The wit spot

Everywhere, signs.

2012-01-24T00:42:00.000-06:00

Before I even get started on the story I intended to share, I interrupt this blog post for a tangential thought. Dear lord, please let's all hope I can eventually remember what I came here for in the first place.

Tangential thought: one of the best parts of being a parent is getting to mess with your kids. I personally believe bonus parent points can be awarded if you can mess with your kids in such a way that they know they are being messed with, but the reference is far too obscure for them to understand. Just before Christmas, we took the kids to Lincoln Park Zoo to see the zoo lights. Note that I say we went to see the zoo lights and not the animals, because the animals, largely, were missing or sleeping. Also, parts of the zoo were closed or undergoing renovations. There were signs everywhere explaining why animals were missing or exhibits were closed. So, the kids kept asking, "What does that sign say?" And every time they asked me that, I would tell them, "Long haired freaky people need not apply."

But I digress. Here's where I was going before the train immediately derailed:

Last year for Mothers' Day, Ella made me a gift at daycare. It was a little sign to hang on my bedroom door (or, presumably, on any door with a knob), that says "Mommy's quiet time." Ella's teacher explained to a bunch of three- and four-year-olds that they should give their moms time to relax and enjoy some peace and quiet, so when the sign is on the door, they should leave their moms alone. (Right. But a sweet idea, nonetheless.)

I was cleaning up my bedroom last night and came across the sign on my dresser, so I hung it on my door knob. When I got home tonight, I discovered that Ella had moved the sign from my door to her door. My first thought was, "Ella stole my quiet time. Oh, the irony!" But then I realized that she moved the sign off my door knob to make room to hang the giant fancy heart she decorated for me for Valentine's Day.

She's a sweet kid--even if she did steal my quiet time.

Admit it, you're weird too.

2011-12-06T06:51:00.001-06:00

Please tell me I'm not the only one who gets angry and shouts at the radio when I hear poor grammar in a song. Other people are also known to yell things like, "It's who, Katy Perry. WHO!! The one WHO got away. Unless you make a habit of dating inanimate objects, which wouldn't be that surprising, Whooore," right? Right?? Please tell me I'm not alone in this.

In other news, I've had the luxury recently of driving to and from work with no little people in the car. This means I get to shout freely at bad grammar on the radio, drivers with poor driving skills and whatever else irritates me. It's really liberating but it's also possible that my crazy is getting out of control. CHANGE LANES ALREADY, ASSHAT.

Now with more books!

2011-11-23T00:30:00.000-06:00

Admit it. It makes me seem smarter right? I like to give the impression that I'm literate. Or literary. Or literal. One of those. But not litigious--too much paperwork.

Seriously, people, what is with your cloven hoof fetish?!?

2010-10-13T20:28:00.001-05:00

Over four years ago, I quipped about a Nike gym shoe I had just discovered that appears to be designed for people with cloven hooves (me). You can see it here, if you'd like. And who on earth would've ever guessed that a) people, to this day, would be googling "Nike cloven hoof" or (some variation thereof) left and right, AND, b) if you google that phrase, the first result you get is my little old website. How perfectly odd. I love it!

Totally Her Father's Daughter

2010-09-14T00:16:00.000-05:00

Tonight the kids and I hopped in the car around 7:30 to run to the store. Despite the fact that it was mostly dark already, Eric found his sunglasses and put them on. As soon as Ella saw that, she demanded her sunglasses as well. Monkey see, monkey do. Except, as I reminded her, earlier, she had insisted on leaving her sunglasses at daycare for some reason. No way, no how were we leaving that building with her sunglasses in our possession.

So, as I backed down our driveway on the way to the store, she began to throw a royal fit over her lack of sunglasses. At night. Long, skinny arms and legs went flying in every which direction. Screaming, kicking, you name it, it all happened. Eventually, she calmed down enough for me to understand what she was screaming at me. She was (not so kindly) demanding that we return to school to get her sunglasses. "Ella, we can't go to your school," Eric told her. "It's closed now and if we break in, the police will come and we will all go to jail."

Well, lordy, lordy did that girl ever launch into an all new tirade. I didn't catch every single thing she said, or shrieked, as the case may be, but the gist of it was a three-year-old version of "fuck the police." She called the police all sorts of mean pre-school names, and insisted that she was going to bite them, scratch them, kick them, etc. Eric, totally exasperated by her...threeness, replied with a deadpan, "Ella. If you did all that, you'd be dead in a matter of seconds."

That kid cracks me up. His delivery was awesome, and I'm not sure that I'm accurately capturing it in writing. I don't know where he comes up with half of the things he says. But I get that sentiment--I'm largely exasperated by her threeness as well. This will pass, I'm sure. Things will get better. I do worry, however, about the fact that I'm raising one future cop and one future criminal and/or gangsta rapper. I hope that works out ok for us.

Upshots to the Whoopin' Cough

2010-09-12T08:37:00.000-05:00

1) I'm getting an excellent ab workout.

2) At only 15 calories a pop, the all cough drop diet is certainly helping me achieve my weight loss goals!

A Load of Compromisin' on the Road to my Horizon

2010-09-06T08:36:00.000-05:00

I wonder if this feeling will ever pass because apparently I write about it every year. My life and all its responsibilities have crept up and caged me. Mostly I'm settled that it's how things have to be right now. But damn if every August/September my desire for a change doesn't peak. Watching people everywhere go back to school and start a new chapter of their lives floods me with jealousy. I don't even know that I necessarily want to go back to school. I don't know what I'd study. I don't know how I'd find time TO study. But I just know that every year around this time, the fact that I've been living in the same place for 6 years, and have had the same job for the majority of that time really hits me hard and I want to shed my skin and move on.

Sometimes I stand still long enough to notice that everything around me has completely changed. The daily routine keeps changing as the kids get older. Evolution is constant and goes unnoticed, unappreciated because it's wrapped in the same familiar packaging. Friendships change--grow and shrink, rotate, move to the forefront and step out of the limelight--with the ebbs and flows of life. A cross section of my life would reveal layer upon layer of changes--good times and bad, great friends, rich experiences. For all that, I'm very lucky.

I'm pretty sure that the desire for change still burns to remind me that my work here is not done. It keeps me on my toes, ready for the next big adventure, whenever that may come along. In the meantime, I suppose I should try to enjoy this same old, same old. For all I know, it may be the calm before the storm.

One of these days I might wonder away.

2010-04-08T00:54:00.000-05:00

Does anybody out there watch the TV show House? OK, now what about Castle? I don't watch either (where by "don't watch" I mean "barely know of their existence"). But I like to think that the latter show is a bigger, fancier, more elaborate version of the former. I hope it's really true.

Sweet fancy Moses!

2010-03-02T23:07:00.003-06:00

Oh, hey look! It's 2010! Where did the time go? I'd like to say I've been working on a huge project, like writing a manuscript, but such is not the case. Or maybe I should say something that makes me sound smarter, like, "Oh I haven't been up to much--just out campaigning for Dick Durbin and waiting for my shipment of Darwin fish bumper stickers to arrive." But that's not true either. I can't claim to be wrapped up in an intersting book. I can barely share with you one piece of interesting pop culture trivia. I don't even know who's on American Idol. One word folks: LAME.

Basically, I've been living under a rock, just trying to hide from the Chicago winter. It's not working, though. Sadly, I still have to come out to go to work. I wouldn't doubt that Chicago boasted something like 87 consecutive days of sub-freezing tempertures and 102 consecutive days of snow cover this winter. I'm so done with winter. Mother Nature, I cast the evil eye in your general direction!

OK, it's bedtime now, but stay tuned for more random rants. Nighty night!

Really, fashion magazines everywhere? Really?

2009-10-25T11:10:00.006-05:00

I have to admit that I am in a bit of a fashion quandary. I am completely perplexed and unimpressed by the styles being shown for this Fall that, apparently, people are supposed to actually wear. Like, put on their bodies and parade around in. I mean, have you seen some of these styles?!?

Last weekend, I walked through Woodfield Mall in its entirety and could not find a single item worthy of my hard-earned cash. I mean, some of the things I saw were OK in a "I could see them looking cute on other people" sort of way, but nothing struck me as being appropriate for me.

First of all, let's start with the color schemes: blah and more blah. I have as much black and gray and tan as I care to own, thank you very much. But all I could find available in stores was any kind of apparel you could possibly want in varying shades of oatmeal. No thanks.

Secondly, I know I have a hard body shape to fit. I've known this for a long time. But everything--EVERYTHING--I saw in terms of tops is that awkward length that is supposed to come down a little lower than your waist, or even be that weird "hmmm, is this a shirt or a dress?" length. With an awkwardly short torso, I can't pull any of that shit off. That shirt length makes me look even shorter and fatter than I actually am, so I must avoid it like the plague. Basically, I may have to go topless until that trend passes. I may have no other choice.

Thirdly, skinny jeans: making even the anorexics of the world look chubby and dimpled. Why, why, why does this style exist?!?! Anyone with even a slight curve to their hips who sports this style ends up looking like a slice of pizza from the waist down. That's all I have to say about that.

Lastly, maybe I'm just being dramatic, but I feel like I'm at an awkward age for fashion right now. I'm not young or thin enough to pull of anything really trendy, but I'm not so old that I can (or want to) wear any of the more matronly looking styles. It's terrible.

So, here's my dilemma: I have a closet full of crap that is way out of style, doesn't fit well anymore, or is just in bad shape, and there is nothing out there that I want to replace it with. This is all the more reason to get in better shape. Otherwise, if I'm going to have to walk around naked until these trends pass, we're all in trouble.

You could be a winner.

2009-10-10T09:16:00.004-05:00

Man, it's really possible that five-year-olds have it all figured out. Maybe it's all very deep and mysterious -- at five you know everything but don't now it yet, so then you have to go through your whole life learning new things, meeting new people, going to new places until you're enlightened enough to realize that you knew everything when you were five. Yeah.

The other day I picked Eric up from school and he was telling me about a game he was playing at the after school program. "First they give you a car and then you have to get a girlfriend. And then you have to pick a job. I didn't know what kind of job I wanted, so I had to go to school. Then I went to school and I still didn't know what kind of job I wanted, so they just told me what kind of job I had. (Me: What kind of job was it? E: I don't remember. Something yucky.) Then I drove around and I had my yucky job and then I kicked my girlfriend out of the car because I didn't want a girlfriend anymore! Oh yeah, I remember now! The game is called Life!"

So true, Buddy, so true.

All about Ella, or Enough with the shoes already!!!

2009-04-26T09:07:00.002-05:00

Oh, Ella, my poor little second child. See, dear, the thing is that when one's children multiply, her free time divides. That's all. You're not any less loved or appreciated than Eric, just littler. I swear. So, without further ado, this post is all about you.

Ella, you're a little pistol. You're full of spirit and fierce independence, but also empathy. You don't seem to be afraid of anything, and you enjoy taking care of everyone. You're full of giggles and hugs. You love to dance to loud music, play with cars and trucks and push your dolls around in a stroller. You're always carrying around a cell phone, or anything that looks like a cell phone to you--calculators, ipods, remote controls.

But the activity you love more than anything--MORE THAN ANYTHING--is putting on my shoes and wearing them around the house. The higher the heel the better. And seldom do the shoes match each other. Your favorite pair right now is a red patent leather pump and a brown strappy sandal--both left shoes. And, truth be told, you're pretty good at walking around in my shoes. Except when you aren't, of course. You've been know to topple over and knock your noodle on something, just to get right back up, yell at the shoes for making you fall, and put them right back on, showing them who's boss. Lots of times you're both sporting my shoes and "talking" on the cell phone.

You're also have lots of cute words right now. You get up in the morning and ask me for a fafo (Ellish for waffle). You do not, however, find it amusing when I ask you if that is a breakfast delight from the Grecian island of Fafos. Before you put on your shoes, you have to put on your gocks, and your affirmative response is, "Yesh." It's actually a pretty mean Sean Connery impersonation. Even though you know what a banana is if asked to point one out, you still insist on calling it an "appo" if you want to eat one. Your favorite things to drink are "appo duce" and "moke". You also enjoy nutrition-packed dinners consisting of "hockogs" or "peeta". Often times, you don't care if our meals are identical, you prefer to sidle up to me, bat your big old eyelashes and say, "Bite?"

Last but not least, you adore your big brother, "Ermo." You follow him around, doing everything he does. And you're absolutely convinced that you have the motor skills to do everything he can do. You're always trying to help him, though he often doesn't appreciate it, although he does adore you too. You guys are often partners in crime, and many times I can't figure out whose bad idea it was in the first place.

So, Ella, there's you in a tiny little nutshell. And even though I'm frequently forced to do horrible things to you, such as change your diaper and brush your hair, I want you to know that I love you very much. You're the best little girl I've got!

(And, for the record, you just walked past in the strappy sandal and the red heel...)

Oh Nine Divine.

2009-01-17T10:43:00.000-06:00

So I wrote this whole long post welcoming 2009, and explaining some hopes I had for the upcoming year and some goals I made for myself. But then it was too long to send from my phone, so I guess those goals weren't meant to be and I should just forget them. Just kidding. But they weren't really that exciting anyway.

So instead, I'll leave you to ponder this: Who would win in a fist fight between Aunt Jamima and Mrs. Butterworth?

On being a better self.

2008-11-18T14:41:00.000-06:00

I often joke that being a stellar employee is the only role at which I have never failed spectacularly. It's true though. I would be mortified at work if I didn't bring my A game and a boss called me out on it. So why, then, am I so willing to accept mediocrity in other areas of my life? Why is it OK to let myself down but not others?

These are deep thoughts for this lunch hour. I'm thinking I'm going to actively need to work on this though. I hope it's an achievable goal to do things simply because they are right and good for me or my family. I hope that's not too much to ask in this lifetime.

Now with more white space!

2008-11-09T23:26:00.002-06:00

Oh dear. Forgive me blogger for I have sinned. It has been one month since my last ~~confession~~ post. I don't know what to say. Literally.

I guess I'll start with this: Go America! Apparently we all, or, well, 53% of us at least, managed to come together and elect Barack Obama president only because of the color of his skin. Furthermore, it is so clear, and has been since the dawn of time, that John McCain was purposely trying to lose this election (hello, Sarah Palin?!?) because why in the hell would the Republicans want to go in and mop up W's mess?

In other news, I've been spending some of my non-blogging internet hours perusing the web-rantings of Bitter Republicans. ~~Because they're HI-larious.~~ Seriously, Bitter Republicans? He was only elected because he was black?? What do y'all suppose we should call that phenomenon--reverse racism? And John McCain purposely foiled his own chances of winning? Really? Was it all just a publicity stunt to drum up a little business for Joe the Plumber?

