Jell-O Universe

Heavy Petting?

2009-04-21T15:21:00.003-05:00

So I have a new coworker today:

This is Champ. He is my boss's dog, and has been hanging out here today after his vet appointment this morning. He's a good boy - he has only licked my ankles four times, and hasn't once cold-transferred a call to me. I already like him better than some of the temps we had last summer.

How much ankle-licking would be considered inappropriate for the office? What, it's a valid question...

What is This "Blog" You Speak Of?

2009-04-14T15:52:00.007-05:00

So okay. I've been busy. Stuff has been happening.

1. I found a king sized package of Reese's peanut butter cups in my stitchery bag that I don't remember buying, and it's kinda melty from being in the car, but hello, awesome delicious candy surprise!

2. They cut down the tree that I sit under at lunch. Why? Because they hate me.

3. Pops and I have a place to live where we are not imposing on anyone else. Big news here. Maggie loves it.

4. Some asstard smashed my car up in the parking lot at work a couple of weeks ago. Boo for asstards.

5. I got to meet dooce last week. It was an epic fail. She was awesome. Me, not so much.

6. Today is Omar's birthday. Happy birthday, Omar!

7. I have been painting all my bedroom furniture that has been in storage for the last year and a half. It was white, and I am too old to have white bedroom furniture, for cryin out loud! Now it's on it's way to being red. I saw "on it's way" because after two coats, it's still hot pink and looks like Barbie furniture. The little girls who live next door poked their heads into the garage while I was painting to ask if the furniture was for my daughter. So yeah.

8. Michael Sheen was just confirmed as Aro in New Moon. Already excited.

9. Saw Observe and Report this weekend. Disturbing. Funny, but I feel bad that I laughed at it, because some of the images are really shocking.

10. I am now host to the largest zit in all of history, now playing exclusively on my chin. It hurts to think. I can actually see it in my peripheral vision. Here that, single fellas? You like?

11. I'm planning a party with mi hermana, and alls I can say is it's SO MUCH FUN!

12. My nephew may be the cutest little dude you've ever seen. There is lots of talking going on lately. And lots of interest in the potty and poopoo and peepee. He has started calling me Aunt Bea ("AHH BAYEE"), which is hilarious to me in a Mayberry sort of way. He also tells me "Ah yuh you, Ahh Bayee," to which I can only reply, " I yuh you too, Tyler. I yuh you with all my heart."

NOOOOOOOOOooooooooo!

2009-03-20T14:27:00.003-05:00

I guess congratulations are in order, but to me, it's a sad, sad day. I just want Bret to know:

"I'm not weeping because you won't be here to hold my hand.
For your information, there's an inflammation in my tear gland.
I'm not upset because you left me this way,
My eyes are just a little sweaty today."

Things I Will Miss About JJ

2009-03-09T13:29:00.007-05:00

So my mom and grandmother came to Austin this weekend for my grandmother's birthday, and we did all of the eating and shopping that we could stand. It marked the first out-of-town trip they have taken since my grandfather died a couple of weeks ago, and I am relieved that they both are past the initial "cry because his closet door is open and you can see his shoes lined up on the shelf" phase of their mourning. At the very least, they have stepped out of the bourbon and Valium stupor that, hand to God, was the only thing that kept them from succumbing to the complete hysterics that we all were feeling, in the midst of our own personal Southern Gothic tragedy.

We got a call on Molly's birthday, February 18th, that JJ probably wouldn't make it another day. Both of us had already been to Abilene to see him in the last few months before he really got sick, when he could still recognize us and know what we were saying when we told him that we loved him. We had been mulling over the idea of going one more time the next weekend, just to get in one more "last moment" with him - though Molly was pretty firmly of the opinion that she did not want to go and see him so sick, preferring to remember him as he was in the fall. But by Wednesday, our best intentions were pretty much thrown out. We would be going to Abilene whether we liked it or not, and it would probably be too late.

My mother was alone with him when he died Thursday morning. She stroked his head and gently told him that he could let go. She reassured him that his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren were all safe and happy, and that he didn't need to worry about any of us. She promised him that Nene would be taken care of, that we would help her live out her days in comfort. She poured her love into him in those final moments. And he let go peacefully and quickly.

