Well, I can't say I wasn't duly warned.

When I was little, my grandma used to always tell me, "If you sing at the table, you'll marry a crazy husband." Now, let it be noted that she would tell me this while I was singing, so I guess there was never really any hope for me. Plus, hello? have you met me? Was there every really a chance that I might marry someone normal?

So, Chris? He's a little bit looney. You might not guess it upon initially meeting him, but he's definitely got a whole bag crazy just waiting to be unloaded. Anybody who met his alter ego, "Uncle Raul," last summer knows what I'm talking about. And anybody who didn't have the pleasure of meeting Uncle Raul, I wouldn't even know where to begin explaining that one. And that's all I have to say about that.

Because we're both mostly nuts, we like to come up with off-the-wall theories and think of all the reasons that they seem to be true. One of my favorite theories (and I think I have to give Chris credit for this one) is the theory of different famous people that we believe are actually one in the same. I'm not going to tell you all of them, because I know you. You're going to go around telling people like it's your own damn theory, and that's just not right. But, I will tell you two of my favorites.

1. Rod Stewart and Barry Manilow. Two names, one bad haircut:

Now, come on. Tell me that's not the same man. And. AND. Have you ever seen them together? Think about it. Plus, I like the way they always remember to flip the negatives between Rod and Barry, so that it looks like his part goes a different way. That's an especially nice touch.

2. (We just came up with this one this weekend)
The Beach Boys and Slayer.

Now this, although it may come as a shock to you, is not based on the uncanny physical resemblance. This is based on the fact that Chris was learning to play the intro to some Slayer song (can you tell I'm a big fan?) on the guitar and realized that it sounded a lot like the music for California Girls. Plus, once again, have you ever seen them together? Have you? That's because they're the same damn band!

So, there you have it. Stay tuned for further insanities.

Further Joys of Motherhood

Mmmm, corn!

Here's one of the running lists that Eric has inspired me to keep:

THINGS THAT PASS THROUGH THE HUMAN DIGESTIVE SYSTEM INTACT

-Corn*

-Roasted Red Peppers

-The occasional Cheerio

-Spinach

I'm certain there are more that I can't remember right now or have yet to discover.

*This should not be surprising to the corn lovers among us.

Can you dig it?

So, today I was just driving along minding my own business, ladies and gentlemen, MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS. I pull up at this stop light, and the guy behind me decides that he doesn't need to stop until he's fucking sitting in my backseat. Or close enough. Too close for comfort--that's for sure. Anyway, one of the unfortunate side effects with Mr. Hippocket is that when I look in either my rearview mirror or my side mirror, all I can see is his bigfathead.

So, once again, while I'm sitting at this stoplight, MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS, I happen to look in my rearview mirror and notice that Mr. Bigfathead Hippocket is second-knuckle-deep in his own lovely nose. And I didn't want to look, but it was like a train wreck. The sheer horror of the situation kept drawing my attention back to it. I couldn't help but think, "Man, he's really cleaning that nostril out!!" After a couple seconds, I couldn't allow myself to look any longer. I flipped through a few songs on Mypod and tried my best to keep busy. "Don't look, don't look, don't look," I kept telling myself. And I really didn't want to look. But I couldn't help it.

After a minute or so, I decided it should be safe, and I did the cordial thing--check to make sure everything came out all right. And, if this was even possible, it looked like maybe he now had two fingers up the nostril this time. Now he was like a circus freak. I couldn't look away even if I wanted to. The light turned green and we both proceeded to enter the expressway.

As we both waited to pay our tolls, I happened to glance up again, thinking surely after three minutes he couldn't possibly have anything left to pick. Wrong. What did I see? The spin cylce, ladies and gentlemen--he was actually twisting his finger around in the nostril. Dear lord!

Now, it's worthy of mention that we were in a very high traffic area. It's not like we were on a one-lane road. There were cars on all sides of his car, but he apparently didn't care or thought he had one-way windows. And, on the tollway, right near the toll, there are really no lane markers. You can reach out and touch the cars on either side of you because they are so close. He might as well have been sitting in the lap of the passenger in the car next to him.

After about 5 minutes, I got through the toll and lost track of this guy. I bet he's still picking now. "What's the point of this story?" you're probably wondering, and rightfully so. The point is that I had to witness something truly disgusting and now I need to share it, so that rather than being a voyeur, I can be a victim.

Friends, I implore you, don't pick and drive. It's so unbecoming.

To thy Happy Children of the Future...

Me: Eric, can you say, "Go Illini!"

Eric: "Go ni-night?"

Me: Go Illini!

