Wined, Dined, and... uh...

Last night, Chris and I were collectively wooed by his next potential employer, The Viceroy. The place is swanky digs, reminiscent of old Hollywood. Yes, I could live there. Chris has had a bevy of interviews over the last week, and last night, Chef invited us to have dinner at the resetuarant. The meal was insanely good, and as I nibbled at the dessert tray, Chef told Chris that he was the top candidate for the job and they would have a definite answer on Monday, after they check a few more references and run a drug test. We both tried to keep cool, which was hard for me because I get excited like a puppy gets excited, and hard for Chris because they kept sending him cocktails and wine. This is a job that Chris is capable of doing, but a huge leap upwards for him. It's also a big leap of faith for the resort to take as well- Chris is decades younger than other people who applied for the job. He sailed through the verbal interview and kicked ass at his Iron-Chef type cookoff, but I think he is a lot younger than what they had in mind.

The whole job search was prompted by the fact that Chris's current Chef-boss, the Sickeningly Talented Aaron Barnett, is looking to relocate and set up shop in Portland. (You have been reading scout, haven't you?) Chris (and I) can't stand the thought of him staying on at his current restuarant once Aaron leaves. Chris deserves a wee bit more money, and the opportunity to work in a kitchen where there's more than two other people there who a.) care, b.) know what they're doing, and c.) don't attack him with a knife when they're angry.

The Viceroy was soooooo inspiring, it felt like the entire place was posing for a picture. I wanted to take photos of every little detail, but didn't want to look like Big Huge Touristy Geeks, especially since Chris hasn't been officially hired yet. I did sneak a couple pics of the place, which aren't great because I was trying to be as stealth as possible. For a better idea of the grandeur of the place, check out the website I linked for you up top.

Click the pictures to enlarge...

The Dining Room:


One of the pools:


And us! (This was before dinner, in our front yard.)


All right, off to work for me now, sadly.
Have a great day-
Even you, Sanjaya Malakar.

If this picture doesn't make you smile...

... then you've probably had a week like mine.

My brief attempt at optimistic encouragement, courtesey Keith M Johnson.

Expect a rant from me soon...
Properly warned ye be, says I.

I'm the fortune-ate one...

Chris and I had a delectable Chinese feast for lunch yesterday, and we got hooked up with the fortune cookies because I knew our server. We have a history of getting eerily accurate and applicable fortunes (yes, I know they're purposely generic so everyone thinks that, but I swear it's really true for us!), but this one that Chris opened has to be my all-time favorite, especially if you play the "In Bed" game.

Oh no no no no no!

Britney Spears and Howie Day?

Apparently, they met in rehab and she's fallen hard. Apparently, Howie Day is a great kisser. Apparently, I can no longer listen to a Howie Day song from now until the end of my days without thinking about Britney saying that.

Inanimate Object of Lusty Thoughts of the Day

For a mere $14.00, this print of a painting from one of my favorite movies (Amelie) could be mine. I want this really really really badly, and yet, oddly enough, not badly enough to buy it for myself. *HINT HINT*

This is from the Almost Famous shop on Etsy, where there's a whole lot of awesome going on- like the Fight Club set.



See? Told you!

And it seems to me you lived your life like a flashlight in a breeze?

Dead celebrities are screwed. I'm still all muddled up with feelings of ickyness about the Kurt and Courtney movie, and first thing this morning I'm getting bombarded with Anna Nicole Smith's diaries. Ok, as much as I'd like to be indignant about this, I don't really think Anna Nicole would oppose everyone and their grandmother reading her diaries. This is the same woman who made a characticure out of herself on a reality television show. I don't consider it being invasive either, it's more like evidence or an opportunity to understand more how this strange woman became such a strange woman. Maybe it will finally answer the question, "How smart is Anna Nicole, I mean really?"
And diaries. I think everyone has to realize that at one point, they might fall into someone else's hands. Anne Frank and Harriet the Spy are both prime examples. As I was reading clips of Anna Nicole's entries this morning, I couldn't help but feel that they were written for that very purpose. On an online poll this morning, 75% of voters said that publishing Anna Nicole's diary was disrespectful, but only 32% of voters said that they would not read them, if published. I hate hypocracy almost as much as I hate poor grammar, which is why I will probably stay away from reading the diaries in their entirety. Although, if someone wanted to read them for me and then give me a detailed report, well, that's ok.
Maybe this is sick and twisted, but I really hope that Elton John records a version of "Candle in the Wind" for Anna Nicole. And I hope Weird Al collaborates with the lyrics. You know what? I think I just figured out how I'm spending my Friday night!