By noon, I was on the road with Molly and Tyler. It took us about four hours to make the drive. By the time we got there, arrangements had already been made, fried chicken and pies were already in the kitchen, and my cousins were already on flights to Texas. When my mother returned from the funeral home, I took her home, filled her up with enough drugs to sedate an elephant, and left her in the care of her boyfriend for the evening. Then I went back to my grandmother's house to help her receive all the condolence-givers that had been streaming in through the day. Some stopped by to bring food and offer their sympathies, and others lingered to exchange stories about JJ.

The last stragglers finally left at about 10:00pm, and by that point Nene was shell-shocked. She hadn't slept more than an hour in two days, she had to put on a brave face in front of people she hadn't seen in years, and she was about to have to put the man she'd loved for sixty-one years in the ground. Molly and I were the only ones there, and Nene lost her shit in peace. She was fine until she started telling us the history of one of the rings she was wearing, and when she glanced over at her left hand and saw her wedding ring, she finally broke down. It was the first time I had ever seen her cry. She let out a little moan, pulled off her ring to kiss it, and said, "Y'all, I'm not married anymore." I will never forget that, as long as I live - saddest moment of the whole trip, hands down.

Friday was a blur of cold cuts and shopping (it all happened so fast, none of us had time to get anything appropriate to wear to the funeral before arriving). Thank the baby Jesus for shopping. The day flew by, and we were able to think about something else for a few blissful hours. Sweet relief! Molly and I have said this many times - our mom can shop. The woman is determined. It truly is a wonder to behold.

The viewing was that night, and JJ was beautiful. He looked so peaceful, like he was just resting. If his glasses had been perched on his nose, it would have seemed like he was just taking a little nap. In a casket. In his designer suit. His expression was a little mischievous, as if he were thinking of a dirty joke to lighten the mood. His hands were all wrong, though. They were too bony, too cold. I'm so glad that I have the memory of them, warm and paper smooth, cupping my face the last time I visited him.

We had gone to see him that morning, when we accompanied Nene to the funeral home to meet with the director about the services that evening. But then it was just JJ in the chapel - that evening, it was JJ, surrounded by a sea of flowers. I wasn't prepared. It's funny how something so ordinary, so expected, can have such an unexpected impact during times of grief. There was my grandfather, lying in the most exquisite bronze casket, embalmed and dead for all the world to see, and it was the flowers that made me cry.

There were just so many of them! Nene had ordered a casket arrangement of his favorite yellow roses - I have never seen such enormous blooms. Roses and lilies and daisies, potted plants and standing bouquets, baskets and vases, in every color imaginable. And the attached cards, with their notes about how much the sender loved JJ, or how he was a second father, or how our family was in their prayers - I just couldn't take it. Later on, standing at his side, I thought about the babies that I haven't had yet who will never know him, and how it would have made him so happy so meet them, and that resulted in the stereotypical stumbling-away-sobbing-and-wailing one expects at a good Southern funeral. You're welcome.

The church service was held at my grandparents' church on Saturday morning. I am fuzzy on some of the details here - I sat with Molly, and the two of us cried our way through what I remember to have been a very formal, very traditional Episcopalian funeral. Then we made our way to the cemetery, where JJ was laid to rest by a tree on a cold, windy day. After that the weekend was mainly spent with my nine hundred cousins and relatives, either drinking toasts to JJ or looking through old photo albums, or taking group photos because it's just been so long since we were all together.

Rachel drove in from Fort Worth for the funeral (and to visit her mother), so I was able to escape for a couple of hours and drive around with her. It was amazing. I have no words for how much it meant to me that she came - amazing.

So now we're two weeks into life after JJ. I keep remembering things that were special about him, things that I don't want to forget. So I am going to make a list here, if that's okay, so that I can look back later if my memories start to fade.