Eric (who thinks I'm trying to put him to bed in the middle of the morning): NOOOOOO!

TAGGED!

I was tagged by Natalie, Queen of Hilarity!

Four jobs that I have had: (in no particular order)

Legal Secretary
Radio Station Promotions Intern
Assistant Event Coordinator at a golf course
Waitress

Four movies that I can watch over and over again:

When Harry Met Sally
A Few Good Men
This is Spinal Tap
Grosse Pointe Blank

Four places I have lived:

Chicago, IL
Urbana, IL
St. Charles, IL
Elk Grove Village, IL
(Looks like I need to get the fuck out of IL!)

Four TV shows I love to watch:

What Not To Wear
Desperate Housewives
Grey's Anatomy
CSI (Las Vegas only)

Four websites I read daily (or I at least check on daily):

http://bbs.babycenter.com
http://www.dooce.com
http://www.crazyauntpurl.com
http://www.weather.com/weather/local/60631?lswe=60631&lwsa=WeatherLocalUndeclared (I MUST know the forecast!)

Four places I have been on vacation:

Dayton, OH. On vacation. Seriously.
Hilton Head, South Carolina
Cozumel, Mexico
Orlando, Florida

Four favorite foods:

Pizza
Mashed Potatoes
bruschetta
mushrooms

Four places I'd rather be:

somewhere Mediterranean
somewhere Caribbean
Hawaii
Starbucks (That's just for you, Dr. V.)

Four people to tag:

I don't know if any of these people will ever read my blog to see this, but I'll tag them anyway...

Heidi, who I know has spare time at work and enjoys the surveys. :)
Nora, because she usually obliges these types of requests.
Dr. Xavier Vortex Dvorak, MD.
and, um, somebody else.

thankyouandgoodnight. yes, it's 1:30 in the afternoon.

I'm just going to put this out there for you so y'all aren't shocked if it turns out to be true.

So, this weekend I developed this nasty hacking cough. I don't think I caught it from anybody, or am particularly contagious. It's just one of those things that tends to happen occasionally when you are a person who suffers from chronic-post-nasal-drip-for-no-apparent-reason (yes, that's the technical medical term for my particular affliction). I'm not going to get into the whose-its and what-nots of my malady, because, well, it's gross that I even mentioned it in the first place. But, I seem to have developed this side effect that's worthy of mention.

You see, I have this really sore spot in my abdomen. At first I thought I strained a muscle with all the hacking and whathaveyou. But now I think I've figured out what the problem really is. You see, this particular sore spot is directly beneath my ribcage on the left side of my body. I can point to the exact spot that hurts--it's about the size of a quarter. Yesterday that spot felt strained--today I'm actually experiencing a burning sensation. I think I remember reading somewhere that this is the exact location where the aliens implant their babies in human hosts.

That's right. I'm pretty sure I've been impregnated with an alien baby or babies. They probably burned a hole through my torso whilst I slept. Then they were able to cover the outside with a high-tech skin patch, but the inside still burns, you see? It's all making sense, right? It's a little Twilight Zone for my liking, but I guess that it's just my fate. Do you think it's ok to drink when you're hosting alien babies? Because I might need a drink over this one.

Well, who woulda thunk it?

I learned some really shocking information about myself the other night at work. It went down something like this:

Steve: Hey, do you want some of this fancy chicklet-like-gum I have that comes in this neato tin box [See Exhibit A]?

Me: Sure, I'll try some.

Steve: Say when. (Proceeds to dump about 12 pieces in my hand.)

Me: Too late. (I start putting pieces back in the neato tin box)

Steve: Yeah, if you could not lick the pieces before you put them back, that would be great. (I immediately start pretending to lick each piece. When I finish, Steve shuts the lid on his neato tin box). Hey--thanks for that DNA sample. The results should be available shortly.

...a couple minutes pass...

Steve: (pops his head out of his office) Hey, Kristi? Your DNA results are back. It turns out you have Downs Syndrome. I'm sorry to be the one who has to break it to you...

Me: Are you making fun of my disability? Because I'm protected under the law.

Exhibit A: Neato Tin Box

P.S. Steve didn't actually say "See Exhibit A," although such declarations are to be expected from his ilk.

A recipe...for disaster

Keeping with the Starbucks theme, I would like to point out that all Starbucks drinks have recipes. You know--two shots of espresso, 4 ounces of steamed milk, 2 shots of vanilla...that sort of thing. So why is it that Starbucks beverages can taste wildly different from one barista to the next? I mean, I can understand some variance--they're human after all. But when I get a sickeningly sweet caramel macchiato from one barista and a bitter-to-the-last-drop caramel macchiato from the next, it makes me think that Starbucks isn't really doing a great job of teaching their employees the recipes.