Oh well, whatever, nevermind.

So, they're casting the upcoming Kurt and Courney biopic. Ewan McGregor and Lindsey Lohan? How about Jared Leto and Drew Barrymore?

The Scoop: Casting for Kurt & Courtney

Whatever it is, it can't be as disappointing as Last Days.

OR CAN IT?

American Idle : And then there were 8

"Two legends collide: Tony Bennett meets Sanjaya." From Ryan Seacrest's mouth on Tuesday's show to God's ear, apparently, because another week has gone by where Sanjidol isn't even in the bottom three. I don't get it, and it's making me really hate Howard Stern. At first, I thought he was garnering the magicially appearing votes from the tween contingent, like Kevin Covais/Chicken Little from the previous season, compounded with the fact that he's the first Indian American to be a finalist on the show. Now? Now I think I just hate Howard Stern. And, as usual, I agree with Simon- if Sanjaya wins, I'm quitting the show too. (Here's something scary- on an AOL poll I checked this morning, Sanjidol was ranked #1. No, that was not a typo.) Sanjaya's a nice kid... a nice, shaggy haired, soft-spoken, hula-dancing kid, but an American Idol? Kelly Clarkson would eat him for breakfast. Hell, Clay Aiken would eat him for breakfast. Look, I just gave myself the option to segue into a gay joke, and I'm not taking my own bait! I'd much rather talk about Haley Scarnato's legs. And I will, I promise.

Tony Bennett coached the Idols tonight, and it seemed like most of his direction involved encouraging the contestants to perform the songs more like he did. I'm not about to argue with Tony Bennett, but he seemed to discourage every performer from messing with the classics. After seeing what some contestants did on British Invasion week, that probably wasn't a bad idea. On the topic of bad ideas... um, Mr. Bennett's yellow blazer. He looked like he should be hosting a cable-access game show.

Blake was the first to perform last night, which kind of ruined the whole "I can't wait to see what Blake's going to do!" thing, but that's ok because it wasn't very good anyway. He sang "Mack The Knife" which will always remind me of the big McDonalds Moonhead guy singing about a Big Mac. Sigh. The judges were happy enough- actually, a lot more positive than I was. I don't think Blake has to worry about going home for the next few weeks, but I've come to expect a lot more out of him. Blake, you've let me down. You're going to have to try super hard to find a wiggity-wigga-way back into my heart.

Phil was up next, and all I could think about was how much he looks like Nosferatu. And the guy from the movie Powder. It's just creepy, I don't care what he sounds like. He sang "Night and Day", which the judges thought was disconnected, lacking passion, and gloomy. (I would expect nothing more from a vampire.)

Next up was Melinda. She's so good, even Simon can't think of anything negative to say, much to his (and my) chagrin. Really, she's awesome. I'm not sure if I still believe that suprised "Who, me?" look she gets on her face every time she's complimented, but she does seem humble. I think her only problem in this competition is that she seems like she's in a completely different league from the rest of the contenders/contestants. First of all, she seems much older than everyone, and not exactly the same level of "fresh" and "hip" that we get from Jordin, Blake, and Chris. I think she will have a fabulous recording career in front of her, I'm just not sure she is the right one to win the competition. She does have the same last name as my grandparents. I will investigate the liklihood of us being relatives.