All sarcasm aside, I truly am very excited about the results of the election. I've always kept myself an arm's length away from politics. It always felt to me that politics bred angry and narrow-minded passion in some people, and sparred the kinds of arguments that lower my comfort level to somewhere close to steel wool rubbing on bare skin. I simply can't handle opinion-based debate. So you like wine and I like beer, who the hell cares? No amount of you spouting made-up "Anheuser Busch eats babies" statistics is going to change my palate. So let's shut up and drink already. But I digress.

It's not that I don't have political opinions, it's just that I form them and then keep them to myself. I've always seen politics as a necessary evil. But this time around, I must admit, I really got into it! For the first time I really felt some of that passion. It wasn't a my-side-is-better-than-your-side passion, but more of a yearning to be part of something great. I can't really explain it. I just wanted to get involved.

In any case, it's late and I'm rambling. It's time for me to turn in.

[Upon a quick re-read of what I've written, I feel the need to elaborate on two points, because I know that tone is hard to gauge through writing. 1) I do not believe that all republicans are bitter about the results of the election; I was simply referring to a specific few who made some ridiculous comments that I read. 2) I also do not believe that all people who are passionate are angry and narrow-minded. That is simply not the case. ]

Wherein I reveal that I think I am The Funny.

2008-10-09T19:13:00.004-05:00

Sure, my kids are funny. But I really must say, they are not as funny as I am. I mean, *I* have a whole autograph book from my senior year of high school in which a great number of people wrote, "You're the funniest person ever! KIT! TTYL." So, that obviously speaks for itself. But. BUT. The only person who really knows how truly funny I am is me. And, quite often, I'm the only one around to appreciate it anyway. And even if there are others around, they usually don't appreciate it as much as I do. So, what this boils down to is that I'm a terrible comedian because laugh at my own jokes. Usually before I'm even done telling them. So, I've tried to combat that by working on my deadpan sarcasm, which, let me tell you, is misunderstood far more often that it is appreciated. ANYWAY, I don't really know how I got off on this rant about how I'm my own number one fan, but I'll give you a little example of how weird I am. Things were a little slow after lunch today at work, so I started putting together a newsletter to send out to my office re: upcoming holiday plans for the office. I was using a template in which there was a section at the bottom telling people where to direct comments or questions, and giving them an option to unsubscribe by clicking on a link. Well, this won't be a newsletter to which anyone actually subscribes. Quite the contrary, it will be maybe one step up from unsolicited erectile dysfunction spam (except for the part where I reveal when and where they need to be to claim their free holiday lunch and booze). But, I decided to leave that line in the newsletter nonetheless. And I linked it to the state Department of Employment Security website, with the locations of the unemployment offices listed on it. Did I mention I have a bit of an evil streak? My ass you'll be unsubscribing to my newsletter. And for that, I was just so pleased with myself all afternoon--like giggle-every-time-I-think-about-it pleased. I'm sure some unfunny person will make me take it out when and if the newsletter actually gets sent. But for now I'm enjoying my own antics.

My, what sparkly feet you have!

2008-09-30T19:01:00.001-05:00

Eric thinks that cats poop in a "glitter box." Tee hee.

File this one under the category of "Measure Twice, Cut Once"

2008-09-27T09:49:00.002-05:00

Should've just made it a "No Parkin'" sign...

Ain't no parkin' here, you hear?

Sorry about the crappy quality...I kind of figured they had a no picture takin' rule as well.

Bulking up.

2008-09-19T22:36:00.002-05:00

So, I'm sitting here on this fine Friday night, and I'm just now getting around to eating dinner. I decided on a Kashi frozen dinner that I picked up at Target the other day. They looked decent, fairly healthy and, although they're a bit pricey, there was some promotion where they were on sale 4 for $11, but if you buy 4, you get a $5.00 gift card when you check out. So I decided to buy some. I think I tried one in the past, but to be honest, I really don't remember much about it. Tonight I went with the chicken florentine, which boasted 5 grams of fiber and a whopping 22 grams of protein. I started eating and thought, OK the flavor is pretty good. I'm eating some actual vegetables here, which is good. But something was amiss. I kept eating and finally it dawned on me. I'm eating cardboard. Chicken florentine flavored cardboard. I mean, don't get me wrong--it's tasty and I'm sure they use high quality ingredients and all that, but, lordy, that much bulk in one little dish is a little hard to work through. Hopefully the other flavors go down easier.

Come Hell or High Water

2008-09-15T18:25:00.001-05:00

I WILL get home tonight, even if I have to swim across the damn Des Plaines river. Dammit. No pun intended.

Sign: Virgo. Catchphrase: It's really a shame you have to be so wrong all the time.

2008-09-12T06:30:00.003-05:00

You know, it's not like I live and die by the astrology charts or anything like that, but I really do think those astrologers are on to something here. This is my birthchart; a lot of it is surprisingly accurate. (If you would like to make one of these for yourself, go here.)

Rising Sign is in 13 Degrees Libra. Very attractive and popular, your charm helps you to get your own way and prevents others from getting angry with you. "Peace and harmony at all costs" is your battle cry. You always try to ameliorate or to cosmetically hide any physical ugliness or any angry feelings between people. Flashy, but not gaudy, you prefer to dress elegantly. You generally have good taste in music, art and literature. Beware of the tendency to compromise yourself in your attempt to be agreeable at all times. A bit of a social butterfly, at times you can be vain and lazy. For the most part, however, you are gracious and affectionate, and your refined and aristocratic demeanor serves as a role model to others.

Sun is in 19 Degrees Virgo. Extremely careful and cautious by nature, you value neatness and order above all else. You rigorously practice very high standards of living and conduct and you demand the same of everyone with whom you come into contact. At times, you are so supercritical that you are merely nit-picky. You are very good at practical skills and quite handy with tools of all kinds. You are also greatly concerned with hygiene, cleanliness and personal health problems. Very likely your health is much better than you think it is -- don't worry so much! Extremely methodical and analytical, you are a perfectionist -- this makes you the perfect person to carry out highly detailed, precise operations. But, at times, you pay so much attention to details that you lose sight of the larger issues.

Moon is in 10 Degrees Gemini. Restless in the extreme, you are easily bored because of your short attention span. Your emotions change rapidly and you love to talk about your feelings. Generally, you have good judgment -- your intellect controls your emotions and you do not overreact emotionally to things. A good jack-of-all-trades, you have many- sided interests and enjoy reasoning things through. With your mental agility and need for physical mobility, you are attracted to traveling and learning about other peoples and cultures. You have vivid powers of emotional self-expression - - you can be a nonstop talker. You love to share your ideas with anyone who will listen.

Mercury is in 18 Degrees Virgo. Very thorough and efficient, you pay attention to the minor but important details of any project. You are a careful thinker who can learn complicated, intricate techniques. You are attracted to practical, useful skills and are probably good at working with your hands. You are very critical of yourself and others, sometimes too much so, and you get the reputation of being a nag or of being nit-picky. Your first reaction to any situation is to try to organize, classify and analyze everything!

Venus is in 24 Degrees Virgo. You express your love and affection through selfless service to people or causes. You have a tendency to underestimate yourself and doubt your self-worth. This is very demeaning and should be avoided -- learn to love yourself as well as you do others. Your standards of perfection are very high -- you are attracted to relationships based on duty and responsibility. You are supercritical of yourself and others and, at times, prefer to be alone rather than deal with any imperfections in yourself or in those with whom you might relate.

Mars is in 22 Degrees Cancer. Your moods are very important to your overall well-being. You are confident and self-assertive when you are feeling upbeat, and you are retiring, irritable and grumpy when you get depressed about anything. Very sensitive, you wear your heart on your sleeve. You are easily angered whenever you think someone has slighted you. It is best for you to show your anger immediately and let it all out, rather than to try to hold it in or to hold grudges for a long time. You're extremely loyal and defensive of your family, neighborhood, community and culture.

Jupiter is in 26 Degrees Leo. You must be proud of all that you do in order to grow and develop. You enjoy being totally honest and aboveboard and you revel in the admiration and respect you receive from others due to your high- minded, upright way of life. Make sure, though, that your natural tendency to boast and show off is based on your actual accomplishments. Don't fall prey to self-exaggeration or arrogance. You truly do like outrageous spectacles and grand jolly times and will go out of your way to make them a reality.

Saturn is in 17 Degrees Virgo. Your life must be orderly and practical and full of known and familiar routines in order for you to feel comfortable with yourself. Be careful, however, not to let "order" become the be-all and end-all of your life, or you may become cold, crass and unfeeling. Doing useful, practical things boosts your self- esteem. Abstract concepts and reasoning seem frivolous and a waste of time to you. You are very critical of yourself (and others), indeed at times quite self-deprecating. Try to relax a bit and allow yourself the freedom to fail once in a while. However, you probably won't fail very often because you are such a perfectionist.

Uranus is in 17 Degrees Scorpio. You, and your peer group, demand to confront life at its deepest and most meaningful levels. Very compulsive and obsessive in your approach to everything, you will avoid anything that is casual or superficial, especially when it comes to relationships. You will seek out and explore new methods of healing as well as different ways to deal with deep-seated emotional problems.

Neptune is in 17 Degrees Sagittarius. You, and your entire generation, are heavily involved in investigating and idealizing foreign and exotic intellectual systems and religious philosophies. The most extreme ideals will be pursued with gusto. You will be at the forefront of humanitarian attempts to improve the lot of those who are in need of assistance. You will be comfortable with the concept of the "global village."

Pluto is in 17 Degrees Libra. For your entire generation, this is a time of radical changes in society's attitude toward marriage and interpersonal relationships. There is a general fear and awe at the power inherent in making emotional or contractual commitments -- they will not be entered into lightly.

N. Node is in 08 Degrees Virgo. You're usually quite at ease in leaving leadership roles in the hands of others. You would rather tend to the thousand and one details that need to be accomplished to keep any group going. Although you're very fussy and high-minded when it comes to choosing your associates, once your loyalty is given you can be trusted with many of the practical aspects of any project that is being undertaken. Usually quite unselfish, you will toil long hours in the service of any worthy cause that demands your attention. But be careful that your perfectionist tendencies don't get in the way of making real progress. (In other words, don't waste your time dusting clean shelves!)

Most likely, if you're reading this, you already know I'm a horrible person.

2008-09-09T23:50:00.002-05:00

An email went around my office this afternoon alerting us to the fact that the company will be purchasing a defibrillator for the office, and will offer a free four-hour training course to those who are interested in learning to use it. Apparently, there was a very positive response from my fellow co-workers (note to self: feel free to let your heart stop at work--they will know how to fix it). I, personally, have absolutely no interest in learning how to perform defibrillatio on my co-workers, or anybody for that matter. Does that make me horrible?

I simply am not cut out for administering first aid. There are plenty of things I'm good at; suturing, e.g., is not one of them. I'm fine with this. But sometimes I feel like, if I'm ever in a situation where first aid training would come in handy, I will kick myself! But then I realize, if I were in a situation where first aid training would come in handy, I will likely pass out or flail about dramatically long before I am able to pass on any useful knowledge I may have.

So, keep this in mind, dear friends. If it is your desire to have a medically helpful friend with you at all times, DO NOT CHOOSE ME AS THAT PERSON. I'm the friend you call if, say, you have a math problem that is eating away at you. Or you need to know the lyrics to any song written between 1972 and 1999. Or you need to know how to say, "Where is the chalk?" in Spanish. Or if you need directions from there to somewhere else. I'm really good at that stuff. Just please, oh please, whatever you do, do not so much as get a paper cut in my presence because I will be forced to leave you there to die.

And I wouldn't want it to come to that because I like you. I really do.

Wise beyond his years...

2008-09-09T23:33:00.002-05:00

Last night, Eric and I were looking for his magnadoodle so we (I) could draw some pictures. We had been playing with it earlier, but when we went to look for it later, we couldn't find it anywhere. I looked all over the freaking house, but eventually gave up. This morning, Eric and I were in the kitchen making breakfast and Eric said, "Mommy! Look!" His magnadoodle was in Ella's highchair seat. Then he told me, "That was so silly that we looked EVERYWHERE last night, when we only needed to look right there!"

Also, I do have a daughter, even though you wouldn't know it by reading anything here. She does exist, though, fo' realz. She's adorable and feisty and so much different than Eric. She's tough and adventurous. She falls down a lot, but pops right back up and keeps going. She is not to be deterred. She doesn't say much right now (well, that's not quite true--she speaks her own language quite fluently, it's just that I don't understand most of it). She understands so much, though. She's totally cool; I'll have to share some Ella stories soon!

Attention ladies of the office building!

2008-09-09T09:36:00.001-05:00

Spending copious amounts of time in the work bathroom doing your hair and makeup is suspicious. Just so you know. It's also annoying to your fellow bathroom users. Thanks for keeping us in mind. Also, it was great the way you all heeded my flip flop advice (she says, sarcastically).

When I'm Not Laboring...

2008-09-02T06:04:00.004-05:00

I have more time for Slip 'n Sliding!!

Note: My toes, unable to relax even on the laziest of days, still line up like soldiers.

Knock, knock.

2008-08-30T23:30:00.000-05:00

more graph humor and song chart memes

What are you doing?

2008-08-27T22:30:00.001-05:00

Why, I'm sending this picture of you to the Internets, of course!

Yeowch.

2008-08-26T17:18:00.001-05:00

For the first time in my memory, I just snorted Mt. Dew up my nose. I don't know how it happened, it just did. While I was driving. And the stinging, oh the stinging. For this reason alone, I cannot recommend pop snorting as a fun activity.

Mmmm...crayons.

2008-08-26T07:11:00.002-05:00

Back to school time always makes me feel a little nostalgic. I miss going out and getting a fresh set of school supplies and a whole new wardrobe. I also miss getting ready to go off to college, having a new place to live and a fresh beginning each school year. I really miss buying books. I know they were freaking expensive and then I barely referenced them throughout the semester, but I always really looked forward to that experience. Now, when I'm out and about I see other people preparing for school and it makes me a little sad. Maybe next year, when I'm sending someone else off to his first day of school, I will feel entirely different about the whole affair. But for now I will revel in the nostalgia of it all.

Kwisti, we got some twubbo in heer.

2008-08-16T23:08:00.002-05:00

This is what Eric called out from the living room earlier, as I was in the kitchen. I didn't respond promptly, so a moment later I heard, "Oooooh Kwistiiiiii...we got some TWUH-BO in HEEEER." I knew I couldn't go into the living room laughing, so I had to collect myself before I investigated the trouble. Turned out, Ella had absconded from the kitchen with a box of Cheez-Its and was coming dangerously close to making a mess with them. "What did you say, Eric?" I asked him. "I tode you we got some twubbo in heer," he said, pointing at Ella. "No, what did you say before that? What did you call me?" "Um. Momma?" Mmm hmm. A likely story.