- his hair - always perfect, parted on the left, by god!
- his stutter - "D-d-d-d-do you need some m-m-money? W-w-w-well, take this anyway..."
- his cigars - even when he stopped lighting them, there was always a "geegar" in the ashtray on the porch.
- his fingernails - clean and trimmed, I can see his hand resting on the breakfast table next to his coffee cup
- Don Williams - I believe in love, I believe in babies.
- Jack-n-Jill donuts - he was my chauffer before I got my driver's license, and we would go every afternoon for a Dr. Pepper and an apple fritter
- heart shaped boxes on every single Valentine's Day, until I moved away after high school
- how he called every boyfriend any of his girls ever had "Buford"
- his face, beaming with pride at my high school graduation
- how he danced with my grandmother
- how he could sing like a bird and never trip up a single syllable
- how his hands used to shake before he got implants in his brain
- how he flew into a rage when he thought I had been hurt in one of my parents' many fights
- how he hugged me tight at my uncle's funeral thirteen years ago
- how he looked on a riding lawnmower, with his straw hat and a cigar
- the smell of his truck, like tobacco and leather
- how there were always orange slice candies in the glove box, just in case his sugar dropped too low while he was driving
- the way that he would say, " I haven't had my hug yet!" as soon as he would see you
- the family reunion last year, when JJ hadn't met six-week-old Tyler yet (Nene and Mama were in Austin for his birth, but JJ had stayed home) - I tried to intercept him outside an elevator at the hotel because, of course, I hadn't had my hug yet, but he completely blew me off - he had heard that his new great-grandbaby had finally arrived, and he was trucking down the hall faster than I had seen him move in YEARS. It was awesome!
- sitting with him on the couch in May, holding his hand
- sitting with him in the hospital in August, watching the violet blue sky and flipping through TV channels to find him Olympic coverage
- eating salted cantaloupe with him at the dining table when I was still small enough to stand in the chairs without getting into too much trouble
- the way he would say my name, like it was the answer to a question - "BEH-cky!"
- how he looked, sitting in a chair on the porch, enjoying a warm sunset, watching the birds, waving at the neighbors, never too busy to take in a few moments of stillness

Wow. I've gotta reign this in. If I don't stop, this post could stretch on for days. There are just so many things, so many little quirks that made him him, that I want to cling to. There just won't ever be one like him. I'm lucky to have had a JJ.

My Two Cents Re: Norman Gentle

2009-02-27T12:41:00.003-06:00

So I'm an Idol fan. You already know that. I write about it every year. I have clear favorites and clear not-so-favorites. For the most part, I think most of the theatrics and fluff that goes into the production is unfortunate, but I'll put up with it if I have to in order to hear some great singers come out of nowhere. I am withholding comment here on the top 12 contestants until it's all final in a couple more weeks.

But I have to say this - I like Nick Mitchell/Norman Gentle. He has a good voice, he's fearless on stage, and he certainly has people talking. Fans of the show either love him or hate him (and it seems there are far more who fit into the "hate him" category, seeing as he was dismissed by the voters last night). Personally, I looked forward to his performances, and thought that his alter-ego antics were much better than the crap salad that we were fed a couple of years ago by Sanjaya.

I read this today, and thought it summed up my thoughts pretty well:

Mitchell isn't making a mockery out of the competition. I believe 100% that like every other contestant who has graced that stage, he believes that Idol is his best chance at stardom. If he's making a mockery out of anything, it's the self-importance that drags the show down, and the cookie-cutter images of both pop stars in general and Idol contestants specifically, and what's wrong with that?
...
Choosing the next president should be serious. Choosing the next American Idol should not. Very few people get to perform live for 30 million television viewers. It's an exciting and rare opportunity, and if Nick Mitchell wants to, God forbid, have fun with it, why should anyone have a problem with that? He's taking a reality show in the autumn of its years and making it exciting. If anything, he's the hero in this situation-- not the villain.

No, he doesn't have the pipes that some of the contestants do, and for that reason alone, he deserved to be eliminated from the competition when he was. But I am not unhappy about his involvement up to this point. His performances were always entertaining. Yes, he clowned and wore a costume, but under all that he was still singing better than most of his competition, who were too busy taking themselves too seriously and psyching themselves out of decent performances of their own. And to that end, musical comedy acts are on the rise - groups like FOTC, Tenacious D, and The Lonely Island don't seem to be hurting for fans.

Critics who think that Nick is "ruining the show" need to get a grip. It's a talent show. We've all been in one at some point in our lives - this one just happens to be on a much larger scale, but it's still a talent search. And Nick is talented - maybe not in the same way that Danny Gokey is (because that dude can sing!), but that doesn't mean that his talent is less valuable or less marketable to the right audience. In the right hands, he develop into a decent musical comedian or stand up comic. With a little polish, he could easily make a living doing what he's doing.

