Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Take the craft scissors away from the hormonal woman...

So, I had this grand idea to make invitations to our engagement party from scratch. I got some ideas from the interweb and went to the local Michael's to arm myself with the supplies. Once I got home, I realized that I was going to need more paper, so the next day I crammed another trip into my busy schedule. For those of you who aren't aware of the unparalleled joy that is the Michael's parking lot, let me put it to you this way: by "joy," what I really mean is "seventh ring of hell." Not only that, but I usually have to haul ass from work straight to pick up the kids from daycare, so I don't have leisurely errand-running time as it is. My second journey to the craft store was even better than the first- MORE cars in the parking lot! MORE people in line in front of me!

The next day I realized I would need stamps. I think my first thought was, "Oh, ef me." We're up to three trips now.

Once I had all my supplies, I started doing the necessary work on the computer. (I'm printing all the invite info onto vellum- the finished product is going to look something like this, but not exactly.) I decided that I hated the word processor on my computer, and decided to buy some software to make the job easier. That excursion officially marks my fourth trip on behalf of these invitations. Well, let's just say that the software, were it human, would not be invited to my BBQ. After I finally got the design tweaked to my liking, I printed a practice page out and was very proud of the results. I made one minor adjustment, loaded the printer with the vellum, and came back five minutes later to find five sheets of NOT WHAT I WANTED in my printer tray. I almost cried.

My poor sick almost-hubby is hanging out on the couch all germy and alone, and here I am fighting with my computer. Now that I've reached an impasse, I just want to complain about it because if I started throwing the tantrum that I want to, I'd wake the whole house/neighborhood/zip code and then where would I be? Plus, my throat hurts anyway. But for the record, I'm really upset.

I think what I'm most upset about, aside from all the time I wasted tonight when I had four zillion and sixty five other things to be doing, is the fact that I have to brave the Michael's parking lot again. And this time, I can't promise that I won't run over an old person. As a matter of fact, I can count on it.

Can I use "Road Rage" as a legitimate defense in court if it is premeditated?

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

For what human ill does not dawn seem to be an alleviation? ~Thornton Wilder

The view from my backyard this morning, 8:40am:

admiring the view


2-27-07

"Weekends are a bit like rainbows; they look good from a distance but disappear when you get up close to them.”
-John Shirley



Back to work I go today, after two glorious days off. I was hoping to be fully recovered from the Frankenstein of Colds that I've been enduring for the last week, but not so. As a matter of fact, I have been having such horrible coughing fits that I pulled a muscle in my already-awkward pregnant belly. I just can't catch a break.

I was able to do some interesting things this weekend aside from laying in bed whimpering. The higlights include watching my friends premiere one of their short films, which was really impressive. (Check them out at something directory.) Sunday, I feasted like a queen: lunch at my favorite restuarant with my grandma and then a kick-ass dinner a la Chris- Vichyssoise, fried spaghetti fritters, a kinda scampi-like thing with shrimp, clams, and lobster mushrooms, ceasar salad and garic bread. Um, best dinner ever? Quite possibly. (Although I think I say that every time Chris cooks for me.) I'm not sure if you caught it the first time around, but I did say fried spaghetti. My house still smells like garlic, and I am Vampire Safe for the next three, maybe four weeks. We also saw Reno 911: Miami, and both of us tried to think of the last time we saw a movie in a theatre that wasn't rated G. (I'm still trying to figure that one out.) Yesterday, Chris and I drove out to the Outlet Stores and walked a few miles. The only things we purchased were two pretzels and a cup of coffee: not a good walking to spending ratio. We did have a grand old time making fun of things, though.

And now, back to work. Happy Tuesday, everyone.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Murphy cannot resist my siren song.

Last night, Chris suggested that we get some sort of key-keeping apparatus, seeing as how both of us are in the habit of dropping our keys willy-nilly as soon as we walk through the door. I think, in the millions of times I've entered into my home, my keys have ended up in the same place... oh, let's see... twice? And that's being generous. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't feeling so great when Chris brought that up, or maybe it was because I figured that if I simply willed myself to keep better track of things, I could do it. Whatever if was, I put "key-keeping apparatus" on my to-do list under Donate Blood and Scrub Kitchen Grout.