Perfect: Mortal Enemy of Good

2008-08-16T16:08:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure if any of you know or would believe this about me, but if I had unlimited time (ok, how about severely less-limited time?), I would be cleaning the cracks and crevices with a Q-tip like a mother-you-know-what. Just so you know. I have the patience for that type of attention to cleanliness, I really do. I just don't have the damn time, lest I forsake sleep or (!) internet time. So instead, I live in clutter and messiness because if I can't clean perfectly, why clean at all? And at the same time, I live in stress up to my earballs because all I do is look around and see mess mess mess and my brain goes into overload and I can't function. I try to clean and instead I wander from room to room leaving trails of barely-started projects in my wake. So, I'm taking a new approach to cleaning and decluttering: it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be put the fuck away. Of course, I tell myself all the time that this is the weekend that I'm going to do some serious decluttering. But, with a mess like I have going on here, it's really no weekend project--especially when there are constantly children around who apparently need me to wipe their little butts all the freaking time. Maybe someday I'll have the Container Store existence of my dreams, but for now, I'm just going to settle for good enough. I'll try to keep you apprised of my progress along the way (assuming I make some). (Um, which I will.)

Vacating the premises

2008-08-08T20:34:00.001-05:00

So long folks! I'm heading off on a much needed vacation! Hopefully I'll return with a renewed sense of purpose. Or something.

Now with five times the mobility!!

2008-08-06T23:42:00.001-05:00

Hey look! I'm blogging on the go! OK, I'm actually sitting directly in front of my computer while using my phone to type this. This is just a test of the emergency blog posting system in your area. Thankyouandgoodnight.

Mulligan, please.

2008-08-06T07:17:00.003-05:00

Some days I have an overwhelming desire to escape from my current set of circumstances. To just stop, wipe the slate clean and start over. Instead I sometimes feel like I set up a trap for myself from which I have no hope of getting out. I know that I made the choices that led me to where I am now, but maybe in hindsight I didn't make such great choices. I made choices that left me with no breathing room and now I'm upset because I'm suffocating. I get that. I'm just so tired of it all. I'm tired of screaming at my kids every morning to stop being kids and just hurry up and get dressed already because we're late. I'm tired of paying more for daycare in a year than my husband pays to some of his full-time employees. I'm tired of being stressed about money. I'm tired of feeling like we expend so much effort but never get ahead. I really, really feel like I'm on the edge of snapping. The final straw is near, I just don't know how near. It's plan-formulating time, though. I'm pretty sure Chris feels the same way. We need to find some happiness because right now we're just going through the motions day in and day out.

Wumbwy Funder

2008-08-04T07:42:00.002-05:00

Hey, mommy? Wememba da udder day, when I came into your room early in da morning and said (in a nice calm voice), "Mommy, da funder woke up me. I was just laying in my bed and da wumbwy funder made my eyes open up, so I came to sleep in your bed so I wouldn't be scayoed?" Yes, Eric I do remember that, except I remember it this way: at about 5 a.m., you ran screaming into my room, saying, "MOMMY! DA FUNDER SCARED ME! I HEARD LOTS OF FUNDER!" Then I asked you if you would like to lay in bed with me under one condition: THAT YOU SLEEP AND NOT TALK BECAUSE IT'S 5 AM AND 5 AM IS A SLEEPING TIME NOT A TALKING TIME. So, you agreed, climbed into bed and it went a little something like this: Toss, turn, adjust the pillow, adjust the blankets, "Mommy?", "No talking!", toss, turn, adjust the pillows, adjust the blankets, "Mommy?", "NO talking!!", and then repeat those steps a few more times for good measure until Daddy got out of the shower and turned on cartoons for you. Yes, I remember dat udder day, what of it?

And everywhere I went they were serving manicotti.

2008-08-03T10:32:00.002-05:00

I love how dreams can be so random. Sometimes they're filled up with day residue and stuff that's somehow tangential to my life. Other times I'm an expert on subjects I never even knew I knew about. For instance, last week I had a dream in which I was discussing wedding related things and Stuart Weitzman. When I woke up, I googled that name, and low and behold he does design some wedding apparel. I was only vaguely aware that I may have had some prior knowledge of him. I don't know that I necessarily believe that "a dream is a wish your heart makes," but I do find dreams very interesting and would like to someday delve deeper into the psychology of them. In the meantime, does anybody know what it means when you dream of pasta?

One of my myriad pet peeves

2008-08-02T10:11:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I went to lunch with my mom. She asked me if I would mind going up to the counter and ordering the food for us. When I paid, the cashier handed me my change with the coins resting precariously on top of the dollars. Have I ever mentioned how much that drives me mad? Because, usually I'm still holding my wallet with one hand, so then I have to try to finagle the coins off the top of the money with one hand, which is awkward and usually results in coins falling to the floor and rolling to unreachable and/or nasty places. As I was explaining to my mom how this is one of my pet peeves, she said that I'm probably the type of person who also gets angry at other drivers, and then added in mock-earnestness that she's glad she can always maintain her calm, cool demeanor in even the most annoying of circumstances. At that moment, her pants burst into flames from all the lies, lies, lies. In many ways, my mom and I are exactly alike. One of those ways is our inability to tolerate incompetence.

Offended.

2008-07-29T23:32:00.002-05:00

As I slowly approach a milestone birthday, I have been thinking a lot about various aspects of my life. It's just sort of a where I thought I'd be by now versus where I actually am kind-of-thing. I'm also trying to decide where I'd like to be in the future, and what steps I should be taking now and along the way to get there. One of the things I've been thinking a lot about is my current job and my future career aspirations. I don't necessarily know what I want to do when I grow up, but I do know that I don't want to do what I'm doing right now for the rest of my life. The job I have now is fine, and I like the people I work with, but it's a job I just ended up at. I work with my mom; I started working at the company because somebody went on vacation and my mom suggested to the office manager that if they needed temporary help, I might be interested. One thing led to another, and I became a permanent part-time employee, then a full-time employee. I think I do the job well, but it's not a job I ever set my sights on or have any real interest in making a career of. As I form my goals for the next few years, I know that getting a new job is on the list, but I also know that is going to be something that requires some careful planning and all the other hard work that goes into finding a new job. I didn't necessarily see it happening in the next year, or maybe even two.

The other day, I was at a company social outing and some of my co-workers and I were discussing the different temperaments and talents of our children. It's funny how kids from the same parents can turn out so differently. I just so happened to be sitting at the same table with my mom, who will testify to the fact that I was a pretty darn good kid. At one point, one of the people I support turned to me and jokingly asked something to the effect of, "So when did your mom make you learn to type?" I don't know that I can adequately explain how that one question turned my stomach and will serve as the as the one singular moment in time when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was time to get a new job. Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I think my skill set goes so far beyond "stellar typist" that I would never even think to add that to the list. I mean, doesn't everybody know how to type these days? I don't want this to sound hokey or arrogant, but I feel like I really have the ability and potential to great things in my lifetime and that comment really solidified the notion that those great things will not happen at my current job.

Just because they're made of leather...

2008-07-29T23:11:00.002-05:00

Dear Dimwits of the Office Building:

Do you need another breaking news bulletin to inform you that flip flops are not appropriate attire for WORK? Unless you work at the beach or perhaps the community pool. And since I happen to work in the same building as you, I'm almost certain you don't work at the beach (although I have never seen what's on the third floor...also, in case you were wondering, since we are not allowed to swim in the fountain, it does not constitute a swimming pool). Seriously, people. It doesn't really matter how much you overpaid for your flip flops or how luxurious the material is from which they were crafted. They are still flip-flops. The end.

Kristentatious

P.S. While I'm doling out work-related fashion advice, might I recommend that you introduce your skirt to your knees. Or at least the bottom of your underwear.

When I cook...

2008-07-21T07:07:00.002-05:00

Ya know, I really haven't been doing too much cooking over here at the house of Kristentatious in the past couple of years. I mean, sure, we eat, but it's mostly heat and serve crap that I know is absolutely horrible for us. But in terms of making a meal where the actual components of the meal have to be cooked separately, I'm sorely out of practice. I made dinner on Saturday night and the kitchen was pure chaos for an hour. I timed everything wrong. I didn't know how long things needed to cook, so I kept asking Chris every few moments (have I ever mentioned how much he loves when people ask him cooking questions?). I was intermittently chopping veggies and checking on things on the stove, so instead of putting the sharp knife down, I would walk around with it. Blade side up, pointing outward toward the doorway to the kitchen. You know, just in case anybody ran up to me (as some people in this house are prone to do), they'd be greeted first by the blade of a sharp knife slicing into some part of their body. Yikes. In any case, it's like I told Chris: everything tastes good in the end, but the middle part is not unlike a Julia Child skit from SNL.

Four-year-old funnies

2008-07-17T00:18:00.003-05:00

OK, so this actually happened a while back, most likely when Big E was still three...don't sue me. I just remembered tonight, though, and didn't want to forget it again since it's priceless. Anyhoo, a while back, Eric and I were talking about something we did while I was pregnant with Ella. Eric remembered the event, and recounted it to me, telling me that he was there, mommy was there and daddy was there. Where was BabyElla? he wanted to know. So I reminded him that she was still in my tummy at the time. So he went on to explain to me that, oh yeah, BabyElla was in my tummy for a while, but then I went to the see the doctor and then she came out of my tummy. Then he paused, thought about it for a moment and asked, "Mommy, where's the door?" You know...the door that babies come out of. Lucky for me, I have a six-or-so inch scar across my *ahem* bikini area to prove that the BabyElla's "door" is in a place that allows me to avoid an awkward conversation with a three-year-old.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse...

2008-07-10T17:05:00.003-05:00

I've been having a rough go of it lately. It seems like every time I turn around, I get another piece of bad news or something else negative (or costly) unexpectedly happens. I'm trying not get all down and "poor, poor pitiful me" about it. It is what it is. And, truthfully, some of it shouldn't have been all that unexpected--if only I had given it a proper place on my radar and not learned to tune out its annoying, constant blip. Just about every day for the past few weeks, I've woken up and told myself, "Hey, at least there's nothing else in my life that can possibly go wrong!" but then--just like that--something else happens. Today, for instance, I couldn't find my keys. And I couldn't go to work because I couldn't find my car keys. Anywhere. In fact, the last time I can remember seeing them was at the Tampa International Airport, coming out of the security area. And I remember thinking, "Oh, I better put those some place safer so I don't lose them!" (up until that point, they had been in the pocket of the hoody I was carrying with me in case it got too cold on the airplane). Unless they mysteriously turn up, we'll either be forced to share one set of car keys (which gets complicated), or pay around $200 to get a new set of keys (I only know the cost because I've lost a set of keys for this car before). [Update: apparently I can pick up a new transponder key and keyless entry remote on e-bay for around $40, inclusive of shipping. Then it's just a question of how much the dealer will charge me to program them for my car. Still, it's not like going to the hardware store and having a new house key cut for a couple of bucks.]

I'm actually at the point where it's starting to get funny. For real. If anything else goes wrong, I'll probably just starting laughing. That's where I'm at. Truth be told, I've been lucky that the things that have gone wrong have all been fixable things that have just come at an enormous expense to us, and have not been at all health related. So, at least we have our health.

If life truly is a journey, I feel like I had climbed halfway up the mountain and then tripped and fell about two thirds of the way back down. Not only do I need to wait for all the wounds to heal, but then I need to get back up and cover all that distance again. It kind of sucks, but like I said before, it is what it is. As Maya Angelou so eloquently put it, "When you know better, do better." Now it's time to do better. It's hard, though, because at this particular moment in time, I feel like I have nothing to look forward to. It seems like it's going to take a lot of hard work to get back on track. I'm sure that once stuff stops going wrong, and I have a couple weeks of sanity, it won't seem so bad after all. But for right now, I just don't know. It's hard to get a clear perspective while I'm still in the thick of it. But speaking of Journey, I'm going to listen to Don't Stop Believin' now. Maybe it'll make me feel better.

Low mom on the totem pole

2008-06-29T08:30:00.002-05:00

Even though our evenings are generally hectic and somewhat crazy around here--tyring to get everyone fed, bathed, played with and in bed at a decent time involves great stratergery--I like to get the kids (or at least Eric, as his bedtime is later) outside to play with the neighbors whenever we have a chance. There are several other kids on the block who are youngish, with Eric and Ella being the youngest two of the bunch. The next closest kid is only a couple months older than Eric, and they will be in kindergarten together next year (!). It's also nice to talk to my neighbors and find out all the juicy gossip on our block (and, oh boy, does our block have some juicy gossip!). I'm noticing, however, that I don't get to do much talking with the neighbors, due to my status as what I like to call "low mom on the totem pole." Basically, as the mom with the youngest children, it becomes my job to police the activities of all the other children who are being mean to or taking advantage of my child because he's the youngest, while all the other adults stand around drinking and shooting the shit, oblivious to the fact that their, say, six-year-old daughter is telling my four-year-old son that as a punishment for talking when she was trying to talk, he has to lick the sidewalk chalk off the sidewalk, and not to talk to her until he has done that. Then, when Eric politely tells her, no thanks, I do not care to lick the sidewalk, she looks to me for help in enforcing her punishment. Sorry, sister, ain't going to happen. This is not the first time I've noticed this phenomenon. In fact, I have a set of cousins whose children are close in age to mine, and gatherings at their houses always turn out like that as well. Many parents seem to think that as long as some adult is near their child, they are off-duty and free from the cares of parenthood. Except, when eight sets of parents do that simultaneously, and suddenly it's me and 14 kids between the ages of 2 and 7, I can only police so much. And I don't particularly care to tell other people's kids what to and what not to do. In any case, I'm ready to change status. To second-lowest-mom on the totem pole.

This place needs some help...