Chris Richardson! It's my completely unprofessional but strong opinion that he gave the best performance of the night, as far as modernizing a classic goes. He sang the hell out of "Don't Get Around Much Anymore", and although it looked like he was dressing up like Justin Timberlake for Halloween, it really worked. This week (and last!) he gave the performance I was expecting from Blake, which means I am now a huge Chris Richardson fan. You should be too, ok?

07-04-03-04
Uploaded by greateggs

Jordin Sparks was up next. This girl is adorable! Incredibly, she's the same age as Sanjaya, but a million times the better performer. Ryan Seacrest has predicted that she'll win the comptetion, and although she's not my choice for number one, I would love to see her in the Top 3, and wouldn't think it crazy if she took the whole thing. Tuesday night was a little boring for me, though.

Who knew this would be the week Gina Glocksen went home? I thought she sounded pretty good. Then again, what do I know. It's not like I was voting for her anyway. For the record, though, I did anticipate her staying around much longer than Phil and Haley, and in a perfect world, outlasting Sanjaya. Poor Gina looked upset at the results, and who could blame her. It's one thing to know it's your time to go, and quite another thing when you're standing next to an oiled Barbie and told that she got more votes than you.

Following Gina that night was the man, the myth, the legend, the Sanj. I've been trying to watch my language lately, but this really deserves a "WHAT THE FUCK?" I'll admit that I loved Sanjaya in the very, very, very beginning, but once Hollywood week was over, I thought it was time for the cute little sentimental boy to go home. Why is he still here? I sing with more enthusiasm in the shower. It's gotta be all the hype from stupid stupid VoteForTheWorst.com. If he sticks around longer than some of the really and phenomenally talented people, I think he's going to get assasinated. Not by me, mind you, but it seems most of America is pretty riled up about this. Once Phil, Haley, and Sanjaya leave, the show is going to get really interesting.

I would gladly keep Sanjaya around for another week if we could all please, please just send Haley home. If I have to watch her wiggle all over the stage with her plunging necklines, coy expressions and overly-greased legs, I'm going to scream. I roll my eyes so many times durning her performances that I have blurry vision for the rest of the night. Her voice? It's not horrible. Her body? Wow. But Haley needs to stick to the beauty pageant circuit. Maybe the auditions for that Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders reality show were right next door to the American Idol auditions, and the poor thing got confused? I know she's nice to look at, but think of it this way: the faster she gets kicked off, the faster she'll be posing naked somewhere.


Last up was LaKisha, who always seems to end her songs with a mean ole pout. The girl's got some massively large... pipes! I don't really like her as much as Melinda and Jordin, and definitly not as much as Chris R. and Blake. She seems to be loved by the judges and has stayed out of the bottom groups so far, so I'm assuming she'll last for another few weeks as well. Look, I don't really care, I'm just hoping to get rid of Phil, Haley and Sanjaya so the real competition can commence!

And Paula? Paula. Please, please please fire your stylist. You only look good to you, and that's because of the drugs. And maybe you could do something other than the same exact ponytail you've been sporting for the last few weeks? You paid a lot of money for those extensions, you should really be showing them off.

I just realized how long this post is. I am so sorry. No judgement, ok? ;)

Don't show this to Chris, I don't want to spoil the surprise...

... but this is what my wedding dress looks like!!!

I *wish* I could add this to our wedding registry.

Who wants to bother with a troublesome flask when you can smuggle booze somewhere AND give your breasts the illusion of grandeur?

Multi-tasking? I'll drink to that.
Even if it's through a hose connected to my bra.

Signs that we might be watching too much TV:

1. When my 3 yr. old sings his ABC's, it goes "...H-I-J-K-Elmo-Pees..."

2. When pretending to sneeze, my son says "Picachu!" instead of the traditional "achoo".

3. I overheard Maddy say this to Brady today while they were playing together: "Brady, stop singing! You don't know the right words! Where's Simon Cowell when you need him?"