He didn't try to pull a Sanjaya on the AI audience - Sanjaya was serious. He was actually trying to win with that voice. He played it straight, and that was what made it so bad. On the other hand, Nick went in knowing that there were better voices, and worked with what he had - a decent voice and a willingness to sacrifice himself on the alter of comedy for the sake of being remembered and getting a toe in the door. He was up front about it. He wasn't mocking the show, he was mocking himself while using the show the same way that every other contestant has done, from Kelly to Carrie to Jennifer Hudson. I don't blame him one bit.

Bad Mojo

2009-02-26T11:52:00.003-06:00

So there's this delicious taco joint a few minutes from my workplace, and they make the best chorrizo and egg tacos of all time. If I have time in the morning before work, I love to stop in and grab a couple - the salsa is so hot, I can skip coffee and still be jolted awake for the day. Plus, the restaurant itself is the epitome of the "Keep Austin Weird" movement - it's quirky and kitschy and funky and 100% local. One of my coworkers gets takeout from there when he wants to take a working lunch because it literally takes less than ten minutes to go there, order, and return with piping hot food, and you can't beat that when you are pressed for time.

However. Something that he orders - I think it may be the Mojo sauce for the fish tacos - makes me want - no, NEED - to puke. He's eating it in the office down the hall right now, and it's taking every ounce of self control I can muster to keep from dry heaving the contents of my empty stomach into my desk-side trash can.

I don't know what it is. If I were pinching my nose and eating it myself, it would taste delicious. I KNOW that it's fresh and healthy and great tasting. But the smell, oh god the smell! It's the most horrible thing - I can't even think of an adequate description to relate to you how truly heinous it is. It instantly turns me inside out. My cheeks start to tingle, my mouth starts to water, and I can feel the vomit start to rise. AND I AM NOT A PICKY EATER! Obviously! But one hint of a whiff, and I have stomach cramps. Even later today, the memory of the smell will irritate my gag reflex, I just know it.

I have to leave the office now - it's too much. Peace out.

Breeders

2009-02-25T16:47:00.005-06:00

So ok, my grandfather died, and it was sad, and I might have something to say about that later, but I just got some news that makes me so uncomfortable that I kinda want to throw up all over the place! Dude! My cousins, The Breeders, are breeding again. As of Christmas 2008, there were five babies in my extended family (Tyler being one of them, with only one being older than him). Assuming that all goes well and everyone comes out like they are supposed to, there will be a total of NINE babies at Christmas this year. And that's just counting the ones that have been conceived so far! There's still time left to add to those numbers before the holidays!

Let's do the roll call real quick - Cousin #1 has a two-year-old, a (barely) one year old, and another due in July. Cousin #2 has a twenty-month-old, a six-month-old, and is expecting twins (!) in September. My aunt DeeDee is expecting baby #1 in July, so if you include my little Tylerino, that's NINE GODDAMN BABIES!

I mean, REALLY?!?! Really?

My cousin's wife has spent all but 10 months of the last two and a half years pregnant. She will have FOUR BABIES under three years old at the same time. Her hands seemed to be full enough at Christmas. I can't even imagine! I would lose my effin' marbles. LOSE. My MARBLES!!!!

So yeah, that's all. I can't handle it.

Despair

2009-02-19T09:49:00.001-06:00

He's gone. My heart is broken. No one will ever love me as completely as he did.

Most Definitely Not a Dreadful Bitch

2009-02-18T12:41:00.009-06:00

So today is Molly's birthday. She's twenty-eight today, which makes me an old maid. Here's a picture of her that I totally stole from her facebook profile just now:

Now, apparently, is the time on Sprockets when we dance.

In years past, I have waxed poetic about my sister and all that she means to me, but this year I am pressed for time - I have a bunch of work to crank out before I skate outta here early to get some last minute stuff for tonight's partay - so I'll keep it short.

The last year has been amazing with my sister. She was already a mom at this time last year, but now she is no longer adjusting to life with an infant and has moved into the profoundly more difficult chapter of nurturing the development of a toddler, managing the daily business of enriching his mind and guiding him as he grows into what one can only hope will be a good, kind man someday.

I have to tell you, it's the most amazing thing I have ever seen. The transformation from carefree Phish-head to devoted mother has been nothing less than mind-blowing. Don't get me wrong - the girl is still dangerous on the dance floor and can (usually) hold her own against a bottle of wine or three, and she still tries to squirrel away money to go on four-day camping/concert vacations that may or may not require that she pee outdoors. But that's not where her focus lies anymore.