2008-03-02T09:47:00.004-06:00

I've been avoiding coming anywhere near my blog in the past year or so because it makes me sad to know that I don't have the time to keep up with it like I used to, or like I'd like to. I really miss writing here. I also feel really bottled up. I need some blog therapy! But, life has changed. Life will do that, you know. I have less free time. Almost zero time to myself, which is hard to cope with sometimes. Also, when Ella was born, the computer room became her bedroom, so computer use is extremely limited. I desperately need a laptop, but it's really not in the budget at the moment. So, I'll wait. So, what's the point of me saying all this? I don't know really. Just venting, I guess. I wondered aloud to Chris yesterday, if I became a freelance comedy writer (how, I don't know), would I be able to write off a laptop, comedy classes and writing classes? That would be pretty cool. I just need to find someone who wants to pay me. If I had my druthers, I'd sit all day in Starbucks, sipping coffee and carrying on with witty banter. ( I do realize that I'm giving myself an awful lot of credit here). Here's what I want to know: how do I get that job?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, here's what's new in the Kristentatious household: Ella is about to turn one! Can you believe it? I can't! She's really like a little person. Almost walking. Almost talking. Getting lots of teeth. And tenacious as all getout. She's very determined to get what she wants. She can also be very patient when she needs to be. As Eric puts it, "She starting to be a big girl because she's trying to walk and trying to talk English!" If those are the requirements, I'm starting to be a big girl myself!

In other news, and to prove just how much help I need, it's March! Yay! And my Christmas tree is still up! And I have no idea when I will ever find the time to take it down! Seriously, this is how my day goes:

6:20 wake up. (Lately, Eric has taken to getting up at about 6:22 instead of 7:15ish, like he used to, so I don't even get time alone in the morning). From 6:20 to about 8:15 a.m., there is a frantic flurry of activity, in which I get ready for work and get the kids ready for daycare. Pack the kids into their Arctic gear, then pack the kids in their arctic gear into their carseats. Usually, around 8:25, we are pulling out of the driveway (although it should really be earlier). Depending on how the morning has gone so far, Eric either is having a fit about something, or he's playing 20 questions with me, each question starting with, "Mommy?" Then Ella will shout in babese, and he'll shout back at her. "Mommy, we're talking to each other! Isn't that cute?" Then I drop the kids off at daycare, and head to work. At 5:00 p.m., I turn around and do it all backwards. When we get home, around 6:20, Chris and I go into the whirlwind of feeding, playing with, and occasionally trying to bathe, the kids. Ella goes to bed around 7:30. Eric's bedtime routine starts shortly thereafter, with him generally being able to hose us into keeping him up until at least 9 (although bedtime is 8:30). Then Chris and I collapse in a heap. Yup, that's about the size of it.

So, if you're ever wondering why I don't blog more often, or call more often, or email more often, believe me, it's not because I don't want to. I desperately want to. I'm just bogged down.

Well, OK, folks. Eric's playing with broken glass and Ella has a plastic bag over her head. Time to start drinking...

In which I reveal the quote of the week

2007-12-15T23:53:00.000-06:00

A certain sadness has overcome me, folks. My three-and-a-half year old sweet little boy has become...image conscious. My best guess is that it stems from something that one of those nasty little nose pickers from daycare said to him, but I don't reckon I'll ever know the exact origin.

Anyway, it started like any other day...me running around like a psycho hose beast, Eric watching PBS Kids Sprout while sitting 6 inches from the TV and Ella screeching her head off from her crib while I dig through a mountain of unfolded laundry to find that damn matching sock...but this past Wednesday will forever live in infamy (or perhaps just famy). I gathered some clothes for Eric to wear, then I chased him around the house trying to dress him, finally wrestling him to the floor in the kitchen. I started pulling his old clothes off while he took a look at the clothes I had in store for him. Then he spotted them. The Scooby Doo underpants. "I CAN'T WEAR SCOOBY DOO UNDERPANTS BECAUSE SCOOBY DOO MAKES ME CUTE!" he informed me, indignantly.

It was one of those moments where, as a human being, you want to laugh, but as a parent, you know you shouldn't. He was so upset. And we were running so late. Anyway, I convinced him that nobody would be able to see Scooby Doo, and he could wear better underpants tomorrow (Power Rangers or Transformers apparently would have been acceptable options).

That night, when I was putting him to bed, we were having a discussion about the state of things. It was a pretty deep, revealing conversation. The long and short of it is that Eric now prefers to be cool, not cute. Personally, I'd settle for either of those, but I think I fall short. Perhaps I need to start wearing Scooby Doo underpants.

I Heart Steve.

2007-11-23T11:54:00.000-06:00

And also, may the holiday fun begin!

I always knew I was cool...

2007-09-15T10:49:00.000-05:00

elebrating 20 years of excellence!

2007-09-09T22:15:00.000-05:00

On Saturday evening we took Eric and Ella to a carnival near our house because, according to my husband, I have a thing for Carnies. It's true. I do have a "thing" for them, but the thing is that I think they're gross. Whatever. Anyway. As we walked through the festival, Eric became more and more excited about going on rides, and Chris became more and more adamant that he wouldn't let his children anywhere near any of the rides. "Would YOU let them ride these death traps?" he asked me. I mentioned that as a child, I rode on many a Tilt-a-Whirl and lived to tell the tale. As an adult, I rode the Zipper and got clocked in the head by my co-rider's cell phone. "And besides," I told him, pointing to a sign displayed by the carnival company, "we have nothing to worry about because they're 'elebrating 20 years of excellence!'"

But hey...guess what:

And also, who let this lunatic on the ride?

And even though she didn't meet the height requirements, here's little princess pigtails (who, might I add, is only 6 months old, but no longer gets carded when she tries to get into bars...):

It's kind of like juggling chainsaws.

2007-08-11T00:59:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine who has one child recently posed this question to me: Is having two kids twice as much work as having one kid? My immediate instinct was to say no, of course not--when you're already doing the work of taking care of one kid, you just need to tweak your routine a little bit to take care of two. But then, the more I thought about, the less sure I was of that answer. I mean, to be quite frank--and keep in mind that I love my children so much it hurts--taking care of an infant is soul-sucking; the gratification is long-delayed and the thanks you get is minimal to non-existent. It's hard to go from being an independent human being whose routine is so ingrained that it would be nearly impossible not to survive from day-to-day, to being needed every moment of every day for years on end. But you start to get used to it. And just as that last little sliver of self you had a death grip on finally slips out of your clutches and flails madly around the room like an untied balloon, mocking you until it finally collapses into a sad pile on the floor, your baby will start to be a little more independent and need you less.

Rather than rejoicing as you are able to piece yourself back together, you will instead find yourself lamenting the fact that your baby no longer clings to you, helpless. And the more time that passes, the harder it is to remember exactly how difficult those first several months were. Suddenly, you'll stumble upon a pile of tiny clothes and realize how much your child has grown and you'll find yourself actually wishing that you had another tiny little person who would fit into those tiny little clothes. And there you have it...by the time you realize how hard it is to raise a child, it's too late to do anything about it and just when you finally get used to your routine, your baby starts asserting his independence.

So, getting back to the question of whether two kids are twice the work, allow me to use an analogy. Imagine you were to step out onto the highway at a time when traffic is really moving along. You immediately get hit by a car. Does the second car that runs you over hurt twice as much? No, because you're already used to the pain. OK, OK, I'm sure that's not what anybody wants to hear. In reality, something that occurred to me in the first week or so of being a parent to two kids was that I already knew what I was doing the second time around, so I was far more efficient at parenting. If I had been half as efficient with the first as I was with the second, I would've gotten way more done. But now, instead of taking care of the baby and having free time to stay on top of house work, etc., I have time to take care of my older child. Some days it's not bad at all--I tend to one kiddo while the other one sleeps or keeps himself amused, and they just trade mommy time all day long. On other days they both need me NOW all day long, and it's not so much fun. But it's totally worth it.

My new favourite photo

2007-08-11T00:50:00.000-05:00

I took this in Michigan this week...

Therefore I am...

2007-08-11T00:26:00.000-05:00

...busy, tired and probably a little depressed, but also hopeful and optimistic.

...sarcastic, but I like to think my sarcasm becomes me.

...lucky to have a wonderful family and fabulous friends.

...looking forward to not being the only mother in my group of best friends.

...excited to be enrolled in an improv class this fall.

...sick of eating frozen pizza.

...thinking of getting a new hairstyle.

...waiting for Godot.

...in desperate need of a muse.

...feeling nostalgic. I always feel nostalgic this time of year--starting a new school year always felt like a chance for a new beginning, and I kind of miss that. Although nothing ever turned out as I imagined it would. Nothing ever turns out as I imagine it will. That's all part of the mystery of life, I guess.

...always curious about what might have been and what's to come.

...fascinated by bright lights and shiny objects.

I think...

2007-08-10T22:51:00.000-05:00

-I have the cutest kids ever (but it's possible that I'm biased...no, probably not)
-Mondays suck
-that I punct.u.ate better than the average bear
-I should work out more (or at all for that matter)
-and I would like to eat healthier too, but I'm too lazy (busy?)
-I need to get out more
-freshly cut grass smells nice
-all Hummers belong to men who are trying to make up for, um...shortcomings
-flip-flops are the best
-Starbucks is laced with crack, and also too expensive
-smart is sexy
-BTO is the poor man's Foghat
-karaoke is fun
-it's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore (I am sorry)
-I'm too worried about what other people think about me
-I amuse myself far more than I amuse anyone else
-the Muppets ROCK!
-it's time for bed!

I rock!

2007-06-29T07:22:00.000-05:00

No, seriously--I do. Stop laughing. I mean it. Here, look:

See? That's me and my (husband's) Les Paul. I was either playing the Alphabet, the Rainbow Connection or I Used to Love Her. Who could tell, really.

OK, OK, stop the presses. Eric just woke up. This is the conversation we just had:

Eric: Are we going to school, Mommy?
Me: In a little while, Eric.
E: But first I have to eat breakfast?
M: That's right, Eric.
E: And I'm going to watch TV for a little while? And then get my dressed on? And then hurry up because we're late?
Apparently, in his eyes, our morning routine involves the element of being late. It's funny because it's true. Well, sort of. Every morning I tell him to hurry up so we're not late because he's just so damn pokey. I think it's a 3-year-old thing, honestly. But the fact that he schedules time in his morning routine to hurry up becase we're late just makes me laugh. And, also, "get my dressed on?" Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. But what do I know--I'm the parent who's teaching him to sing Why Does the Sun Shine just so that I can hear him say words like "incandescent" and "nuclear" (which, might I add, he pronounces correctly, if only because I'm a stickler for that sort of thing...E: New-cue-lar. M: Say it right, Eric, or Mommy's going to lock you in the basement again! Just kidding--I would never do that to my baby boy. Not before his fourth birthday, at least.)

I've fallen (behind) and I can't get up.

2007-06-15T22:53:00.000-05:00

First off: shall ye never know the amount of work that goes into working full time out of the home and raising two children, one of whom is an infant. Secondly: if you are familiar with such atrocities, let's commiserate.

Moving right along, it's Friday night, my kids are sleeping, my husband is sleeping and I, too, should be sleeping (after all, it's after 10:00 p.m.). Instead, I am blogging. Because it's been so damn long, you know. And also, I am drinking. Budweiser. Yum. Or something like that. I might even go so far as to say that I'm eversoslightly buzzed. So, this blog entry--this one right here--shall be ever so very random. Welcome! And, also, enjoy!

Ella!

And also, Eric (on his 3rd Birthday)! (Oh, and me too.)

Let's see...what else... Oh--did you know that the sun is a mass of incandescent gas? Hmm...probably. In other intesting news, my parents will be babysitting my children overnight tomorrow night! Date night! We might even stay out past nine! Crazy!

Recently, it has occurred to me that I'm becoming quite lame. I remember being younger, and thinking that old people "just didn't get it" and that I would never become like that. But, sadly, I'm already starting to "just not get it" and I'm not even in my 30's yet. For instance, this shaggy hair that the teenage boys are so fond of--what is the deal with it? Maybe 5% of the boys sporting this do are able to pull it off. It's the cool, hip haircut, and I just don't see why any 13-to-18 year old boy would willingly--purposely, even--make himself look so atrocious.

And also, I am increasingly finding myself resisting new electronic devices, and this simply must stop. On the one hand, I do not require a blackberry, and have been getting along just fine without one. On the other hand, I picture every middle-aged woman I know and her reluctance to learn how to use anything remotely electronic. I've always had a knack for that kind of stuff, and I don't want to wake up one day and realize that my technological skills have not advanced since 1998 (oh wait--that happened this morning...).

Crap. I have the hiccups. And, sadly, it's way past my bedtime. But, it's been fun. Thanks for the memories.

It's opposite day...Eric style

2007-04-20T09:35:00.000-05:00

Hi. My name is Kristi and I have an almost-3-year-old who often times says and does cute things, although you'd never know that if you've been reading my blog lately. In any case, this is just a cute story about language development.

The English language sure is a funny one...so few rules, and so many exceptions to them. I always get a kick out of mis-conjugated past tense words. "I eated all my cereal!" or "I putted my napkin in the garbage can." But my favorite thing from this week is what I'll call "creative opposites." For instance, earlier this week, Eric and I were playing games using his blanket. At one point, he laid on the floor and covered himself from head to toe with the blanket. He wanted me to pull the blanket off of him, so he peeked out from under it and said, "Mommy, tuck me out!" Then this morning I was sorting some clothes in his closet, trying to pull out all the spring/summer clothes that he (hopefully!) will be wearing soon. There was a shirt that I thought might still be too big, so I asked him to try it on, which he did. When he'd had enough of that shirt, he told me, "OK, I want to try it off now." He's a pretty cute kid. :)

The Sprout Has Come Out (and with a bang, I might add)

2007-03-11T21:30:00.001-05:00

On March 6, 2007, at 6:02 a.m., the Kristentatious family welcomed Eleanor Grace (Ella) to this world. At birth, she weighed 7lbs, 5oz, was 21.5 inches long, and had blue eyes and a full head of dark brown hair.

The story of her birth is approximately the polar opposite of what I expected it to be. With Eric, I had an easy, normal pregnancy, followed by 437 hours of labor, a relatively quick delivery (~1 hour of pushing), and a speedy recovery. With Ella, I also had an easy, normal pregnancy, and in terms of labor and delivery, I expected much of the same, only faster. Well...come to think of it, I guess I was right about the faster part.

I'd like to start by mentioning that it didn't exactly help matters that my doctor told me at my 38 week appointment (2 weeks before my March 5th due date, for those who aren't thoroughly schooled on the pregnancy calendar) that she didn't expect me to make it another week, and that she could do unpleasant things to me which she felt certain would send me into labor within 48 hours. I politely declined. However, from that point forward, I was almost constantly convinced that I was either in labor or on the verge of being in labor. But anyway.

At my March 5th appointment, she told me that I was absolutely ready to pop at any moment, and asked if I was interested in scheduling an induction. The benefits of scheduling an induction would be that I could pick a date or a doctor of my preference and plan childcare for Eric accordingly, without needing to call my parents in the middle of the night. I decided to schedule an induction to deliver with that doctor, because she was the doctor I had seen on 90% of my visits, and 2 of the other 3 I had only seen once. It just so happened that she was on call the next day, so she scheduled me to start my induction at 7:30 the next morning (March 6th).