Return Address of the Jedi

My son, although only three, knows almost as much about Star Wars as your average twenty-something male superfan. (Things they also have in common: virginity and living with their mother.) Ok, that was mean. Point being, the best part of his day is when we drive by the R2-D2 mailbox. I really earned some Mom points today by letting him get out of the car and see it up-close. (That should make up for forcing him to eat tacos for dinner every night this week.)

Have a good day, and
Mail the force be with you.

Happy Birthday To You, You Live In A Zoo, I'm Not Just Teasing, It's Actually True.

We celebrated Maddy's seventh year of hell-raising on planet Earth this week with a family shindig over at my mom's house. My mother showed off her Cake Goddessery by making a strawberry-and-vanilla checkerboard cake, which was equal parts delicious and confusing.


How do they do that?


Seven years. Whoa. Seven sounds exponentially older than six, which sounded exponentially older than five, etc. The morning of Maddy's birthday, I was getting very sentimental about my baby girl, being so grown up. In a lot of ways, I don't think of her as a daughter, but more like my sidekick. Sometimes I get sad when she's at a friend's house or with her dad because I want to spend time with her, because there's things I want to tell her, things I'd like her opinion on, like she is a peer. For a long time, it was just Maddy and me against the world, and that team connotation often times is more prominent than an overwhelming maternal feeling. She doesn't give me much of a chance to feel maternal, since she's been out-diva-ing me since she was two. These were the things I was thinking about as I was watching her get ready for school on the morning of her birthday, watching her as she checked out her reflection, making sure her bangs were perfect, then doing a full turn to check out her outfit in the full-length mirror. All growds up.


I was reminiscent that morning almost to the point of being morose, despite the fact that Chris and I were heading straight to my doctor's after we dropped the kids off at school. Chris was extremely excited- it was the day of the potentially-gender-determining-ultrasound, but I couldn't get too jazzed- I was so preoccupied thinking about all things Madelynn. I was also trying not to get my hopes up because both of my children required multiple ultrasounds to figure out what sort of equipment they were packing. Imagine that- my kids, shy? No, I don't think that's it, I think of it more as them being uncooperative. Ah yes, makes perfect sense.

Once we were in the dark ultrasound room, watching our baby on TV, I snapped out of my melancholy. There was Baby, wiggling and waving, face pressed right up against my uterus. And then there was the baby's body in profile, where the sound waves from the ultrasound machine projected such a clear image that it cast shadows through the spinal column like rays of sunlight through clouds. As the ultrasound technician moved the wand over my belly, the baby turned it's head to look at us dead-on. That part was kind of creepy... but, you know, really awe-inspiring at the same time. And, on the morning of my not-quite-a-baby girl turning seven, I got a present- the opportunity to do it all over again with another baby girl.

Here's to more pigtails, more bows, and more pink cakes in our future!

"Foodie" is short for "Food Snob"

(That's my honey in the background in case you don't get the joke. He gets paid to cook very hoity-toitily.)

And with only minor burns to show for it!

Invitations: Check.
Photographer: Check.
Exorbitant Stress: Check and Check.

Worth 1,000 Words

Ryan the Jovian took some awesome pictures at our BBQ last weekend, here's a few of my favorites:

Brady. Jovi gets the photo credit, but I'm the one who made him cute.


My adorable almost-niece, Skylar:


Andrea, from scout, doing some scouting of her own:


And there's some more photographic deliciousness this-a-way: Ryan Jovian's Virb Photos

I love my friends, and continue to hang out with them for the excellent company and the hope of gleaning talent through osmosis.

Chris won't let me touch his pot.

We hosted a fairly large-ish engagement party BBQ this weekend over here at Camp Cantwell. The entire day came as a not-so-gentle reminder that I am not as extroverted as I am inclined to expect myself to be. The amount of people who showed up for the BBQ is a fair representation of how many people will be at our wedding, and although I adore each and every one of them (EVEN MY FUTURE IN-LAWS!) individually, the grand mass of people as a whole is totally overwhelming. I am never, ever complaining about not being able to invite more people to the wedding again.