The sun rose the next morning on our busy home, three little blurs of energy racing around as I tried to get Madelynn and Brady out of the house on time. As we were piling into Chris' car, Maddy remembered that she left something in my car. I told her a rough approximation of where to find my keys, and she retrieved her renegade belongings from my car and was buckled in to Chris' car in minutes. She got to school on time, Chris and I dropped Brady off at pre-school, and then it was back to our house to get ourselves ready for work.

Chris left before I did, and I got ready with plenty of time to do my hair and makeup, iron my work clothes, and finish up some chores around the house. Keen time management isn't a skill I usually posses, so I was really proud of myself for having plenty of time to get everything done. I was ready to walk out the door a full five minutes earlier than normal, even! It was a rare, rare morning.

I grabbed my work clothes, a bottle of water from the fridge, slung my purse over my shoulder, and reached for my keys. My keys. My keys. WHERE THE HELL WERE MY KEYS? I remembered, almost photographically, were I put them the night before, but they weren't there. It took a few minutes of me digging through my purse and eyeing every horizontal surface in my home to remember who had my keys last... Madelynn.

I tried to remember if she ran back inside the house after she grabbed her stuff out of my car, or hopped straight into Chris's. Could she have pocketed my keys? Could they be in Chris's car? They weren't in my car because it was locked, and my keyless entry system won't let the car lock with the keys inside. Cue panic.

I tried calling Chris to see if he could shed some light on the subject, but all eighty-two of my calls went unanswered. I tried calling my grandma, who has my spare set of keys, but she wasn't home. I looked at the clock- if I wanted to get to work on time, I should have been out the door five minutes ago. Cue pandemonium.

As much as I wanted to devote my full attention to finding my keys, I couldn't help but see and hear Chris everywhere I turned. Him: "Honey, we really should designate some place for our car keys." Me: "Meeeeeeh." AL-EFFING-RIGHT, I get it I get it I get it. I have reduced myself to nothing more than a Murphy's Law Ignoring Fate Temptress.

Please, let this be a lesson to everyone out there. Learn from my mistake. When someone sharing a home with you suggests allocating an official Organized Home For Wayward Keys, say yes. Arise instantly and put the plan in action, because if you don't, you're liable to be made an example of the very next morning. Feel free to ignore me- if you like the taste of crow.

Context.

If any one of my friends described my personality as "slightly abnormal," it wouldn't bother me. I'd probably be amused. On the other hand, hearing my doctor describe my test results as "slightly abnormal" just isn't amusing at all. I'm trying (yet not succeeding) to not worry yet- I have a colposcopy scheduled for March 2nd. Basically, they want to take a microscopically-close look at my cervix because my test results were abnormal. I'm not sure if everyone's aware of how you get microscopically-close to a cervix, but I'll give you two hints. One: it's not through my ear, and two: they suggested that I dose up on Tylenol before the procedure. Can I please change the subject now?
In the meantime, there's really nothing I can do... and in the words of Cancer survivor Olivia Newton John and my grandma, "It is what it is." I'm just going to keep repeating that to myself over and over again, because it's a lot more reassuring than "Go ahead and have the rest of that pint of ice cream, you're probably dying of cervical cancer anyway." Oh god. It is what it is...

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

The Desert Celebrates Something Withered That Is NOT A Dead Celebrity

I smell Carnies.
Best Action Shot of the day.Cotton CandyJust looking at this picture makes me want to remind her to brush her teeth.Kangamoo & KangabooIt's Funnel Cake, although you'd guess it to be bloody entrails by the look on Brady's face.

You can see the rest of the (really adorable) set of pics here. You're welcome.


And now, my opinion:

In the Coachella Valley, two things are flourishing in noticable abundance: old people and palm trees. The old people are responsible for the terrible traffic on the main roads, and the palm trees? They're responsible for dates. The first Date Palm trees planted in the United States were planted here in the Coachella Valley in 1903, and I think the guy that brought them over from Algeria cut me off on Cook St. earlier today. The Coachella Valley continues to be the leading producer of dates in the US, contibuting over 30 million pounds of the wrinkley berries each year. In 1921, The Riverside County Fair & National Date Festival began as a celebration of date harvesting.

Did you know that the date has more potassium than a banana? They are low in fat and sodium, and high in fiber, iron, and magnesium... but none of that really matters, because the best way to eat them is in a date shake.