Well, as fate would have it, the Sprout decided that she would like to come on March 6th, but on her own terms. I actually began having contractions on the evening of the 5th, and around 3:00 a.m. on the 6th, I decided it was time to call the doctor. By the time I got Chris up and we got ourselves ready to leave, it was about 4:00 a.m., and my contractions were very consistent at about 5 mins apart, and unpleasant, but very far from the absolutely excruciating contractions that I endured for several hours with Eric.

By the time we got to the hospital, parked, got into the ER (which is where we were directed to enter the hospital), and endured several of the stupidest questions ever from the ER receptionist person, it was about 4:30 a.m. Someone from Labor and Delivery came down to retrieve me, and brought me to the other side of the hospital and upstairs. I changed into the lovely hospital-issued attire and got into my bed, where my nurse proceeded to ask me questions pertaining to my entire medical history starting from conception, it seemed like. By the time we finished with that, it was probably 5:00 a.m., maybe a few minutes after.

The nurses went to call the on-call doctor from my practice to find out how she wanted them to proceed. Her orders were to get me an IV, get me an epidural, start me on pitocin to intensify my contractions, and have the on-duty resident OB come in and break my water. After that phone call, I'm sure she went back to bed and figured the next doctor on the rotation, who would be in at 7:00 am, would be delivering my baby.

And thus, the flurry of activity began. A nurse came in and started me on an IV of a saline solution which had been refrigerated. Anybody who has ever had a refrigerated IV pumped through them could tell you that it is not the most pleasant experience. I immediately began shivering uncontrollably. The nurse promised me that it would be done in no time, and as soon as it was, I could have an epidural. Another nurse came in and threw some pitocin into the IV cocktail as well. A few minutes after that, maybe between 5:30 and 5:40 a.m., some dude I had never seen before came in to break my water. The nurse reached into her bag of tricks and handed him something that looked not unlike a knitting needle. He pulled my blankets off of me, which of course made me shiver even more, and went about his business, while I turned my head, deciding it was probably better not to watch.

This is where things turned sour. I felt a rush of liquid, which I could only assume was my water breaking, but the doctor kept pushing and poking. A few moments later, he asked if I had ever been diagnosed with placenta problems--placenta previa, specifically (or a placenta that covers the cervix, essentially blocking the baby's escape path). I was initially diagnosed with that, but it supposedly resolved itself by 20 weeks. Meanwhile, he's still pushing, poking, putting lots and lots of pressure on me in a most uncomfortable fashion. Then he announced, "I don't like the looks of this one bit. All I'm getting is a whole lot of blood." He ran to get the ultrasound to check the baby. She was fine--stable--but then he began barking out orders in a tone that said, "We needed to have this baby out of her 5 minutes ago." "CALL HER DOCTOR NOW! GET HER TO THE O.R.!! GO! GO! GOOOO!!!" The nurses rushed me out of the room, ramming the bed into everything in their path. I heard someone tell Chris to stay put and someone would be back to instruct him further.

I don't remember a whole lot from the O.R., but I do remember that it seemed like there were 20 people in there, all poking or prodding me with something, and all stepping on each other's feet. I do remember someone trying to start another IV and not being able to find a vein. Somebody else instructed her to put it anywhere she could. I also remember being so freaking cold that I was literally convulsing on the operating table. Occasionally somebody would hang their head directly over mine and tell me that I was doing great and everything would be OK. I heard the Dr. announce that baby's vitals were stable and everybody needed to CALM DOWN and SLOW DOWN. Then he changed his mind and decided that they needed to go right away--whether or not my doctor was here. Next I heard someone announce that my Dr. had arrived. She ran over, said hi, and told me that she was here to do a c-section (no shit). "Has she had her spinal?" she asked. I heard the other doctor tell her, "No, we've got to knock her out." Cue the anesthesiologist. She hung her face over my face, introduced herself, and told me that she would be putting a mask on me and someone would be tapping my throat so that I didn't vomit. Once I was out, they would have the baby out in 3-5 minutes--closer to 3 if they could help it. Then she dropped the mask onto my face and 3...2...1...curtains.

The next thing I remember is hearing someone announce that my temperature was 97 degrees, and then she draped me with heated blankets, which felt sooooo nice. Chris came in and told me the baby had been taken to the NICU and that she was stable and doing well, but that she had lost blood and they were taking every possible precaution to ensure the best possible outcome. Even though she came out breathing on her own, they intubated her to reduce the strain on her body. They also inserted a catheter into her umbilical cord, and started a couple of IVs to give her various medicines. Then he explained what had happened, as the doctors had told him. Basically, I had malformation of the placenta (which wouldn't be noticeable by ultrasound unless someone was specifically looking for it), which caused the 3 blood vessels that form the umbilical cord, to grow out of the placenta, completely exposed, and then turn and come back into the placenta, and come out once again as a completely normal umbilical cord. And these three vessels, which basically are property of, and the main blood line to, the baby until birth, happened to be lying directly between the amniotic sac and the cervix--so basically there was no way the baby could have been born naturally. I was also told that I was very lucky to be at the hospital when my water broke, as immediate medical attention may not have been possible otherwise, and I very well may have lost the baby.

As it turns out, of all the things that could have happened to the baby during such a traumatic birth, none of them did. She is perfectly normal and healthy. We are feeling very blessed right now. And sleepy. I can't forget sleepy.

Doing my civic duty...

2007-01-24T22:43:00.000-06:00

Well, I can't say I didn't jinx myself.

A few months back (late September or early October?), while I was over visiting with my parents, my mother got a jury summons in the mail. It was for November 6th. "Oh. I've never been summoned to jury duty before," I told her, and then went on to explain that maybe I had been, actually, but I was in college, living out of the area. And that was that. Until a few weeks later, that is, when I received my very own jury summons, also for November 6th (apparently the county of Cook, unlike the county of Kane, where my mom lives, doesn't believe in ample warning).

As it turned out, my summons was for "Standby Jury Duty," which meant I had to call the evening before to see if I was needed. I wasn't. However, it seems that if you are not selected for jury duty at that time, your name goes right back to the top of the list of potential jurors. So, a month and a half later, I received another summons--not standby this time--for jury duty on January 22nd.

So, that was Monday. I arrived and checked in, drawing a panel number at random from one of those large popcorn tins--panel 3, whatever that meant. I showed up promptly at 9:00 am, as requested on my summons, and I sat there in awkward silence with 70 or so other people for the next half hour, until someone finally spoke to us. It seems that they wait until 9:30 to give us poor saps a chance to get lost and find our way back to them. Anyway, they showed us some dumb video about how important we were, and then explained how the day was going to go: we were going to sit there in more awkward silence for now. If and when our panel number was called, we would be escorted to a courtroom, where we may or may not be chosen for jury duty. She also explained that it was entirely possible for us to have to sit there in awkward silence until 4:30 p.m., without ever being called. Alrighty then. Sounds like fun.

The movie and explanation ended around 10 a.m. I had brought a book, but instead I mostly sat there and zoned out. At 11:30, the Deputy came into the waiting room and called panels 3-10 down to the courtroom. It was a total of 48 people, from whom they would be selecting 14 people--12 jurors and 2 alternates. I guess the possibility also existed that if they exhausted all 48 people without finding their 14, they could have requested more people from the waiting room.

At this point I'm thinking, OK, I have less than a 1 in 3 chance of being chosen based on the number of people from whom they are selecting. On top of that, I work for a law firm, am related to and friends with lawyers, am 8 months pregnant, and am visibly (and audibly) suffering from a bad cold. I'm the worst of the bad choices, right? How could these people not take pity on me?

When we arrived in the court room, the judge explained to us what was going to happen, and what was expected of us. He then told us the name of the lawsuit and read the charges involved. At that point, it was a little after noon. He decided that he would read the first group of names that they would interview as prospective jurors and have those people come sit in the jury box. I was the third person called. When the jury box was full, he excused everyone to lunch, telling those in the jury box to return after 45 minutes, and the rest of the crowd to return in and hour and a half.

We returned and did our interviews a little while later. It turned out that maybe I wasn't exactly the worst of the bad choices, but I still didn't think I would be selected. I guess I tend to assume that the population at large is living on the right side of the law, but apparently that isn't always the case. I was surprised that 3-4 people of that original group of 14 either currently had lawsuits pending, or didn't know if their lawsuit was still pending. Although, of those pending lawsuits, only one was criminal (apparently the guy had "a whole slew" of charges against him, including criminal trespassing and disorderly conduct). Then, of course, there was the Chinese restaurant owner, who has lived and owned a business in the US for over 20 years, and raised his teen aged children here, who proudly proclaimed that his English was "no very good." That seemed like a convenient excuse to me. But I digress. After interviewing all 14 of us, we were excused for another short break, and would be selected or released upon our return.

I returned with my fingers crossed, but I was the first name selected. The judge explained that the trial would start on Tuesday, and that he hoped it would be wrapped up by Thursday. So, if anybody has been looking for me, that's where I've been all week. Interestingly enough, I don't seem to know of anybody who has actually had to serve on a jury before. I certainly don't know anyone who has had multiple consecutive days of jury duty. So, as much as being an interesting tale, I guess this is also a PSA for what you might expect if you receive a summons for jury duty.

I have to say, I find the trial process interesting. What's kind of annoying is that at this time, we still have not been instructed as to who the alternate jurors are. So, when we go into deliberations tomorrow, 2 people will not be needed. I feel like, at this point, I would be annoyed to find out I was an alternate. I guess I will know tomorrow. And then, when the trial is over, I'll be able to share all the sordid details. Until then, you shall just have to wait with bated breath.

Oops

2006-12-27T22:30:00.000-06:00

October 25th, huh? That's the last time I wrote something here? Well, I wish I had something interesting to report, like that my 8-week intensive training course for the KGB is now over, and I will be moving to an undisclosed location in Russia shortly. Or that an excruciatingly handsome man found me wandering around the desert in an amnesic state and nursed me back to health. Or perhaps that I had joined the Peace Corps and was off building orphanages in the rainforests of Costa Rica. But, yeah... Really? It was a big old mixture of laziness and busyness and writer's block, with a healthy dose of home computer problems thrown in.

So, the good news is that Christmas is now over, along with all the familial stress and financial drain that goes with it. I'm seriously considering going to sleep and not waking up until January, but it seems my work and family obligations (you know, like showing up at work and taking care of my toddler...) will not allow for such tomfoolery. Christmas was good though. It appears as though Toys 'R Us had a case of explosive diarrhea in my living room. Eric got entirely too much stuff, but that's ok. It's his last Christmas as the only child/grandchild, so I figure let him be spoiled rotten. I think his favorite gift, though, was his big boy bed that Santa Claus brought him. Well, more like Santa Claus dropped off a big box from IKEA with a million parts in it, and Chris and I spent 14.5 hours assembling it (mostly Chris--I decorated once the bed was together).

Well, I do have a bunch of other things that I'm planning to write about, and a million other pictures to share, but for now, I'm exhausted. I promise to be back before 2 months time. Promise!

Admission

2006-10-25T14:27:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, when I’m at work, I get an overwhelming urge to do something half-assed, because it’s a lot easier, it’s what everyone else would do, and by the time anyone figures out that it wasn’t done right in the first place, it could never be traced back to me. But I don’t give in to that urge. Maybe because I work with my mom.

That feeling reminds me of this:

The ultimate in laziness.

2006-10-24T00:06:00.000-05:00

I am so grateful that somebody finally invented hot dogs already in the bun, because I just don't know how much longer I could have survived the old routine of opening not only the hot dog package, but also the bun package, and then going through the whole rigamarole of trying to fit the hotdog into the bun. Talk about a time saver! It's reassuring to know that, on my death bed, I will no longer be grieving for the handful of minutes I would've given up over the course of my life, had I continued to make microwave hotdogs the conventional way. Just think of the moments I will save by not needing to fumble with twist-ties! Yes, it's true. The world is now a better place.

And also: dear lord--what is this world coming to?!?

The Kristrilogy

2006-10-13T00:12:00.000-05:00

Chris got this "survey" from one of his friends. I thought it was pretty cool, different, and fun to do...so I did it three times. Here are my results:

Creating the Soundtrack for the Movie of Your Life
So, here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button

A New Kristi
Opening Credits:Tiny Dancer-Elton John
Waking Up: Chiquitita-ABBA
First Day at school: The Impression that I Get-Mighty Mighty Bosstones
Falling In Love: Man on the Moon-REM
Fight Song: White Wedding-Billy Idol
Breaking Up: Ain’t Even done with the Night-The Cougar
Prom: Free Fallin’-Tom Petty
Life's OK: Let it Be-The Beatles
Mental Breakdown: Paradise City-Guns ‘N Roses
Driving: Who’ll Stop the Rain-CCR
Flashback: Pinball Wizard-The Who
Getting Back Together: Dope Nose-Weezer
Wedding: Loveshack-B-52s (Which, ironically, has been played at every wedding EVAR)
Birth of Child: Crisis King-Helmet
Final Battle: Standing Still-Jewel (I guess I'm a pacifist)
Death Scene: The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite-REM (Clearly dying in my sleep)
Funeral Song: Just a Girl-No Doubt

Kristentatious Strikes Back
Opening Credits: Wake Me Up Before you Go-Go-Wham! (If I'm ever in a band, I want that band to have an exclamation point at the end of its name!)
Waking Up: Paradise by the Dashboard Light-Meat Loaf
First Day at school: Promise-Violent Femmes
Falling In Love: Here I Go Again-Whitesnake
Fight Song: Maybe Katie-Barenaked Ladies (Ummm...watch out Katie?)
Breaking Up: Penny Lane-Beatles
Prom: Mama Mia-ABBA
Life's OK: Rhiannon-Fleetwood Mac
Mental Breakdown: Simple Man-Lynyrd Skynyrd
Driving: Last Hour-Elliott Smith
Flashback: Hold Me-Fleetwood Mac
Getting Back Together: We are the World-USA for Africa (Various Totally Rockin’ Artists)
Wedding: Riders on the Storm-Doors
Birth of Child: Girls Just Want to Have Fun-Cyndi Lauper (Birth? Fun? Maybe Cyndi and I need to have a talk.)
Final Battle: Can’t Stop-Red Hot Chili Peppers
Death Scene: I Heard It Through the Grapevine-Gladys Knight and the Pips
Funeral Song: Shower the People-James Taylor

Return of the Kristi(For the easy-listening crowd)
Opening Credits: Let’s Get Lost-Elloitt Smith
Waking Up: Footloose-Kenny Loggins
First Day at school: Tell Her About It-Billy Joel (one)
Falling In Love: Layla-Derek and the Dominos
Fight Song: Piano Man-Billy Joel (A. Who fights to Piano man?!? B. two)
Breaking Up: Here I go Again-Whitesnake (Interesting that I get this for falling in love and breaking up--apparently I'm a love 'em and leave 'em kind of girl...)
Prom: Take the Money and Run-Steve Miller Band
Life's OK: Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da-Beatles
Mental Breakdown: Why Can’t We Be Friends-War (It's entirely possible that wondering why we can't be friends would drive me to drink)
Driving: Dreams-Fleetwood Mac
Flashback: Ugly-Violent Femmes
Getting Back Together: Come to my Window-Melissa Etheridge
Wedding: Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door-Bob Dylan
Birth of Child: Peace Sells-Megadeth
Final Battle: Don’t Stop Believin’-Journey (Seriously, Journey. I never stop believing)
Death Scene: Uptown Girl-Billy Joel (three...Dear I-Tunes, we need to sit down and have a talk about your shuffle mechanism and why you've chosen to play 3 Billy Joel songs in rapid succession)
Funeral Song: Hard Day’s Night-Beatles

It's fun...try it. Sometimes the song doesn't make any sense at all, and sometimes its just so apropos.

