just makes someone feel shitty for no good reason. Childfree people: You are allowed to sleep late. You are ALLOWED to be tired and even complain about it. I chose to have kids, and I’m allowed to complain about it TOOO, but I’m not allowed to make you feel like your tiredness is INFERIOR TO MY TIREDNESS OH MY GOD.

P.S.: Sleep until 11 this weekend. FOR ME.

P.P.S. It seems I hold pointless grudges.

***

So I was watching SNL this weekend (Sunday morning, my pretties) and was once again smacked in the face with another nonsensical celebrity crush. No, not Andy Samberg, and at the rate my friends are crushing on him, he’s becoming almost MAINSTREAM, yo. And while yes, I ADORE Jason Sudeikis, who DOESN’T, I ask you? This was … well. It’s Bill Hader, okay? BILL HADER. The guy who walks around with a CREEPY FACE and DRINKS PEOPLE’S MILKSHAKES in a completely un-funny sketch and I … oh dear.

Bill Hader. John Malkovich. Gary Oldman. Did I say John Malkovich? MALKOVICH MALKOVICH MALKOVICH. Alan Rickman!

BILL EFFING HADER. GAWD.

I’m just grateful it isn’t Will Forte, is all I’m saying.

***

Sam has started talking a little, and it’s HYSTERICAL and also, the cutest thing I have ever seen. Thus far we have “doggie!” and “Dad-ee!” and “HIIIIII!” and they aren’t exactly crystal clear, but dude! She can SPEAK! And yeah, um, no “Mama” in there and I am TRYING NOT TO BE BITTER.

***

Speaking of Sam, I’ve posted it everywhere, but this OUTFIT. Seemed like SUCH A GOOD IDEA on the hanger, but on the body? GEEZUS. Circus music much?

Clowny!

***
MENSTRUAL-RELATED QUESTION, MALE EYES AVERT:

Since giving birth, I can’t use tampons. It’s not WORKING, people. IT IS NOT WORKING. There are MULTIPLE PROBLEMS, and ironically, none of them are because I have some kind of TWO-CAR GARAGE down there, but because … oh, forget it, I’m not even sure why, and I don’t even want to ANALYZE why. And I can’t find my Keeper, so I had to order a NEW ONE and folks, I’m using MAXI PADS. IT IS THE WORST TIME OF MY ENTIRE LIFE, this period. THE WORST. You know what makes it even worse? The dog. The dog taking maxi pads out of the garbage, eating them (OMFG) and leaving them all over the house. Like under the bed, where I have to fish them out with a goddamn COAT HANGER.

This is worse than CHILDBIRTH ITSELF AND I AM NOT KIDDING.

***
Ding dong, Heidi Montag plastic surgery, whaaa? No, really, WHAAAA? WHAAAAAA? THAT MUCH? Yes, she’s certifiable, but COME THE EFF ON, HEIDI.

***
A quick note about the book club: Even if you aren’t reading the specific book this month, there are some awesome conversations going on about OTHER books and OTHER genres and it’s morphed into a totally fun place in a totally unexpected way, and I encourage you to join if you read at all. For real. (And while it’s my thang, it’s not like I get PAID for you visiting or anything. It’s just been FUN.)

Happy Monday!

*Oh, BRITNEY

49 comments January 17th, 2010

The Finish Line

I tell you, one of the biggest cruel jokes is that when your baby starts sleeping through the night, you are more tired than you were than when she was getting up twice a night. Well, I am, anyway. What IS that? It’s like your body suddenly decides to break down and become a weak shell of its sleep-deprived self.

And. AND! When your kid DOES get up in the middle of the night, someone might as well have set off a gun over your bed, because WHAT THE EFF IS THAT NOISE?! WHAT IS THAT? A teething Sam woke up shrieking at 4 a.m. today, and both Adam and I jerked bolt upright, staring at each other through the foggy veil of sleep wondering WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? Did someone BREAK IN? Oh Christ, it’s the BABY. And I was so ridiculously out of it that I pumped a big ole money shot of Motrin directly into her hair, requiring multiple trips to the living room and dragging out the entire process in a manner that my more-efficient sleep-deprived self would have SCOFFED AT.

I know. World’s tiniest violin, what with my sleeping baby, I know. I don’t blame you.

I went to a wonderful playdate today at my friend Kate’s house (hi, Kate!) for the first time, and though I got there with relative ease, I made a wrong turn on the way back and ended up in some ENDLESS LOOP of Green Mountains, which sounds idyllic and charming, but really felt like some sort of awful blend of Groundhog Day and Deliverance, because — as is typical in Vermont — there was no cell service for most of the drive. As I said to Kate later, I was POSITIVE I ended up in a wormhole and if I tried to go BACK to Kate’s to figure out where I went wrong, her house wouldn’t even be there anymore, and I would be forced to figure out how Sam and I could survive living in an apartment above a store named Jaques, which is mysteriously pronounced JAKE’S, and what IS THAT? JAQUES = JAKES? WHO IS JAQUE? And I didn’t even notice an APOSTROPHE.

This, along with macaroni and cheese loaf (LOAF. IN THE DELI CASE. SLICED FOR SANDWICHES. WITH CREEPY GROUND MEAT IN IT) will remain one of Vermont’s most enduring mysteries.

At any rate, because I mentioned them the other day, and a few people asked and because I like accountability, here are my 2010 goals to date. This seems terribly self-serving and obnoxiously narcissistic, so just please know that I’m self-conscious about it, and don’t blame you one whit if you don’t care. I PROMISE.

Oh, I want to add more, but it’s a start. Some, however, are shamelessly stolen from Jennie. And if I may say so, number one on this list is so far making me SO EFFING HAPPY! You guys simply rule, and the discussions people are having, and the fact that people are reading the books and talking about OTHER BOOKS and I love you, man. There’s no other way to say it.

1. Organize and launch an online book club (CHECK CHECK CHECK BOOK LUSHES CHECK)
2. Read at least 30 books
3. Submit for-fun, non-blog, non-paid (yet!) writing to at least three new places (one down!)
4. Get my fingers thin enough to wear my wedding rings again (yes, seriously, it’s been A YEAR)
5. Buy a really great pair of expensive jeans
6. Find a decent babysitter and leave Sam with someone other than a relative
7. Attend BlogHer ’10
8. Take Samantha to the beach
9. Plan a real family vacation
10. Buy a really great piece of original art.
11. Find a financial planner
12. Take Samantha to meet her great-grandfather and extended family she hasn’t met yet
13. Donate my time and/or items (food, clothing, money) to at least one charity every month
14. Have a piece of clothing custom-made
15. Become strong enough to do a real push-up
16. Make Adam’s birthday as special as he made mine
17. Go away for the weekend with just Adam
18. Call my brother every two weeks
19. Get a decent calendar and write every birthday in it
20. Come up with one signature dinner dish and one baked good to cook for guests/bring places
21. Frame all of the unframed pictures and art in our home
22. Take one picture every day (already failed, but tomorrow is a NEW DAY)
23. Make salted caramels
24. Redesign my blog
25. Wear makeup at least once a week
26. Introduce Sam to her Auntie Meredith and meet her little peanut when she arrives
27. Learn to make bastilla

And with that, I hope you have a fantastic Wednesday.

*Snow Patrol

68 comments January 12th, 2010

Well well well!

So! If you were interested in the book club, it’s live! It’s live! It’s still morphing and will no doubt improve (I hope!) as time goes by, but we’ve got members! And discussions!

And sign up here!

15 comments January 11th, 2010

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