If a date shake really isn't your thang, I don't blame you. Lemme tell you what- it takes a lot more than a glorified raisin to get me out of the house, even if there is some ice cream involved. The real reason to go to the Date Festival is for the rest of the food.

My favorite food group is Fried, which makes any type of county fair like my birthday and Christmas rolled together, wrapped in winning lottery tickets, and deep fried with a side of ranch. You can't walk more than ten steps in any direction without being within smelling-range of some sort of food vendor. Mexican, Italian, Chinese, BBQ, Greek, Indian, American... everyone is representing in full force. The choices are so overwhelming that I actually envied the cows in the Livestock Stables- what I wouldn't give for four stomachs at a time like that! I settled on pizza, a bbq chicken sandwich, funnel cake, a churro, cotton candy, a date shake, and a deep-fried Snickers bar. I almost feel guilty about all the food stuffs I neglected.

Between meals, there's a plethora to do to take your mind off of how much weight you're going to gain in one day. There are plenty of booths scattered around the fairground selling (you guessed it) dates and other locally-grown snacks, as well as merchants who will airbrush custom t-shirts, paint your name on a grain of rice, or sell you something you had no idea you needed... and will probably break in 72 hours anyway. There's an art exhibition showcasing local schools' award-winning artists, a petting zoo, a livestock area, and ostirich and camel races. I will state, for the record, that there are few things in life I enjoy more than watching grown-ass men fall off large birds... but from a distance- ostriches really freak me the heck out.

And speaking of camels... it's a bit of a touchy subject with me. I went to the fair really, really, really wanting to ride a camel. Did I get to ride a camel? Nooooooo siree. Apparently my bump and the camel's bump aren't a winning combo. Isn't that a little hypocritical? I can understand dissueding a pregnant woman from riding the Bumper Cars or the Ring Of Fire, but a camel ride seems kinda tame to me. I mean, they let me ride the parking lot shuttle, and that went way faster than the effing camel did. Oh well, just another little piece of ammo I'm going to use against this baby when he/she is a teenager and wants a later curfew. "Past midnight? I don't think so. I couldn't ride the camel, your ass better be home by 12."

Chris and the kids got to ride the camel, and I sat on the sidelines, photographing the fun while I muttered under my breath. For that reason, I started referring to the festival as the (un)Fair. It's ok, though, because there's a lot of things I get to go through as a pregnant woman that they don't. Like morning sickness! And Childbirth. Ooooh, I bet they're so jealous of that! I'll be right back after I count my lucky stars.

I'm back. I got to three. They were: 1) I can use "I'm Pregnant!" as an excuse not to do anything, and they can't. 2.) I can pig out and claim that I'm eating for two. 3.) I can win almost any argument by saying "You're outnumbered! It's two against one!"

Anyway, back on track here... so yes, The Date Festival! Fun times! I managed to leave out the parts about it being totally ghetto, because Funnel Cake covers a multitude of sins. I'm definitely planning on going next year, if not to try the Krispy Kreme Chicken Sandwich that I whimped out on getting, then just for the camel ride. And I'm gonna make everyone sit on the side and just watch me.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Avert thine eyes, Shari Lewis. Avert thine buttons, Lambchop.


Because tonight, I am going to eat lamb. That's right, I am ending my 26 (and a half) year protest on eating lamb, where my primary argument against it was the fact that I was raised a devout Shari Lewis fan. Although I'm sure I will end up enjoying dinner and eating my words (HA!), I still think Chris deserves to hear 50 stanzas of "The Song That Doesn't End" as retribution.

*For the record, I would have no problem eating Hushpuppies.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Because we know what's important in our family.

Phone conversation between Chris and myself, today:

Me: Chris, I have bad news...
Chris: Oh no, what?
Me: Your glasses got broken today.
Chris: My glasses? What glasses?
Me: Your eye glasses.
Chris: MY PINT GLASSES?!?!?!?!?!?
Me: No, your eye glasses.
Chris: Oh, no big deal. Whew, you scared me there for a second.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Fart jokes always go over big.

Maddy: Look at that horse's buttocks!
Brady: Buttocks? My buttocks- it says "Pfffffffttttttttttttttttttt!"

Thursday, February 15, 2007

American Idle

I know few of you are as obsessed as I am, but this had me smirking and saying "Oh, I know! TOTALLY!" at my computer.