Taking what they're giving...

2006-10-02T22:35:00.000-05:00

Oh how this "work" thing interferes with my blogging. Not only do I not have much time to write anything, but I'm completely zapped of any type of creative energy. And non-creative energy, for that matter. I'm lucky if, by the time I get Eric in bed, I have enough energy to sit on the couch and do sudoku puzzles until my eyes are so dry that it's painful to blink. Sometimes, though, I just sort of sit there in a daze thinking of things that I could do if I were only more ambitious. Like that hat I started knitting right after I knit that one hat that one time, and then immediately realized that it was too itchy to wear. (I've never knit anything besides that hat. In the knitting patterns book I have, it says something like, "Don't attempt this hat until you have a few easier projects under your belt." Ha! I showed them.) Anyway, so, there's hat no. 2, which currently looks nothing like a hat, but more like maybe an inch or two of knitted yarn. There's also a plethora of scrapbooking stuff that I've bought and fully intended to use for Eric's scrapbook, which is great, and so cute, and also one page long, with that one page containing only his name. And most of the stuff I have for his scrapbook is stuff I bought before he was even born and, oh, have I ever mentioned that he's almost TWO AND A HALF?

So, what is my point, you ask? My point is this: before I worked full time, I had so much more time to think about knitting and scrapbooking and how snapshots of my life could more closely resemble a Pottery Barn catalog, if only I had infinite time and money, and well, desire to make snapshots of my life more closely resemble a Pottery Barn catalog. If I wanted to, I could've sat around for hours (where by "hours," I'm referring to 4-minute intervals) and planned out how I would make caramel corn balls, wrapped in wax paper, tied with a little black ribbon and decorated to look like a ghost, which I would then give as Halloween treats so the other neighborhood moms would think, "Oh, how darling, she's really got her act together," and would then go home and promptly throw my concoction into the garbage, because, let's face it, how do we *really* know it's safe and razor blade free? BUT INSTEAD, I don't even have time to properly punctuate, which in my book, ranks right up there on the embarrassment scale with incontinence. So, there you have it, folks. No time for punctuatin', plenty of time for rampant lunacy.

Eric says...

2006-10-02T22:31:00.000-05:00

HAPPY ROCKTOBER!

You and me, we go in style.

2006-09-21T22:30:00.000-05:00

Whenever I hear Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie, I can't help but think of a guy I used to work with. Actually, we were both promotions interns for a radio station at the same time. His name was Bill, but we started calling him "June" because he was a Junior. He was a really funny guy, but he had a bit of an abrasive sense of humor. He was always setting somebody up to be the brunt of his joke. Sometimes it was kind of annoying, but I have to admit, he was funny...even when it was at my expense.

Bill and I worked together every Tuesday, and we were the only interns there that day. Tuesdays were generally Corporate Takeover day, which meant that Bill and I were usually faced with the task of hauling a bunch of swag to the office of whichever company had won the weekly contest. Our weekly trips were always an adventure because we always had either bad directions or were headed to a hard-to-find address, or both. Bill always drove because he was a smoker, and I wouldn't let him smoke in my car. He was definitely one of those guys who would never admit or even acknowledge the fact that he was lost...and we always were.

I can remember one time, in particular, when our travels took us to downtown Chicago, about as far east as you can go on Randolph without being in Lake Michigan. The thing that we didn't realize was that Randolph was a one-way street heading west. And there was also a Lower Randolph (screwy Chicago and its screwy lower streets...). To make a long story short, we circled around the Grant Park area no less than 10 times, each time ending up on Lower Randolph when we wanted to be on Upper Randolph, with Bill getting more and more agitated with each loop we made. By the time we finally figured out how to get to the building we were heading towards, he had eaten a bunch of the candy bars and stuff that we had brought to give out.

The other thing I remember from that particular trip was that he told me, as we passed over a drawbridge on the way back out to the west side of the city, that he'd like to be the guy who sits in the tower and occasionally has to raise and lower the drawbridge. He insisted that he would like either that job, or the graveyard shift at any gas station, because he wouldn't have to do much and would have a lot of down time to play his banjo. That's the kind of guy he was.

One of my favorite moments from my internship involved Bill and I traveling either to or from a Corporate Takeover. Once we got over the initial weirdness of the, "Um, do you care if we don't listen to the radio station that we are currently working for," Bill would station surf to the point I wanted to smack him. Then he would inevitably settle on something weird. One day, he paused on the Oldies station and Cracklin' Rosie came on. At that point in my life, I don't remember having strong feelings one way or the other toward that song. I certainly didn't mind it, but I fully expected him to change the station. Instead, he turned the song up REALLY loud. And then proceeded to sing even louder. Then I joined in, and for the next 3 minutes, we did nothing but drive and sing Cracklin' Rosie at the top of our lungs. We must have been a sight to behold. When the song finished, he turned down the radio and said, "Sorry. I just really like that song." And then we proceeded along as if nothing had happened.

When our internships ended at the end of 2001, we parted ways and I haven't seen him since. Occasionally he'll cross my mind, along with all sorts of other people that I wonder what the hell happened to. Today I heard Cracklin' Rosie on my way home from work and it prompted me to run a google search on him to see anything turned up. As it turns out, he's doing quite a bit of improv these days, which of course makes me insanely jealous. But I'm happy for him--I bet he's really good at it. And I wouldn't want the song Cracklin' Rosie to remind me of anyone else.

Why me?

2006-09-19T13:17:00.000-05:00

The other night, as I was on the way home from my birthday party (more on that later), I needed to stop and get gas and pick up milk for the King. First of all, when I went into the store, I swear to god that the two Indian men who were working in there were speaking to each other in a series of clicks and guttural noises. No shit. When I brought the gallon of milk up to the counter, the man swept it up, scanned it and put it back down in one swift motion. Except, when he put it down, he misjudged the distance to the counter, and slammed it down really hard. Next thing I knew, there was a little puddle of milk on the counter. I pointed out that it was leaking, and said I was going to grab another one. As I was selecting a new milk gallon, he started screaming to me, “No, lady! It’s not leaking! It’s not leaking. You take this one!” I told him that I’d prefer a new one anyway and walked back to the counter. Upon my arrival, I noticed that there was now milk all over the entire counter, which was funny, you know, because according to him, the gallon wasn’t leaking. He was trying to clean up the mess, and still insisting that it is fine, and that I needed to take the leaky one. Finally, he picked up the gallon, and we could both clearly see the spot from which the milk is leaking. Then he said, “Oh. You’re right,” and instead of finishing my transaction, he carried the milk to another part of the counter, covered the leak with duct tape (duct tape!) and put it back in the cooler. THEN he finished my transaction.

I’m sure that the gallon of milk with about 6 oz. missing, and a big duct tape patch is going to be a big seller. I’ll bet he put it right in front, and pushed the other ones back, too. It reminds me of when my brother and I used to play old maid as little kids. Before we really got the concept of strategy, when it was time to draw from each other’s hands, whoever had the Old Maid would pull it up really high so that it stood much taller than the other cards, then we would clutch the remaining cards in a death grip so that they couldn’t be pulled from our grubby little hands. Seriously, though, I wonder what that guy was thinking. He’s obviously not a very good business strategist.

My cuppa tea...

2006-09-08T07:08:00.000-05:00

From Nora's 5 things meme; inspiration: Kaptain Klepto

Five Prime Numbers
23
47
71
Kristentatious
5

Feeling Violated

2006-08-30T11:39:00.000-05:00

The people in my office building are serious violators of what I believe is the unspoken universal bathroom code: never EVER sit in the stall directly next to an occupied stall unless that is your only option. All of the bathrooms in our building have three stalls. I always take an end stall so that, should someone else come in to the bathroom, they can leave the standard one stall buffer. But, nobody in the building ever observes this standard courtesy and it’s starting to DRIVE ME NUTS. That’s all, thank you.

Help for the clueless

2006-08-29T15:03:00.000-05:00

I finally have a real desk…you know, with drawers and stuff. So…here’s the big question. What sorts of things do people fill their drawers with? I’ve been surviving with the bare minimum because my former, temporary “desk” had no drawers. I had a cup of pens, and little tiny stacking tray contraption which held things like post-its, binder clips and white out. I also have paper clips, tape, a stapler, scissors and the ever important rubber thumb (which I found yesterday and took for comic value). What other things do normal people have in their desks?

Off-campus lunch for high schoolers is the worst idea EVER.

2006-08-23T12:46:00.000-05:00

Oh my god. Shoot me now if this is what lunch time has in store for me for the rest of the school year. Most of the school districts in the vicinty of my office just started school yesterday or today, and all of them, apparently, have off-campus lunch privileges. Yesterday, there were about 40 HS students all crammed into the cafeteria section at Target. They were loud and obnoxious and running all over the place like idiots. Today I went to Jimmy Johns, in the other direction from the office. Different school district, same deal. Except Jimmy Johns is a narrower space, and all these kids had on backpacks...so I almost got taken out by somebody's math, chemistry and history books about 12 times. Seriously, it's the first day of school. Do you really need to carry a full back pack to lunch with you? If this is what the overacheivers look like, I'd hate to see how the less academically motivated kids act in public.

Oh man...I'm getting old. I just hope my kid doesn't act like a moron when he grows up.

Tis better to be 5 minutes late than to be 1 minute early

2006-08-22T13:06:00.000-05:00

I have a problem. It involves getting to work early. I just can't do it. I can get to work on time or late with no problem, but I just can't be early. For example, it takes me about 10 minutes to get from daycare to my office. Let's say I drop Eric off and get back to the car at 8:47. I would not physically be able to resist the temptation to stop and get coffee. You know, because I have three minutes. Even though it probably takes 5 or more minutes to get coffee. And then, not only am I walking into the office late, but I'm walking in late with coffee. Which always makes a good impression, I think. Today at lunch time, I went to Target. I made a couple of returns, ate lunch there and picked up a few odds and ends. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 12:40. Last time I was at that Target, it took me a hundred and forty-two minutes to check out, so I decided to head to the check-out aisle. Due to a combination of both my watch and the check-out lanes running fast, I got in my car at 12:42. I sat there for a moment and thought, "I have a few extra minutes. What else should I do?" It was the first time in a long time that I really couldn't think of anything to do. I contemplated stopping at Starbucks or Baskin Robins and getting a frapuccino or the Baskin Robins equivalent. But, I was still full from lunch, neither of those places were really on my way back to the office and I didn't really need extra calories or $4 hit to the old pocketbook. So, I came back to the office, talked to the new attorney for several minutes about where there was to eat in the area and now I'm blogging. So, you see, I'm still not working. But when you're sitting at your desk, typing away, nobody seems to question you. Unfortunately, next week, I'm moving to a new desk, which is on the main drag here in the office, and my back and computer will face the aisle so that all who walk by will be able to clearly see what I'm doing. I'm not looking forward to that at all. I do not like the feeling of people looking over my shoulders. And I do not like having to be productive at all times. Yuck.

It's not because I don't have anything to say...

2006-08-15T13:17:00.000-05:00

No, no, don't be fooled by the lack of posts--I still have plenty to say. I just don't have time to say it, that's all. I've been having a hard time balancing work and family and house cleaning and everything else, and lately, sleep wins over blogging. But, most likely, I've been talking in my sleep to make up for it. Hopefully I say interesting things and you all enjoy them immensely. Nothing would make me happier.

In other news, that kid that I have--the one that I never write about anymore? He's still cute and stuff. He's turning into a big boy, and all too quickly, might I add. Although we've had very cute monkey bedding for his "big boy bed" (meaning a twin or full sized bed which conspicuously lacks rails with which to prevent him from having a middle-of-the-night free-for-all in his bedroom, or worse, trying to come into our bed) for a few months now, I think we've decided to hold off on moving him into a new bed until sometime this winter. Yesterday, though, I made the first step in turning his crib into a more boyish, rather than babyish, bed. I bought him Cars sheets and a fleece throw from Target. Last night, I removed all of his adorable pastel jungle animal bedding from his crib and put on the cars.

At one point, because I'm not a masochist, I took off one side rail on the crib, so that I could reach the mattress without the added fun possibility of puncturing a lung or rupturing my spleen. After I got his new sheets put on, but before I put the side rail back up, Eric came to investigate. I think his initial thought was that we would be leaving the side rail off, and to tell you the truth, Chris and I actually contemplated the idea. Once we saw that Eric's take on the situation was, "Cool! Now I can jump off my bed!!!" we decided against it for the time being. Actually, in the near future, I do plan to take the crib rail off, but not until I can find a shorter bed rail that I can attach to the bed to keep him from falling out at night. I tried the crib rail at the lowest setting, but that seemed just low enough that he would try to climb over, but just high enough that he would possibly get stuck or hurt himself.

In any case, Eric seems to be very excited by this new development. Both last night and this morning, he kept telling us, "I got a race car blankie!" Although, he does still seem torn by the excitement of the race car blanket and the familiarity of his old "bonkie." Not wanting to hurt bonkie's feelings, he's been carrying them both around the house together. Hopefully they'll get to be friends.

Well, something's telling me that now would be a good time to get back to work. I do have more to say, though. Just remember that.