Her heart is in the moments when the world falls away and it's just her and the Toots. It's in the mornings spent cuddled up under the covers with the Wonder Pets and a sippy cup of milk that's worked its way down next to her knees. It's in the afternoons spent at the playground, wrestling her twin urges to protect her boy while still letting him develop independence and courage. It's in the days spent in the backyard, with her trusty shadow following behind her with his red wagon in tow, ready to help Mommy with whatever landscaping project she wants to tackle today. It's in the evening games of hide-and-seek, followed by tickles and dancing. It's in the constant stream of verbal mumbo-jumbo that she somehow understands, and in the way that she can then guide that babble into a blossoming vocabulary. It's in the care that she takes when folding his laundry or preparing his meals, or in choosing the toys or activities that he would most enjoy. It's in the smile that he reserves only for her, the one that reveals that she is the true object of his returned affection, the sun and the moon and all that is safe and home.

I counted myself lucky to have known her all the years before, and I felt immeasurably fortunate to be able to call her my sister. But now, after witnessing the metamorphosis from sister-of-one to mother-of-one, I realise that I never knew what luck was. This, the opportunity to know her now, too, is what makes me the luck-sweepstakes-winner.

So Happy Birthday, Molly! You're my favorite gal, and I can't wait to spend the next twenty-eight years with you for a best friend!

But Now I'm Found

2009-02-03T22:17:00.006-06:00

So I finally made it all the way through the back episodes of Lost, and aside from being totally hooked and in on what everyone was so gaga about all this time, I just have to say that oh my god, I kind of want to sex Naveen Andrews up. Like, a lot. Like, in a I-have-to-get-really-hot-so-I-can-sex-up-Naveen-Andrews kind of way. So excuse me as I go watch Grindhouse and Bride and Prejudice and The Brave One again. Because HELLO, LOVER!

My Day: A Photo Essay

2009-01-19T09:34:00.005-06:00

So here's how my weekend went:

Today is shaping up to be more of the same. I now am sporting an attractive scab under my nose from all the snotting and sneezing and blowing. Get thee behind me, mountain cedar pollen!

Grand Theft Wallet

2009-01-16T15:42:00.002-06:00

So someone stole my wallet on Wednesday. They got my debit card, my IDs, some cash, all of the photos of the nephew, and the gift cards I received for Christmas (including the high-dollar ones Pops gave me for new tires that I just hadn’t gotten around to using). My purse is still in my possession, which leads me to believe that I either dropped the wallet getting out of the car when I came back to the office from my lunch hour, or someone grabbed it out of my purse when I was away from my desk.

I am almost positive that it was there when I stowed my purse under my desk at 12:30pm. At 4:30pm, when by some stroke of luck, I was inspired to check my bank balance online. I noticed an unfamiliar pending charge from about 3:20pm, and immediately called the bank to dispute the transaction. While making my way through the IVR prompts, I reached for my wallet to retrieve my account number – but it wasn’t there. Sometime within the four hours since I last handled my wallet, it had disappeared.

My card has been cancelled, a claim has been filed with my bank’s fraud department, and a case number has been assigned to me by the police department. The department store’s loss prevention guy has been very cooperative with both me and my bank, retrieving a photo and security footage of the thief using my card and then folding it up and throwing it in the trash on his way out (because after he drained my account of its balance and overdraft protection, his next attempted transaction was declined). I’m not worried about someone trying to open credit in my name, because I can’t even open credit in my name. But I am pissed that I have to replace all of my identification, and I’m pissed about the gift cards, and I am really pissed about the photos. There was an irreplaceable shot of me as a child, and a great shot of Molly and me from about thirteen years ago that I just love. I have never made copies of them, and now they are gone.

It makes me sick to my stomach to think that one of my colleagues could have robbed me, but we don’t get any foot traffic here and I really cannot imagine that it fell out of my purse or that I dropped it getting out of my car. If it had fallen out, I would have noticed the fact that my purse suddenly weighed nothing, and there was so much change in its coin pocket that I am sure I would have heard it hit the ground. Not only that, but I definitely would have noticed that it was gone when I put my purse away, and then I may have even had time to run back out to my car to get it. But I am almost sure that it was there when I stowed my bag at my feet.