Aside from the chocolate covered strawberries and the deviled eggs, the best part of the day was when everyone had left, the kids were in bed, and Chris and I sat on the living room floor opening our presents. It's hilarious that we were so excited about things that we had essentially picked out for ourselves, but we were like little kids on Christmas. We ripped open presents, screamed, and were near delirious with glee. Well, except when Chris opened up the gift from his grandparents. When Chris saw that he had an All-Clad pot and pan in front of him, to call his very own, he looked as if they had been set in front of him by Jesus Christ Himself. I will state here for the record that my fiance ain't no sissy man, but he got tears in his eye. I think I tried to snap him out of his religious experience with his new cookware by saying, "You can use those to make something for dinner tomorrow night!" He looked at me like I had just suggested Rachael Ray run for president, or that I had told him I was really craving some frog legs. "Oh no no no no Honey," he said in a church-whisper. "I can't use these! I can't get them dirty!" Right. I'm sorry. I didn't realize when we were doing our registry that those were shiny stainless steel works of art we were asking for. Silly me. One can understand my confusion- they were right there in the middle of the cookware section. Next up, we opened up the coffee maker of our dreams. After the whoops and the high-fives, I made sure to clarify that we were actually allowed to use it. For coffee. We are.

And I'm sorry for anyone who, from the nature of the subject line, assumed I was referring to drug use. NOT THAT SORRY, FOOLED YOU! NEENER NEENER NEENER!!!

In the meantime: I'm not dying, we won't know till next week, and babies still like me.

I've been remiss in my blogging duties lately, which I feel guilty about. Is that odd? Is there something wrong with me? Am I missing some vital component that makes me wholly unresponsive to my growing piles of laundry, but completely conscience-stricken when I let my blog go a few days without seeing any action?

Here's what I've been swimming in lately:

1. I got my biopsy results back today. I am cancer-free! I am even pre-cancer free! I almost didn't believe the nurse practitioner when she told me. I had convinced myself, beyond shadow of doubt, that I had cancer. Since I don't have to worry about that anymore, I've cleared up loads of time to devote to stressing out about the wedding, and about the baby.

2. Speaking of Baby, we'll be taking a peep inside my belly via ultrasound in a little over a week. Hopefully we'll come away from the visit knowing that our baby is developing properly, and particularly, what exactly our baby is developing properly.

3. I spent some time with my friends' son over the weekend. It's been a long time since I've been around a 1-year old, and I was really excited to take a refresher course in Baby 101. I only watched him for about two hours, and I was sad to see him go. Here's a picture I took of Jacob:


Thanks for bearing with me while I neglected the updates...
You'll be hearing more out of me soon!

Photo Friday

Because The Crazy Hip Blog Mamas say so, I am posting this pic for this week's Photo Friday: Your Silly Little Baby Face. So, this might not techinally be the silliest photo I have on record, but the brilliance behind it is that while this shot is completely candid and taken mid-fit, Brady actually looks like he's having fun. This was a tough day... If you didn't catch the pic/post the first time around, it's right over here.

The rest of the submissions will put a smile on your face. Go give them a look-see if you have time. If you're intersted in anything crazy, hip, blog, or mama related, there's some brilliant blogs over there!

I don't allude to high school girls in bikinis until paragraph seven. Bear with me.

Planning a wedding reminds me a bit of being on Prom Committee. My school didn't technically have a prom committee, because we didn't technically have a prom. I went to a private Christian school, where the absence of such a notorious rite of passage was explained to us in a simple mathematical equation: Prom = Dancing = Pregnancy. When I ended up pregnant the summer after my freshman year at a Christian college, I was really confused. I hadn't danced with anyone, I swear!

I do remember sitting in homeroom in 11th grade, where my entire junior class- all 25 of us- were trying to plan our quasi-prom, the Junior/Senior Banquet. We had a class budget which we democratically tried to allocate, and I remember being thankful that I wasn't Class President, because I could care less if we sent out invitations that were hand-written by a calligrapher, or if we had three rather than four options for entrees. The only contribution I made to the entire shindig was suggesting that we hire a professional DJ, which was shot down by the majority of the class because apparently, "Javier's cousin" was a DJ and would do it for dirt cheap. I think we ended up paying him just enough to cover the cost of the four AA batteries it took to power up the boom box he used that night. Believe me, there's nothing like hearing Jars of Clay played from a boom box with a microphone propped up next to one speaker.