Hair styles of the ill-advised

2006-08-10T13:23:00.000-05:00

This morning, as I was driving to work, I was stopped at a red light next to a hispanic woman. I glanced over and saw that she had her hair pulled back into a tight, high pony tail. By having her hair pulled up like that, I could see that she had the bottom inch or two of her scalp (neck) completely shaved. She also had shaved off her "side burns," except she went a little too high, giving the appearance of both an awkward hair line and a five o'clock shadow where she had shaved. It was a really odd look, and beside the strange haircut, she didn't appear that she was trying to make any kind of particular statement with her clothes or makeup. What makes people do those kind of things? Maybe she just couldn't get the pony tail high or tight enough with all that hair? I can certainly understand that.

Good grammar costs nothing

2006-08-07T22:30:00.000-05:00

I hope, hope, hope that the lyrics of that SOS song by Rihanna are "Y-O-U are making this hard," and NOT "Y-O-U-R making this hard."

And also, the question Chris and I pondered on vacation: would a self-loving black person be caught dead eating at the Cracker Barrel?

Farewell my friends

2006-07-30T07:50:00.000-05:00

I'm vacation bound, with no or extremely limited web access. Have a nice week!

Ample warning

2006-07-28T10:15:00.000-05:00

Last night I put 15.56 gallons of gas in my car. The tank holds 16 gallons. The question I have is this: at what point, exactly, did my fuel light plan to go on to alert me to a lack of petrol? I know it works, too, because it definitely came on last time I needed gas TWO DAYS AGO (OK, fine, I only put in a third of a tank then...and then drove a lot...but, still.)

My baby looks like Jackie O.

2006-07-26T12:36:00.000-05:00

And I look like Shakira, Jamie Lynn Spears AND Christina Aguilera (as well as Marcia Cross, Drew Berrymore and Ashley Judd...I'm not sure how much I trust this website...).

Who do you look like?

http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/tryFaceRecognition.php

Why I should be fired

2006-07-25T13:50:00.000-05:00

(Not because I'm blogging from work.)

Because I say things like this: (in reference to a person who claims to have been wronged by one of our clients)

Let me get this straight. Not only is this guy part black, part white and part Native American, but he's also part Asian and a practicing Jew? Are we sure he's not also on the endangered species list?

Maybe I should be in sensitivity training with Ozzie Guillen.

If I could turn back time...

2006-07-25T10:54:00.000-05:00

I wish I had gone to this university: http://www.liberty.edu/studentaffairs/index.cfm?PID=1378

Those are some good rules and regs right there.

Pet Peeve

2006-07-25T09:12:00.000-05:00

It always makes me mad when people driving company vehicles with the company name and phone number plastered all over drive like complete assholes. I'm always tempted to call the number and turn them in, but then I think: What if the number on the vehicle is the cell phone number of the driver? And what if he then tries to run me off the road?

What a ripoff.

2006-07-18T13:07:00.000-05:00

I just went to Panera for lunch. I had a bowl of french onion soup and a lemonade. The grand total came to $7. For soup and lemonade. That kind of makes me sick. I mean, why does any restaurant that is able to promote their food as being halfway healthy get to charge up the ass for it? I don't think I could possibly order $7 worth of McDonald's food for myself and eat it in one sitting. If I went to Portillo's, I could get a beef and cheddar croissant with french fries and a coke for around $7, and I wouldn't be able to finish it. And I can think of a bunch of other crappy food that would be cheap and abundant too. But $7 for soup and lemonade (which barely made me full and, by the way, probably wasn't especially healthy either)?!? What is this world coming to? No wonder so many people are so fat. It's just easier and cheaper that way.

Africa Hot in Here

2006-07-17T13:09:00.000-05:00

Happy Monday, everybody! Hey--guess what! The AC in my office building is not functioning! And guess what else! It's 93 degrees outside! Oh, but it feels like 103. Actually, I don't find that to be very accurate. I was just outside at lunchtime, and it definitely feels hotter inside the building that outside. Please, oh please, let us go home. Nothing is getting accomplished, save for lots and lots of complaining and sweating. The powers that be (and get to say "Go home") still have hope that the AC units will be restored today (actually, one unit is working--two are not, but it is either not enough to notice, or it doesn't affect our part of the building). Seriously, though, it's after 1 pm. There's no way that this building could possibly cool down by 5, even if they get both broken units up and running. It's just *that* hot in here. Africa hot, as a friend used to say. Or, maybe that should be, "As a former friend says." Who knows. Anyway, it doesn't change the fact that I'm miserable. Although, in an act of kindness, the partners did send the clerk to 7-11 this morning, and he came back with Slurpees for everyone, as well as a variety of Arizona canned teas and lemonades. And that did help, for as long as the slurpee lasted. OK....back to the grindstone. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for an early release. But I'm not holding my breath, because I'd surely pass out.

Items of interest.

2006-07-14T15:02:00.000-05:00

1. Weezer announced their breakup.

2. Today at lunch, I watched a bus boy wipe down a table by pushing the large chunks of crumbs and a big blob of some kind of sauce-looking thing off the table and directly onto the seat of the booth--except some of that stuff just stuck right to the edge of the table. And then he didn't wipe down the seats or the table edge. And then people sat there.

3. I need a pair of pants that are comfortable. I mean, pants that are appropriate to wear to work on casual Friday (i.e. no pajama pants). Everybody on earth should have access to comfortable pants, but I don't. I just simply can't find a single damn pair of pants in any store that work for me. It's just not fair.

4. I had half of a plain doughnut with chocolate frosting today for breakfast. (One of the Boss-men brings in breakfast treats every Friday.) That made me very happy! I wonder if it was from Spunky Dunkers? I doubt it, but that would make me extra happy!

5. I am not looking forward to the next 5 days of forecast 90+ degree temperatures!

6. I bought these shoes: (In a different color)

I have only worn them a handful of times and they are already gross and stinky. As such, I cannot recommend them to anyone, despite their cuteness. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

7. Have a nice weekend!

I'b dyeeg.

2006-07-12T23:01:00.000-05:00

Sometime around the 25th of June, I came down with a cold. I caught it from Eric who caught it from some daycare host monkey. And guess what, as we rapidly approach the beginning of the 13th of July, I still have the damn cold. Only, over the past few days it decided to stop getting better each and every day and, in fact, has taken a sharp turn for the worse. So I finally went to a doctor tonight. He visited with me for all of 12 seconds and presrcibed me amoxicillin, which he hoped would thwart the plans of the tonsils that are staging a coups against the rest of my body. We'll see. But, in the meantime, it huhts when I swawwo. :(

I really do have things I need to blog about, but right now I'm too busy not letting my head explode. And also, working. Yes, that's right folks, I'd like to write interesting things, but I'm too busy doing my part to make the law happen correctly. But mostly, it's the part about the potentially exploding head that has me scared into blogging submission.

Please, please send your get well vibes this way. I'm pitiful and whiney and my husband is getting sick of me.

Coming out of the closet

2006-07-10T12:58:00.000-05:00

Ya know, all my life, I've never really paid much nevermind to NASCAR. As far as I can remember, my parents have always been rather ambivilant about racing, but somewhere along the way, I decided that NASCAR was a sport for the rednecks to enjoy. Once, when I was in college, my friend Jessica begged me to go to this townie bar with her for one of her journalism projects. We were going there so that she could write a story about the band that was playing, but it turned out to be a NASCAR bar. It just so happened to be the same weekend that Dale Earnhardt died. I barely recognized the name. Anyway, at one point, a member of the band asked for a moment of silence in his honor. Thing was, I was chatting with Jessica and just plain didn't hear him request the moment of silence. It was one of those things where one minute the bar was loud and booming and the next minute you could hear a pin drop...oh, and me talking. I had no idea what was going on, but it's never good to be the only one talking, so I shut up. After a few more seconds of silence, the band member said, "Thank you. It means a lot to me. He was a personal hero of mine, but I know not everyone here's a racing fan," and then looked pointedly at me. And then everyone else looked at me too. You know the pace picante sauce commercials? That was the moment that the lead singer of the band announced that my salsa was made in New York City.

Anyway, last weekend, Chris had ESPN on, and a NASCAR race happened to come on. We decided to leave it on so that Eric could see the race cars. But. It became...sort of...addicting! I put Eric down for his nap and came back to watch some more. The race part I can take or leave, but have you ever watched a pit crew in action? Damn--it's pretty cool! It's like someone pushed the fast forward button on these people. I imagine that if the TV audience could hear them talking, they would sound like chimpmunks. Also, I happened to notice that some of those race car drivers are pretty damn good looking! That alone is worth the price of admission!

So, it's like this. I'm not rushing out to by NASCAR gear, but I am admitting it here for all the internets and my 5 readers to see: NASCAR ain't so bad.

On changing the roll of toilet paper.

2006-07-05T16:48:00.000-05:00

As far as partying goes, I suppose I was a bit of a late bloomer. My friends and I were really tame in high school. I wouldn't say we were big dorks or anything, but we definitely were not in the partying/drinking crowd. When it came time for college, several of us went to the same large, nameless state university. (Go Illini! Oops.) I still remember our first few weeks there like they were yesterday. They went something like this: "Hey 17-year-old girls, want to come to a frat party?" Us: "Yeah, totally!" (trying to pretend like we're so cool and we do this stuff all the time). Then we would go to the party and 6 of us would be terrified and trying to pretend like we knew what we were doing. We would stand around in a circle and whisper about whether or not we should get beer/whatever mixed drink of dubious nature was coming out of the gigantic gatorade cooler. Finally, two or three of us would grow balls and go get a cup of some frosty adult beverage. Note: that's a cup. As in one. TOTAL. And then six of us would drink from it and try not to make the beer face after every sip.

After a couple months, though, we started to get the hang of things. I don't remember when, exactly, I first got drunk, but I do remember everything else. My friend Adam, who was a year older, lived in a house on campus with several other guys. They had a house party one weekend, and I went with my then boyfriend Brian and my friend Jessica. I was drinking some kind of lemonade and everclear mixture which was not quite as offensive to the palate as the Natural Light of the frat party scene. After a cup or two, I started feeling VERY outgoing and happy. I couldn't stop smiling and laughing. Or peeing. The first time I got in line for the bathroom, a couple of British girls came up behind me and asked, "Is this the queue for the loo?" which, of course, at the time was the cutest, most hysterical thing ever said to me. Also note: as this was my first time drunk, I had not yet experienced the sensation of "breaking the seal."

On my next trip to the bathroom, I was in line with several guys. I happened to strike up a conversation with the bloke standing behind me, in which I revealed that it was my first time drunk. He asked how it felt, to which I replied, "I think I'm cute when I'm drunk! Do you think I'm cute when I'm drunk?" He explained that he had never seen me sober, but I did appear to be pretty cute when I was drunk. We continued chatting about nonsense until it was my turn. When I came out of the bathroom, he grabbed my arm before entering and told me that he and his friends were sitting in the front room of the house and I should definitely come find him. I asked if it was OK if I brought my boyfriend. I'm like that. Flirt, flirt, flirt and then drop the bomb.

So, on a high of having some random college guy telling me I was cute and that I should come find him later, I decided that it was the appropriate time to start asking everyone at the party if they thought I was cute when I was drunk. Apparently I was cute to a point, and then I just became annoying. Yeah. I can see that.

As the night wore on and I continued to get...uh, cuter and cuter, I began using the bathroom more and more frequently. On one of my trips to the bathroom, I noticed just before doing my business that there was no more toilet paper on the roll. I looked under the sink. None there. I looked in the medicine cabinet. None there. Then I looked on the shelf on the wall, and there was one lonely roll. Except. Keep in mind that I was in a house that was inhabited by men. Mostly of the tall variety. And I'm 5'5". And this shelf was mounted at about 6'2". And the roll of toilet paper was the only thing up there, and it was all the way at the back of the shelf. So I jumped and I pawed at the toilet paper over and over until I eventually got the damn thing to roll off the shelf. And I was drunk. For the first time ever. And did I mention that I was also cute?

So, I came out of the bathroom and I hunted down my friends. And I told them with a grand sense of accomplishment, "I changed the roll of toilet paper!" Except I didn't explain the part about the shelf being really high and me risking life and limb to reach it. Not that it would have mattered, probably. I mean, I was boasting about changing the roll of toilet paper for christ's sake. Of course I have been teased mercilessly about this since. I've kind of tried to accept it as my super power--the ability to change the roll of toilet paper while drunk. Now I do it whenever I can at parties. And people take pictures of it, as seen in my profile picture. It's a tough task, but someone has to do it.

Random thoughts on this lovely Wednesday morning

2006-07-05T09:59:00.000-05:00

Hell0 All.

My how I've missed you.

You know? This working full time thing is really for the birds. I'd much rather be basking in the sunshine. And still getting paid. Yeah. Perhaps I should look into independent wealth. It could be for me. Really.

One thing that's bad about the 4th being on Tuesday is that today feels like Monday all over again. Except it's humpday. Happy Humpday.

On Sunday, my parents took Eric on a little trip up to Galena and Chris and I had the day off. Chris won "tickets" to a concert. A local radio station (the one I interned for!), does these "Live from Studio X" shows where they take a band that is in town for a concert and they have them do a small, private concert for a limited number of people at an undisclosed location. So, we went to see Los Lonely Boys. They were really good, but it was a very short concert--it was being recorded for a radio show that will air at a later date. After that, we watched the Cubs kick the White Sox ass. Well, I don't know if you can really call it an ass-kicking when both teams scored in the double digits. But the Cubs won nonetheless. Finally. It could be the last time this season. Oops. I didn't say that.

I want to go on vacation. In three an a half more weeks, we're going to Michigan. I want to go right now.

Why is it that people who work as cashiers often act as if the value of the coupon you are presenting to them is coming directly out of their pocket? It drives me nuts. I mean, I occasionally use coupons, but whenever I do, I'm always hassled about it. Do I look like I'm trying to rip off the company? I'm sorry that my $1 off diapers coupon offends you so, but get over it. That's all I have to say about that.

Now I'm hungry. Thank god it's lunch time.

I'll tell you what...

2006-06-28T15:20:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of nutsos in the world, do you know that? It seems like basically every charge of discrimination that is filed against one of our clients is done so by someone who thinks that the whole world is against them. And they are all-consumed by the idea that they have something to prove. We've got a guy who leaves crazy 10 minute voicemails about the family curse that dates back to the early 20th century which caused his employer to discriminate against him by letting flying bugs into the building, among MANY other equally crazy things. We've got the client who claims she was discriminated against based on her disability, but doesn't want to release any records documenting her disability. We had a college student who was kicked out of school for various reasons (according to her, out of an act of discrimination), and sent correspondence offering her professor sexual favors in order to be let back into class. Just a bunch of crazies.