Today's experience falls under the category of you-know-your-drink-is-going-to-suck-when... I nearly always order a caramel macchiato when I go to starbucks. That's my drink. Sometimes I change it up, but not usually. I ordered the old car-mac today and was presented with this question: would you like whipped cream on that? Um, no. Whipped cream is very much not in the recipe. Thanks for playing. A properly made caramel macchiato should have a nice-sized dollop of foam on top. Why would I then want to top my foam with whipped cream?

As it turned out, the drink was OK. Not the best I've ever had, but certainly not the worst. The award for worst drink ever goes to the girl who forgot to put the espresso in my cup. It's going to take something really special to top that one.

Dear Fellow Starbucks Patron:

When I walk into Starbucks with my well-behaved toddler in tow, please kindly refrain from looking at me like I just took a shit in your venti non-fat half-caf latte with a shot of vanilla. It's not the end of the world. You will survive the unpleasant experience of having to be in the same room as someone under the age of two, I promise. What's that? His talking is bothering you, even though you can't even hear it because you're wearing headphones and pretending to read The World's Most Important Book while giving me dirty looks? Get over yourself. A.) He's not talking any louder than the chick on her cell phone two tables over and B.) He's WAY more entertaining than her. Seriously. Oh, and here's a little news flash for you: Starbucks is not a library. People are allowed to talk. Maybe I should repeat that, because a lot of people don't seem to understand it: STARBUCKS IS NOT A LIBRARY. So, kindly keep your dirty looks to yourself. Thank you . Buh-bye.

Kristi

Karaoke, or, 12 minutes* of my life I'll never get back.

I'm hopefully going to karaoke tonight after work, and I don't care what anyone says, I enjoy it. I like to think I'm a pretty decent singer. I could use to work on my stage presence a little bit, though. I think I have decent stage presence when I do the Improv, but karaoke is another story. I have a difficult time accepting the fact that there are actually people out there listening to me sing, allbymyself, and I tend to concentrate on not messing up the lyrics or the tune. I think I'm a more entertaining performer when I sing a duet.

That being said, I plan to work on my Karaoke Entertainment Value (KEV). I feel like my KEV should be high, but I know it's not. I do get the occasional crazy, middle-aged, unemployed guy telling me how great I am, but that really just creeps me out.

Not too long ago, I went to karaoke night at a bar I don't usually visit. One guy who sang was just an amazing performer. He was absolutely hysterical, and very engaging. It turned out that he was the lead singer of a band (which, come on, that's kind of unfair, but whatever). I visited the band's website later, and it mentioned that their singer learned his audience pleasing techniques at the Second City Training Center. Then it made me all mad, because I trained at Second City as well, but the only audience pleasing techniques I got only work on crazy, middle-aged, unemployed guys. To be fair, I think this guy might have been an entertainer to begin with--a class clown type. Either way, I need to work on my technique. It will definitely help me attain my goal of becoming a Rock Star.

* Equals approximately 3 karaoke songs, which I hope to be able to sing tonight

When I go to jail for committing internet coupon fraud, please send care packages.

Hey! Want to know something really cool? Well, to bad, I'm telling you anyway. I currently have 798 Free Digital Prints available to me from http://www.shutterfly.com! 798! I can't even imagine possibly using that many free prints before they expire (most within the month of January, but some are good until March). How did I come about 798 free prints, you ask? Well, it's sort of funny, really.

I lied, cheated and stole.

That's right. I said it. The good news is that Shutterfly apparently has no rules against lying, cheating and stealing--I even read the fine print. The even better news is that I know several fantastic attorneys (hi Mom). So, when my mother disowns me for lying, cheating and stealing, I have some back ups (Hi Tina, Steve, rest of HLERK). If they too decide not to get wrapped up in my sordid affairs, I know a handful of promising law students (Hi Sue! Jill! Tomas! Todd!). The way I see it, I'm in the free and clear, but. But. Should something happen to me, please think fondly of me while I'm in the slammer. And welcome me back to your world with grace and acceptance like you did Martha Stewart.

You see, here's how it happened. Shutterfly has a myriad of codes floating around the internet for free this or that. Through my League of Information Sharing Mothers (LISM), I happened to come about, oh, 20 or so different codes for free prints. 30 free prints with this code, 10 for that code, 50 for yet another code, etc. Not only that, but Shutterfly also gives 15 free prints to new members, plus 15 free prints to old members who refer new members.