I stepped away from my desk for about ten minutes yesterday to do dome filing and chitchatting in another office. That’s the only time I can remember being more than a foot away from my stuff. I guess that’s ample time for someone without scruples to make a grab and dash. I should have been more careful, but it never once crossed my mind that I needed to protect my property from people in my own office.

So now I just have to let it go. It wasn't worth a huge amount - maybe $600 total - so it's not exactly a top priority for the police. But I feel creeped out by it all, like someone has run their dirty fingers all over me - and not in a good way. I'm gonna have to figure out a more secure place to keep my things while at work. Maybe I'll start using a fanny pack to thwart would-be criminals. I'd like to see someone try to take my wallet then.

The Disconnect

2009-01-14T10:51:00.005-06:00

So I am a huge fat cow. None of my clothes fit me. I am afraid to step on a scale to get an accurate total for my current weight because the last time I did, it took all of my self control to not jam my fingers down my throat to induce vomiting. Oh, if only bulimia were an acceptable weight-loss plan.

The thing that’s so frustrating about it all is that I don’t see myself as hella fat as I really am. It’s like I have some weird reverse body dismorphic disorder, wherein I picture myself in my head as being better looking than I really am. I look in the mirror and I don’t hate what I see.

But when photos are taken and I see my tremendous girth in print, it’s like I don’t know who that person is. There’s this disconnect between the person I feel myself to be and the person in the photo. I don’t recognize myself. The photos must be of someone else, because it just doesn’t look like me. I pose for pictures, and then somehow a fat stranger ends up in the shot. And I HATE her. I hate that fat fatty. Her arms are fat, her belly is fat, and her face is fat. She’s all around fat fat fat!

But she’s not me. At least that’s what I tell myself, and it’s easy to get away with that because the image I have in my head is so much cuter. And the smaller, cuter image is what stays with me when I go to lunch and order that chili cheese burger that tastes so delicious. I don’t have enough self-loathing to order the salad instead. Or maybe I figure that the damage has already been done, and since I’m already the heaviest I’ve ever been, it’s not like one meal is gonna make or break me. In the same way that one can’t be a little bit pregnant, I can’t possibly be more the-fattest-me-of-all-time. It’s a state of being without degrees.

But the disconnect is starting to fade, which is good and bad. On one hand, I am starting to see that my health is at stake and if I don’t do something to address the weight, I will be a full-blown diabetic, a fate I fear more than just about anything. Plus, I am never gonna get up the nerve to date again if I don’t lose some pounds and up my cuteness quotient.

On the other hand, though, I hate hating myself. I take drugs to keep from hating myself. I really truly try to maintain as positive a self-image as I can. And realizing that I am too big for my own britches (literally) makes me transfer all the hatred I feel for the fat girl in the photos to myself, because hello? I AM the fat girl in the photos.

So here’s what I have decided. I started blogging to hold myself accountable for my own mental health and to improve my writing. Maybe the same thing will help with this hurdle. I’m gonna try blogging myself into a healthier lifestyle. I am gonna figure out some kind of fitness plan and keep a better eye on what I put in my mouth. I’m going to go to the doctor and get his help with losing weight the right way. I am going to write about it here – not every day, and maybe not even every week, but I am going to hold myself accountable to each of you and to myself to meet the goals that I set.

And I’m gonna post photos of myself here for motivation. Because that’s the only way I can think of to keep myself honest. So (deep breath), here goes (bear in mind that I am not wearing makeup in this shot, and that I hadn't really done my hair):

My Taste in Television

2009-01-13T16:37:00.002-06:00

So someone told me recently that my kindness is only exceeded by my bad taste in television. I take issue with this on several levels, namely: a) my kindness is exceeded by nothing, I am the kindest girl in all of the land, 2) I have great taste in television – have you NOT SEEN Friends, Lost, The Office, Arrested Development, 30 Rock, or True Blood/ Six Feet Under/ Dexter/ anything else on HBO or Showtime?, and c) shut up your face.

I think the naysayer was maybe (probably/definitely) talking about my annual obsessions with American Idol and Big Brother, but you know what? They get to be married and have beautiful children. I get to watch television. And you know what else? You’re not the boss of me. “I’m a grown-ass woman!”