If someone would have warned me that planning Junior/Senior Banquet was going to prepare me for one day planning my own wedding, I might have stopped doodling long enough to pick up a few pointers. At that point, though, I thought I had a better chance of being the first woman to eat fried chicken on Mars than I did of getting married. I think the only thing I really gleaned from that experience was to NOT have Javier's cousin DJ my wedding.

I know that my wedding is supposed to be one of the most special days of my life, if not the primary placeholder. Most girls have been planning their famous walk down the aisle for years. I've only really thought about it for a month. The truth is, after spending the last seven years completely jaded, I'm kind of over it. Don't get me wrong: I do really want to be married, and marriage is something that I look forward to. The actual wedding, though? Is that really for me? I just picture a young, virginal bride being walked down the aisle by her father, and the whole connotation just seems a little too fairy-tailed for me. Like I could even wear a white dress without making the guests snicker. Would I rather spend money on flowers, or paying off my Target Visa? This is one area where my practical side wins out.

I'd probably be singing a different tune if someone else were paying for the wedding, and that tune would be called "A Serenade For Monique Lhuillier (Please design me a dress)". I might enjoy making decisions about all the details if I wasn't so preoccupied trying to calculate exactly how many hours of work it's going to take to cover the cost. We've got a baby on the way and debt that needs our monetary attention, and I'm supposed to coordinate a huge party where not only do I have to foot the bill, but I CAN'T EVEN HAVE THE DAMN CHAMPAGNE. Funny. Real funny. I love Chris, and I want to be with him forever. That doesn't cost me a penny, but I feel so much pressure to spend more money than I make in a year to announce that to our friends and family.

My first order of bridal duty was to work out the invitations. Wedding Invitations are such a big hoopla. (I use the word hoopla when I don't feel it's appropriate to say "pain in the friggen ass," just so you know.) There's a lot of pressure there because everyone says that the invitation sets the theme for the enire wedding. Knowing that, I searched high and low for invites with a "Shotgun" theme. (By the way, Chris doesn't think that joke is funny. And it is, of course, a joke.) After being astonished by the prices for everything that I "kinda" liked, I got frustrated and just went with the easiest, cheapest invites that I could tolerate. Easy & Cheap: of course that's the tone of the wedding. Of course. Now that just screams "NIK!"

I'm sure everything will turn out perfectly in the end. I just wonder if I can hire the local high school's prom committee to help me get to that point. Or maybe they can at least help me wash cars as a fundraiser for the wedding... I have enough friends with dirty minds- I MEAN CARS- to pay for "Trista & Ryan"-caliber nuptuals.

And now, for your daily dose of "WHAT THE $@&%!!!"

Tuesday, quickly.

Good morning!


Good night.

Boldog Születésnapot!

That's "Happy Birthday" in Hungarian, in honor of my grandmother. I'm actually not allowed to refer to her as a grandmother, because she thinks it makes her sound old. As long as I could speak, I've called her "Baba"- a nickname given to her from her Hungarian parents, which means "Baby." And I'm her baby still, which is a huge blessing (she helps me out more than I'd like to admit) as well as a huge frustration, at times (she can bring me to tears easier than anyone else in the world.) I love this woman more than I can express, and I couldn't imagine life without her. She's got so many qualities that I hope I can cultivate in myself, although I could live without ever becoming obesessed with a poodle. (Although I have to admit, it's part of her charm.)

When I called her today to wish her a happy birthday, I asked if her dog baked her a "pup cake", and I'll tell you, I was so proud of my spur-of-the-moment pun.
"Oh, no," she said. "Cookie just signed my birthday card 'Yours Drooley.'"

See? See where I get it?

Happy Birthday, Baba!