SO...it's not like I need nearly 800 free prints, but I developed this sickness, which was directly related to their lack of rules regarding internet ethics. I referred people I knew. Two of them to be exact. My husband (whose account is entirely maintained by me), and, ahem, myself, by using a secondary email account I have. So, I should mention that I have another 30 pending free prints, which will be released to me once my referrals make their first purchases.

So, there you have it folks. Unethical as all getout? Sure, but come on, they were totally asking for it!!!

"This DVD has Kid-Friendly Instant Play!"

Where by "instant play" they mean, "right after the FBI warning, production company advertisement and 3-minute commercial which will cause your child to lose any and all interest in this particular DVD." Gotta love it.

P.S. As an update to my last post, I'm still alive and HAVE NOT been to the ER. Yay!

Rule of Threes?

Do you believe that things happen in threes? Births, deaths, bad things, good things, etc.? Well, if you do, stop that nonsense right now. I mean it. It's for my safety. Here's the deal. In the past two weeks (week and a half, really), I have been to the ER twice. First it was with the baby (he's fine now), and today it was with my husband, who has a kidney stone, but will be fine. So, I do a little math and think, huh, with the rule of threes, we should have one more visit to the ER soon. Family of three...two of whom have already made their visits...let's see, I think that means...I'M DOOMED. Now, I'll happily go on record as saying that it's shocking that I've never in my life been to the ER for myself. However, I'll also go on record as saying I'D LIKE TO KEEP IT THAT WAY.

Now, here's a concern I have about the ER that is practically in our back yard (well, we can see it from our backyard, at least): the security guards who serve as the first person you see when you walk in have no sense of urgency whatsoever. I mean, I was really alarmed by their lackadaisical attitude on both of my visits (two different guards). The guard today couldn't even multitask. I really think that's essential for even the lowest man on the ER totem pole.

Here's another concern I have about the ER that is practically in our back yard: utter lack of hot doctors. Well, let me take that back. Both doctors that I've met now were pretty hot...females. There was no Dr. McDreamy to speak of, so I really don't want to have to go. Please keep me in your thoughts. I thank you.

Because if I take away the pacifier, someone might accidentally serve him ALCOHOL.

Where, oh where has my baby gone? Because that kid there is at least thirteen.

P.S. Nevermind the fact that we (I) make the poor kid wear a Cubs hat. And nevermind that that picture was taken in October, when the Sox were about to play in the World Series. HE JUST DOESN'T HAVE A SOX HAT. OK?

Parenting Tips?

In Target tonight, I decided to take a glimpse at my future and check out the selection of Elmo/Sesame Street DVDs (see previous post). I noticed that one of the DVDs had a little sticker on the outside that read, "Parenting tips inside." I had a little chuckle to myself as I imagined what the parenting tips could possibly be. In my mind, they went a little something like this:

1. Put Red Crack in the DVD player.
2. Quietly back out of the room.
3. Enjoy 53 minutes of free time.
4. Visit http://www.sesamestreet.org and donate your hard-earned cash. Remember, time is money, and we just gave you 53 minutes. Fork it over, fat man.

Red Crack

What is it about Elmo that toddlers absolutely cannot resist? I didn't even realize that Eric could pick Elmo out of a crowd, but just this morning, the Elmadness began.

Shortly after his normal wake-up routine of getting out of the crib and looking out the window to see what's happening on our street, Eric spotted Limbo Elmo on his book shelf. He pointed up to him. "elmo." "Elmo." "ELMO." "ELMO!" So, we got Elmo down and played with him for a few minutes. Then I announced it was time to eat breakfast, and Elmo was instantly tossed aside.

Immediately after we finished breakfast, it started again. "Elmo?" "ELMO??" Hmmm...think quick, mom! It's 8 am and "Elmo" doesn't come on until 10. We have a couple of Sesame Street DVDs, but I couldn't remember how prominently Elmo was featured. Thank god for Comcast On Demand! It's Elmo you want? Elmo you get.

Elmo came on the screen and Eric was enraptured like I had never seen him before. This is so strange to me, because he really never paid that much attention to the TV before. I might turn Sesame Street on a few times a week, but it mostly ends up being background noise. Anyway. Whenever Eric would see Elmo on the screen, he would happily and lovingly say his name over and over again. When Eric didn't see Elmo on the screen, he would ask for him, more and more frantically. I mean, the kid was nearly in tears by the end of a particularly long non-Elmo vignette.