Anyway, one of our brilliant hot-shot attorneys (who may or may not have paid me call him that and who also may or may not comment anonymously on this blog), just had a multi-count charge of discrimination thrown out entirely (because, like most of our charges of discrimination, I'm sure it was mostly unfounded). And I happen to have a funny story about this lady to add credibility to my blanket statement that these discrimination-charge-filers are indeed crazy.

When I used to work here in the evening, part of my job was to answer the phone after 5. This particular person, who had filed a claim against our client, called one evening and didn't identify herself. Because I've dealt with her before though, I knew who it was. Here was the conversation we had:

Crazy Lady: Hi. I'm tyring to send an 8-page letter to your firm. How much postage do I need?

Me: Well, unfortunately, I'm not sure. If you're worried that it'll be more than a standard letter, you could either take it to the post office or just put several stamps on it to be sure you're covered.

CL: You don't know? I thought you guys were supposed to know how much it costs to mail stuff to your own office.

Me: (unsure how to proceed)

CL: Well, then, I'll just have to take it to the post office myself.

Me: OK, sorry about that.

Then...5 or so minutes pass and she calls back.

CL: Hi, this is Crazy Lady, may I please speak to Attorney X?

Me: I'm sorry, Attorney X isn't in the office right now, whould you like to leave a message?

CL: Can you tell him that I called and that I won't be mailing his response out until tomorrow. I put it down in the mail room first thing this morning and got it stamped and ready to go, but nobody took it to the post office for me. I imagine I won't be able to get to a mailbox myself until tomorrow sometime. So, you just let him know that I'll be sending at 8 page letter to him, but not until tomorrow. Thanks. Bye bye.

It was like we never had the conversation 5 minutes earlier in which she needed postage advice. They're crazy. They're all crazy, I tell ya.

Snot Funny.

2006-06-28T02:54:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, Eric came down with his first daycare related sickness. He made it two whole weeks! Woohoo! I've been calling this illness the "daycare drip." Basically, copious amounts of green, slimey snot have been sliding out of his nose for the past several days. Fun. Chris and I have caught it as well. Double fun. Everyone in the house is an irritable, miserable prick.

Yesterday, Eric woke up an hour early for no good reason. He woke up before my alarm clock went off. I quickly got him dressed for school and made him breakfast. He requested to watch TV, so I thought he would sit nicely (i.e., slightly comatose), eat and watch TV and I could get ready for work and we'd be ready to go nice and early. Instead, he whined and complained and cried the whole time about the indignities of life including, but not limited to, the fact that snot was coming out of his nose and touching his skin.

Everytime I left his sight for a moment, he would scream out in the most irritating, high pitch whine he could muster, "Oooooh nooooooooo! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" And then I would come running back to find out that something of very little consequence had pissed him off. Again. Like, his truck was just out of arm's reach and he didn't feel like leaning to get it. And while he was focused on his truck, he got thirsty, but his milk didn't anticipate his thirst and jump up out of his cup into his mouth. Therefore the cup of milk must be thrown. And now it was out of reach. And oh dear sweet lord, what was this vile liquid coming from his nose. SOYLENT GREEN SNOT WAS TRYING TO EAT HIS FACE! AND! OH GOD! IT GOT ON HIS FINGERS! MOOMMMMMMMMMMMMYY!

I can't wait for him to get better. Now that the snot is getting slightly better, he has developed a cough. In fact, I might have skipped the snot part and went straight to the cough myself. Anyway, it's the middle of the night and I just served Eric a cocktail of a half dose of benedryl and a half dose of cough medicine and he's finally peacefully resting. And I'm wide awake. Because it's too hot. And the air is touching me. And Chris' alarm clock has been going off for 20 minutes straight and if I don't go into the room and kick him in the ribs, it will go off for another 100 minutes while he sleeps peacefully and classic rock is broadcast through the house. OK. I'm going to put my rib-kicking shoes on. Oh! Wonder of wonders! The music stopped! And now I can hear that the birds are chirping too loudly. Oh man. I've got to try to get some sleep. Send some wellness vibes this way or something.

Oh Dear.

2006-06-23T09:43:00.000-05:00

First I'd like to take a moment and thank those loyal readers who commented on the white pants/polka dots incident--both in person and via the intranets. I'm glad to know that you care and you have my back, so to speak. I would also like to dispell any rumors that I was referring to myself either a) not having friends at work or b) wearing white pants with polka-dotted granny panties. Not only do I just so happen to have a legion of Kristentatious fans fierce enough to shut down an army of critics, but I also work with my mom. I think it's required by law that your mother inform you of such fashion atrocities (not that you have to listen to her). Also, in regards to wearing white pants, I once saw or read some self-proclaimed fasion policeman say that women who wear a double-digit size should NEVER wear white pants--advice I heed. Although, I still have a pair of size 8 white linen pants from pre-Eric days, and if I ever get back down to that size, I'm going to wear the heck out of them. Oh yeah I am. As for the offender, it was one of my bosses here at the law firm of Chaysat & Buelance-Downe.

Why it's important to have at least one friend at work:

2006-06-22T11:18:00.000-05:00

You need someone who can tell you that your polka-dotted granny panties are totally visible through your white pants.

Yeah. That's why.

I just want to bang on the drums all day.

2006-06-20T13:09:00.000-05:00

OK, I just got back from lunch and I'm noticing that all the people who left before me are not back yet. OK, that's fine. It's not like I really care, but. BUT. I know that the one day I do decide to take some liberties with my lunch "hour," everybody else will be back on time and they will collectively raise their eyebrows at my tardiness. That's just the way it goes. It's just my luck (which is bad, in case you were wondering. Case in point: no matter what check-out aisle I choose, it's always the slowest. The equipment malfunctions, the person in front of me decides to do an "instant credit" to save 10%, or they have they have an item with no tag, and no matching item can be found...).

OK, so today's quick rant: (OK, I've been saving it since Saturday, but whatever)

Father's Day Cards

The way I see it, you have two options: sappy or funny. OK, my dad's not really a sappy kind of guy, so I go for funny. But the problem with the funny cards is that none of them are geared toward my dad. He's not completely inept when it comes to fixing things (in fact, quite the opposite is true). He's not into fishing very much. He's golfs a little bit, but is not obsessed. He's not an extreme disciplinarian. He's not a major tightwad. He's not obsessed with TV or the remote and he doesn't even have a recliner. So, right there, I just ruled out every possible funny card choice. But, this year I actually did find a suitable card-a card for the man who is obsessed with maintaining his home and fleet. Yay! My dad will probably get the same card for the next 17 years.

He may seem sweet and innocent...

2006-06-19T22:53:00.000-05:00

...but my baby is turning into a conniver. It's true, he's mastering different ways to both postpone the inevitable and speed up the unbearable.

For example, at one point this weekend, Eric and I went to Target just to go. Pretty much what happened is I said, "Eric, what do you want to do?" He said, "Wanna go bye-bye." So I asked, "Where do you want to go?" And he told me, "Wanna go Target." OK. So, we went to Target. Since I didn't really need anything, we started out by looking at all the things he wanted to look at. So, after 97 million hours of looking at bikes and helmets and TVs and baseballs and basketballs and footballs AND soccer balls, not to mention trucks and cars and choo-choos, I finally managed to trick him into going to look at something that I wanted to look at. And do you know what the little stinker told me?

E: Wanna go home.

Me: Just a minute, Eric, I'm almost done.

E: Hungry! Want something to eat!

Me: Eric, you just ate a little while ago. We'll leave in a minute.

E: Thirsty! Want milk!

Me: Soon.

E: DC! (DC is a ratty old bib that Eric hauls around everywhere.) Want DC! DC WHERE AAAAAAARE YOUUUUUU?

Me: Eric, DC is in the car. We'll go out to the car in just a minute.

Eric: Want to go get DC! Let's go get DC! Yay!

Me: Eric! Knock it off!

Eric: (insert pouty lip and fluttering eyelashes) Tired. Wanna go home go night-night! [at 4 p.m.]

OK, so there's one example. This next example is similar but different--a stall tactic. Yesterday afternoon we were at my parents' house and Eric needed a nap. My parents and grandma were sitting on the patio outside the basement door--two levels below the bedrooms. I think Eric and I were inside playing on the main level when I finally managed to wrangle him for a nap and take him upstairs. I got him up to the room where he would be napping and I changed his diaper. He then told me, "Want to go say night-night to Daddy." OK, like a sucker, I totally fell for it, not foreseeing the chain of events to follow. We went back downstairs to say night-night to Daddy and which point he told me, "Wanna go say night-night to Gigi," (my grandma). Then I thought, "Well, that's kind of sweet--Gigi will appreciate that, especially considering the not so warm reception he originally gave her." So, I took him outside and down the rock-stairs, where he proceeded to completely ignore Gigi and tell me, "Wanna run down the hill." I wouldn't let him, so after that tantrum subsided, he told me, "Wanna go see the fishies in the pond." At that point, I insisted that he take a nap and carried him kicking and screaming up two flights of stairs back into the bedroom. I sat down on the bed with him and he immediately said, "Wanna go say night-night to Poppy and Nonny," who were all the way back down stairs. Not only that, but he also wanted to watch TV, play basketball and go outside. Oh, and he was hungry too. Probably starving.

Seriously, it's no wonder I'm exhausted.

So sorry, blog.

2006-06-19T13:22:00.000-05:00

I meant to write something sooner. Really, I did. But I've been too busy discussing with Heidi which Smithe brother is the hottest. It passes the time, you know. And now, back to my regularly scheduled job. (But if you're still speaking to me, a little later I plan to share my thoughts on the crappy selection of Father's Day cards available.)

Working hard or...

2006-06-15T14:41:00.000-05:00

So, the tech guy was here this morning. I had to ask him 1,000,072 questions because I had a new computer this morning when I came in. Well, new to me, at least. I think they just ordered enough new computers to be able to retire the oldest computers in the fleet. Instead of getting a brand-spanking-new machine, I just got somebody's old machine, which was better than the old machine that I was using. Anyway, along with the computer, I inherited some of the old owner's settings and documents, which could potentially be bad because the former owner was the office administrator, who had access to all personnel records, ect. At one point, I was joking with the tech guy that someone was going to track my movements and find out that not only was I looking at coworkers' private information, but also, due to an assignement that I'm working on for one of the attorneys, I've been on all sorts of terrorist websites. Uh-huh. That looks good. So, tech guys says, "Oh, look through your internet history? Yeah, I mean, it stays on your computer for however many days, but nobody here is ever going to bother to look at that." Really??? Wit Spot, here I come!

Rat race.

2006-06-13T22:38:00.000-05:00

Well, I have survived my first couple days at work, but I'm just...so...tired. Plus, I don't think I should blog at work. I mean, I don't have much else to do right now, but something tells me that blogging would be a bad idea. Maybe next week. Heh heh. Anyway, I'm going to bed now, but in case anybody was wondering, yes, Eric and I have survived our new schedules.

Have you seen this site?

2006-06-10T11:18:00.000-05:00

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

It's so interesting to me. The guy who runs it has recently published a book. It seems like there were more "secrets" to view before the book was published...but whatever. Hmmmm....perhaps I'll think of something to share one day.

Dear Nike, What is with the cloven hoof shoes?

2006-06-09T12:40:00.000-05:00

In case you're wondering, yes, they do come with the cloven hoof socks. I actually tried a pair on today since, as you all may have suspected for quite some time, I do indeed have cloven hooves. They were odd, yet I might be interested in owning a pair purely for a conversation piece. (Dear shoes, please call me when you are on clearance.) I was going to use my camera phone to take a picture of myself wearing these shoes, but I had a couple of problems. One is that I know how to make pictures go in my phone, but I do not know how to make them come out. The other problem was that some woman was standing right next to me FOREVER and she wouldn't move. And, for some reason, I would've felt funny taking a picture under those circumstances. Anyway, to conclude, we should all be happy that Nike has finally stepped up to the plate and created footwear that will allow us to look more like cattle.

My grandma wears gold lamé.

2006-06-09T12:17:00.000-05:00

I'd like to take a moment and commend my Nana for being so fashionable. At nearly 80-years-old, she is still on the cutting edge--what with the shiny, strappy sandals and the gigantic gold, silver and bronze lamé purse with all the flower appliques. But the truth is that Nana has been wearing those shoes and carrying that purse since the 70's. She also wore "pedal pushers," or "clam diggers," if you will (none of this "capris" business), back into style. Maybe I'm lame, or destined to be unfashionable, but I can't help but look at gold lamé and think "old lady." I've only seen a couple of these lamé items that I could possibly be convinced to own. But what's with the gladiator sandals that I'm starting to see everywhere?!? Please tell me this will be a short-lived fad!

The Gap doesn't appreciate my curviness

2006-06-08T14:13:00.000-05:00

This morning I took Eric for a test run at daycare. He was there for half a day, and he did wonderfully. According to his teacher, he didn't even notice I was gone. Part of me is happy that he did so well, and another part of me is like, excuse me? Didn't notice that I, HIS MOTHER WHO HAS CARED FOR HIM EVERYDAY OF HIS ENTIRE LIFE (minus two or three days), was gone?!?! But anyway, he did fine. Hopefully tomorrow goes as well.

While he was at school, I went and got my hair cut. It looks pretty much like it did before I got it cut, only slightly shorter and, well, freshly cut. Then I decided to pop into the Gap for a quick look around. I grabbed a couple things to try on, but they just did not work out for me. The Gap is now marketing some of their women's jeans as "Curvy." I've been meaning to try a pair of Curvy jeans on for months and months now because, hey, I'm curvy! How ideal! Except. The Gap and I have different ideas of curvy. The difference is that my idea of being curvy involves having hips, while the Gap's does not. Apparently, to the Gap, curvy woman=woman shaped like 13 year old boy with very large ass. I also grabbed a pair of khaki pants to try on without realizing that they were "boy cut." I know I'm not boy-shaped, so I tend to steer clear of "boy cut" things. Anyway, my point is this: the boy cut khakis and the curvy jeans fit me the exact same way. How can that be? Anyway, I did not have time to fully explore the Gap merchandise and perhaps find something more fitting (no pun intended). Maybe I'll try again tomorrow, when I have more time. I've almost always had awesome luck finding cute stuff on deep discount (a winning combination).

I noticed something else at the Gap that made me smile. I guess they recently changed the names of their jeans across the board because they now have men's jeans called "Straight Fit." You know--as opposed to "Gay Fit" which are tighter, far more fashionable and, incidentally, only available in a 28-inch waist.

You know what's weird?

2006-06-06T23:24:00.000-05:00

The fact that the phrases, "Are you serious?" and, "Are you kidding me?" have morphed into, "Are you seriously kidding me?" And frankly, I'm not sure what the correct answer to that question is.