Anyway, though big Brother is still a miserable five months away, season 8 of American Idol is starting tonight. Unfortunately, I will not be watching it live (Jesse’s birthday is today, and we are celebrating the beginning of his thirtieth year), but you can bet your sweet ass that as soon as the nephew is in bed and Molly and Jesse leave for 6th street, I will be playing it back on the DVR. Look forward to the same high caliber analysis in the coming weeks that you have come to expect from me over the years.

The Seinfeld of Posts

2009-01-07T14:15:00.007-06:00

So I have several topics in mind for a post today, but since none of them can actually be stretched into full post format, I figure it's okay to just toss out a list or two, so that my urge to post is satisfied, and you can all get a better feel for how bananas I really am.

Words that are bugging me today:
1. Strap
2. Melange
3. Pork
4. Flounce
5. Blurb
6. Nipple (in the context of plumbing materials - normally, I am the one who giggles at having to enter these into a purchase order, but today the word feels weird when I say it. Nipple.)

People I'd like the chance to meet, provided I am having a good hair day:
1. Claire Danes
2. John Mayer - even if he is a huge man whore, I still luv him.
3. my boss's wife - I have never even laid eyes on her, he almost never talks about her (to me, at least), so I beginning to think she may be mythical

Games I wish I knew how to play:
1. Poker
2. Bridge - though my Granny tries to remedy this every time we visit, it's never as appealing as Scrabble or Mexican Train
3. Football - I mean, I get it in general, and I totally was center on my powder puff team - Go, Daisies! - but I can't understand the plays. What the hell is a Flea Flicker? As far as I'm concerned, there are only like 4 basic plays (throw the ball, run the ball, hand off the ball so someone else can run the ball, kick the ball) that a quarterback has to choose from, and everyone else is just trying like mad to stop the other team from getting in their way. But more than this, beyond being able to identify fancy plays or styles of offense, I wish I was one of those girls who could just hold her own against the dudes in the park. As it is, I am a watcher, not a player.
4. Golf - I gots none of the coordination, hand-eye or otherwise, so I've never even tried to play golf. Plus, there's all that walking involved. Bletch. I'd like to be able to play, though.

Books I am currently in the middle of reading*:
1. New Moon, by Stephenie Meyer (for the second time)
2. Daughter of Fortune, by Isabel Allende
3. Naked, by David Sedaris
4. Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez
5. Word Freak, by Stefan Fatsis

People I have reconnected with via Facebook, so far this week:
1. Mandy
2. Justin**
3. Emily***

Movies I have seen this week:
1. Bolt - this was what I did on New Year's Eve. I went to a movie with Pops.
2. Milk - it was a great movie, but I had a hard time paying attention to anything but the beauty of James Franco.
3. Jumper - on HBO. Worth every penny.
4. Prince Caspian - on demand. Worth every penny.

Movies I am trying to decide between to go see tonight:
1. Rachel Getting Married
2. The Reader
3. Slumdog Millionaire
4. Let the Right One In
5. Twilight (again)
6. that Benjamin Button movie - even though everyone says it's awful

Movies I have no interest in seeing, whatsoever (or at least until they are available on demand):
1. Valkyrie
2. The Spirit
3. The Day the Earth Stood Still
4. Quantum of Solace
5. Marley and Me - (unconfirmed spoiler hidden) I heard that the dog dies, and I don't want to find out if that's true.

And a few numbers:
- Number of family feuds I have been party to, so far this week: 2 (and by "have been party to," I mean, "have been huddled behind Molly, nodding my head and thinking, 'yeah, what she said!'")
- Number of dead baby jokes I can think of, just off the top of my head: 8
- Number of years, to the day, since my sister started dating her now-husband: 10
- Number of chocolate treat varieties currently sitting on my desk: 4
- Number that actually look appetizing to me: 0

*no, really, I am actively reading all of these. There are bookmarks in every one, and I am really into all of them - but the choice I make on any particular day is wholly dependent on the mood I'm in at bedtime.

**have not/probably will not ACTUALLY correspond with this person, but he's a good guy, and we grew up in the same place, and his kids are cute to look at, etc.

***see above

Horrible Joke of the Day

2009-01-06T15:59:00.003-06:00

So I'm not sure why this even came up, but here is a joke that I heard about twenty years ago that is just so awful that it almost guarantees groans and disappointed looks from those who hear it:

Q: What is the best gift for a dead baby?
A: A dead puppy.

Yeah, I told you it's bad...