It's almost disturbing how quickly he became so attached to Elmo. The strange thing is, he really doesn't want anything to do with his stuffed Elmo, just TV Elmo. Dancing Elmo dolls seem to be OK (lucky me). So, based on what I can tell right now, our Christmas lists will look a little something like this:

Eric:
All things Elmo

Me:
Hip Flask
Vodka
Mixers

Finally, some good news

My house will soon be clean. Isn't that the best news you've heard all day? Well, it is for me. You see, the other day, I was minding my own business, just trying to sweep the floor. But that darn baby of mine kept getting in the way, grabbing at the broom, throwing tantrums and being a general nuisance. I tried giving him the broom. He just stood there with it, looking a little bit happier, but that didn't really make my sweeping go any faster. Then I tried letting him help me sweep, but he wasn't too into that. Then I tried taking him to toys r us and buying him his own damn broom. All I could find was this entire cleaning kit:

I'm thinking, wow, now there's a win-win situation, wouldn't you say. So, now I'm sitting back with my feet up, eating bon-bons, while my 18-month old is scrubbing grout in the bathroom. Don't tell my husband. He'd probably make him clean at night, while I am at work, and then he'll be too tired to clean during the day for me.

A New Family Member

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am proud to announce that I am the loving new owner of an iPod nano. Not only that, but it was a completely unexpected gift from my employer! How exciting!

Here's the deal:

I work at a law firm (ahem, where my mom is a partner *cough*) as a part time evening secretary. I work usually work from 4 to 7:30-ish. I have worked there since March, and I love it. It works out perfectly for us, in terms of making extra money and not needing a babysitter. Anyway, last week, I noticed the Office Administrator and her secretary in one of the conference rooms, with the door shut, but the blinds on the window open. It was after 7 and very few people were left in the office. I noticed that they had little gift bags spread out all over the table. I wondered what they were up to. I figured it was something for the upcoming holidays. I asked one of the attorneys if she knew anything about it. She said that she thought it was the holiday gift. She said that they usually give everyone a pointsetta, but this year she overheard that they were doing something different. She didn't know what--just something different. I assumed that whatever the new gift was, it would be on par with a pointsetta. So, when I got the all-staff email about the meeting at 3 pm on Monday, I contemplated skipping it and just catching up later, when I got to work at 4. Then everyone started encouraging me to come. "It's OK, you can bring the baby." So, I ended up coming to the "party" and Chris ended up getting out of work early because it's a really slow week for him.


One of the partners starts out the meeting by saying that this year was their 15-year anniversary. They never expected the firm would grow so much and that they would end up with so many exceptional employees (there are around 40 employees now, from 5 originally). They wanted to get everyone something nice to thank us for being so wonderful. So, they got everybody a 4GB iPod nano. Oh, and also a commerative silver box with the company's name on it. I thought that was really cool!


I have to admit that I don't know a great deal about iPods. I just knew that I couldn't really afford one, so I kept my distance so as not to be tempted. This one is really cool. It's teeny tiny. It is the same size as that picture, and maybe an eighth of an inch thick. It only took me four hours last night to get a few songs onto it (because I'm slow, not because it's difficult). Anyway, that's my latest excitement. I guess it's time to go write some thank-you notes.

Are you there Blog? It's me, Kristi.

Dear Blog,

I want to apologize for being so reticent as of late, and so remiss in coming to you. But, don't you see, Blog? It's times like these that I need you most! I know, I know, if I look at the internet history tracks in the sand, I will most likely see that this is the time that you carried me. But it doesn't always feel like that. No siree. And perhaps I don't deserve it. I've been a Blog sinner. I have coveted thy neighbors Blog. I have taken the Blog's name in vain. I have also killed, but that is a different story altogether--a story for the Blog, don't you see? So, Blog, here I am apologizing to you. Asking you to keep me in your good graces. Have faith in me, Blog, and I won't let you down.

Remember, Blog is love.

Yours,

Kristi

I am the eye in the sky

I've have this sneaking suspicion that someone who seemed completely uninterested in my not-secret-but-not-widely-publicized blog has, in fact, been reading my blog. And I don't know why, but it kind of bothers me. I mean, it would be one thing if he read it and acknowledged that he read it, but it's another thing altogether to read it on the sly, pretend like you're not reading it, then bring up a topic from my blog like it's just been on your mind.

It's not like these things couldn't be on his mind as well, but it's just the way he says them. We generally have different ways of talking, and when you turn a phrase in a way that you usually wouldn't, and in a way that would be a DIRECT QUOTE from my blog, well, I just can't help but wonder. So...let this just be a little warning. I'm on to you, Seaton. I'm on to you.

P.S. I love you. Stop secretly reading my blog. It makes me feel dirty (as in UNCLEAN).