Slipping into frumpville.

If I had a nickle for every time I've been out running errands this week, and then looked down and realized that I'd left the house in my slippers again, I'd have about thirty cents. Just sayin.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Chris has a REALLY BIG... sense of humor!

Happy Valentines Day, from The Artist Formerly Known As The Valentine Slayer. The holiday has become marginally less annoying to me, and I actually chose to celebrate it this year! I am turning over a new leaf. Next up? Maybe I'll actually start liking puppies.

Chris and I completed not one, but two wedding registries in the last 24 hours. We did one at Target, because not completing a registry there would be tantamount to not inviting my own mother to my wedding. Besides, if I don't pop in there at least every 48 hours, they issue a Missing Person's Report. In addition to a coffeemaker, some new glasses, and various home-related items, Chris also managed to divert my attention long enough to scan a box of condoms. [Clears throat] Magnums.

I hope the grandparents get the joke.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Here's a story of a lovely lady who was bringing up two very something blogs...

I finally published a couple entries that had been sitting in blog purgatory... I just wanted to inform you of their existence, because I fear otherwise, they will go completely unnoticed- the Jan Bradys of Prose and Converse.

Men In 2006: Is "Pussy Whipped" the new "Alpha Male"? (This actually came from 2006, so no judgement, ok?)

and

Not-Mommy-Approved-Licious, from waaaaaaaaaay back in January.

You know me, unless something isn't attached to my body or screaming at me to make it a PB&J, I am at high risk for forgetting it entirely. I rescued these mere moments before they went the way of The Pythagorean Theorum, The Doogie Howser Theme Song, Making Birth Control Work Effectively, and other things I've completely forgotten.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

I'm so lucky I was outside today.


(Forgive the camera-phone pic, but Leonard III was at home.)

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Should be: cleaning out my dresser so Chris can have some drawer space.
Am: popping bubble wrap.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Notice anything different about me???



Yup, I'm well on my way to becoming a REAL grown-up!!!

Sunday, February 04, 2007

All I need is a (Super)bowl of chips.



Disclaimer: I am not a football fan.

Having said that, I'll tell you that the highlight of Superbowl Sunday (aside from the commercials and making fun of Prince durning half-time) was when my friend Andrea and I were sitting on the couch, trying to decide who we going to root for. She chose the Bears because she has friends in Chicago and family from Illinois. I chose... well, actually, I didn't, but that's beside the point. So, we're parked in front of the dip, which is parked in front of the TV, discussing what team's uniforms we liked better, which players looked too fat, and why some of them were wearing Victorian Muffs/Fannypacks. Then we noticed that she and I, the only two people who didn't even know who was playing until we got to the party, were the only ones watching the game. That made me laugh harder than the Kevin Federline fast food commericial... but just barely.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

By the skin of his baby teeth...



When Brady was being assembled in the Baby Building Factory, he was equipped with a life-preserving device, something I have come to refer to as the "Charmometer". This child can tell when he is within seconds of pushing me over the edge, and at the precise moment where I am seeing red and about to have a nervous breakdown, he whips out the most angelic, TV Sitcom Cute Kid routine and earns himself the privilege of seeing another birthday. This picture was taken in the midst of one of this morning's many tantrums/fits/crying jags. To narrow it down for you, this one didn't involve urinating- that came about 20 minutes later. This entire morning felt like Brady was at war with the little angel/devil on his shoulders. The angel was bound and gagged, and the devil was slipping Brady skittles and double-dog-daring him to see how far he could go before I threatened to send him away to Swiss Boarding (Pre)School. Let me just put it this way: I was so overwhelmed this morning that I wanted to tell Brady, "Oh yeah, keep it up Kiddo. I'M ALREADY GROWING YOUR REPLACEMENT!", but I didn't. Instead, I called my breakfast date to tell her I was running late, and cried the whole way to my pancakes.

Needless to say, when it was time to pick Brady up after school, I wasn't looking forward to it. As I walked through the door of his daycare, Brady came barging towards me full speed and locked himself around my legs. "Mommy! Know what? I missed you!" (Insert maternal heart-melting noises here.) All I really have to say is that I am so thankful that the aliens who abducted my son while he was at school could not have picked a better day to do it. Boarding School will have to wait until next semester.