Baba & Nik, circa 1985 (?)


My favorite women on the planet, Christmas 2006
Baba, Myself, Madelynn, Mom, Jadyn
(You have to click on the pic to see my sister. Sorry J!!!)

Get In My Belly!

In other news...

It's hard for even me to wrap my head around, but the world hasn't stopped because I had (minor) surgery. Go figure. Yesterday, Maddy lost her front tooth, making her look like a Jack-O-Lantern. (A really adorable one, of course.)



I also finished the bloody invitations. I have to say that as much as I was dreading another trip to Michael's, it was actually a squillion times better than I was bracing myself for. I got a parking spot right up front, there was no line, AND I discovered a different way of putting the invites together that was just as cute and a heck of a lot easier. Mmmmm-mmmm, this Humble Pie tastes delicious. (I'm pregnant. Any kind of pie is welcome.) Here's how they came out:


And believe me, I'm thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have to tie each invite up with raffia like I was originally planning.


SEE WHAT I DID THERE? "Thank my lucky stars"???? Oh, I kill me!!!

Allllllllllllrighty then, I'm going back to my lazy Sunday. I just pulled some cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I'd invite you over for breakfast and Nintendo, but then I'd have to get out of my jammies, and I'm so not ready for that yet.

I see your tonsilitis, and I raise you cervical cancer.

Just as I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, the tunnel called "Worst Cold Slash Sore Throat Thing Ever", Chris started feeling ill. I'm going to be totally honest with you here, at first I just thought he was being a pansy. A day later, I realized that he was legitimately ill; iller than I had been, iller than the grammar in this very sentence. Did I have sympathy for him then? Well, a little. Like, half of a micrometer of sympathy. When he came back from the doctor and said that he had an abscess the size of a golf ball, I felt a twinge of guilt for minimizing his illness. I also felt extremely jealous that he went and upstaged me! Oh yeah? Well, well, I was sick AND pregnant, take that! Oh, you had to have five shots and four people trying to drain your lanced abscess? Well, you didn't have morning sickness!

The same day that Chris had his follow-up appointment, I had my appointment for the dreaded colposcopy. The whole thing was frightening, invasive, and really uncomfortable. I tried turning my head to one side during the procedure, but I could see the reflection of the nurse handing a scary metal medieval torture device to the doctor, so I turned the other way and squeezed my eyes shut. Halfway through the procedure, Dr. Jacome popped his head up over the paper sheet resting over my knees and said to me, "Oh, and no sex after this," as casually as if he were telling me not to wear white after labor day. "No sex for at least a week. Actually, you're going to have to be very careful having sex for the rest of your pregancy. If you're not very careful, you could start bleeding..." and as the doctor kept talking about what complications could arise, I only half-listened. It was really hard to hear the doctor because the voices in my head were screaming at him. WELL, WHAT THE HELL ELSE, DOC? Should I stay away from ice cream? Are you going to tell me that Target is hazardous to my healh, too? ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE AWAY EVERYTHING? And oh my god, I finally started feeling sympathetic for Chris.

As soon as they were done, the doctor told me to sit up. I got about halfway to vertical when I blacked out and went back down. I opened my eyes a second later but I couldn't see straight and Dr. Jacome sounded like he was talking to me underwater. He made sure I was ok, then told me to lie down until the faintness passed. I didn't want to be half-naked in that cold, clinical room any longer than I had to be, so I did my best to pull it together. Admittedly, it took a good five minutes before I could sit up, and I was shaking as I got dressed. I checked my reflection in the mirror- no color in my face whatsoever, and beads of sweat all over my forehead. Thank god Chris was there, he practically had to drag me out to the car. I spent the rest of the day on the couch, feeling extremely naseated, weak, sore, and crampy. Now I just have to wait for the biopsy results.

On the bright side, I think I might have won the sick-off. Yipee. Ah, the Threat Of Cervical Cancer, my Ace in the Hole. (Pun very intended.)

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?

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

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






"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.

As domestic as I get...

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.