(Edited to add: Oh, I totally remember now - it was the tub of puppy chow on my desk that my coworker told me I should eat before it gets all moldy and turns into green puppy chow, to which I said, "yuck, is that like for green puppies?" and then I remembered the dead baby jokes - and yes, there are a whole litany of dead baby jokes)

Avoiding Situations and Confrontations

2009-01-05T15:02:00.004-06:00

So I think I figured out why I have been bursting into tears randomly for the last week or so. I am just horrormonal. I woke up at about 5am to find that Aunt Flo had hacked someone to death in my panties*. Fortunately, it was nothing that some Lortab and a mug of hot cocoa couldn't fix, but I did call in sick to work this morning to sleep off the opiates. Now I'm at the office, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and no worse for the wear.

I have had a rough week. I can't go into details here, because certain people would look really bad, and I am too goddamn polite to call people out on the internet, but I can tell you the end result - I am now even more homeless than I was before.

You see, I lived by myself once upon a time. But when left alone, I found it so ridiculously easy to lock myself inside my apartment and not come out for four months that I did just that - much to the detriment of my ability to hold a job, or prevent eviction, or keep my car from being repossessed. That was all back before this blog even existed, back in the pre-meds era of 04-05, but now that I have the help of the glorious pharmaceuticals, I am able to recognise situations that are not healthy for me - namely, living alone - and avoid them at all costs.

So I bunk up with my dad. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement, in that I keep him in groceries and make sure that his toilet gets cleaned on a regular basis, and he keeps me accountable and less likely to die from slitting my own wrists. Win-win. The problem is, Pops has certain - how should I put this? - legal residential restrictions, and he is unable to live in Austin proper until March, when he is no longer, well, restricted (it's not so much that he can't live in Austin as it is that he can't live OUTSIDE of Hays county, just south of Austin). Until then, we have been staying with family, who really have done a lot for us, letting us stay with them for the last year and all. Things have been fine, and as far as I had been concerned, everything would continue to be fine until March, when Pops is able to move into Austin with me, in our own place, closer to work and my sister.

But apparently, unbeknownst to me, I have overstayed my welcome, and have been unknowingly imposing upon certain people, forcing them to take on jobs they never wanted for a year. And now I have to stay at my sister's house at least part time until Pops is ready (i.e. legally allowed) to move. I can't just go out and get a place by myself, because it could literally kill me. So Molly has taken me in (she only has to take in me and my dog, because Pops is still very much allowed to continue living where we've been). Which is fine, whatever, I stay at her house pretty much every weekend anyway because that's prime babysitting time for the couple who make the bulk of their income waiting tables at a fine dining restaurant. But now I am no longer welcome on the weekends at all at the place were I have lived for a year, with no warning (4 days does not constitute a warning, contrary to what certain people may have you believe) or even so much as an explanation for the treatment that I have received.

I have racked my brain trying to remember if the issue that served as a catalyst for this upheaval was ever brought to my attention before this week, and I can honestly say that no, it was never even so much as mentioned in casual conversation. I've tried to figure out if I did anything to deserve being addressed so hatefully or condescendingly, and there's nothing I can think of. I was told that I am good at "avoiding situations and confrontations," as if that somehow explains their reluctance to bring this to my attention before launching into vitriolic emails that ultimately ended in me being kicked out.

My only response was to be as respectful as I could muster and to acquiesce to their wishes, because it's their house and they get to make the rules, but I am still left wondering why this all happened? What did I do? Why wasn't I given any options? How could I have have unwittingly inspired such disrespect from someone I thought cared about me? How can someone be so callous to their own family? I am left feeling totally unsatisfied with the whole thing.

I know that it's all for the best. I have hated having to commute an hour each way everyday, and I am more than ready to get all my belongings out of storage and set up my own home with my own bed and kitchen and television, and this just gets the ball rolling on that even faster than Pops and I had planned. I have kept my mouth shut about most of the issues I have with living there, out of respect for certain people, and now it looks like that is pretty much a wasted effort, so I feel a bit more free to make my opinion known (not that I will, because, you know, I avoid situations and confrontations - also, certain people are married to lovely people who had nothing to do with the situation at hand, and I wouldn't want to disrespect them in any way). And at least now I know where I stand with certain people (though I thought I knew before, too, so maybe I suck at knowing where I stand with people in general?). I am better for knowing. I am a better person, knowing that they don't care for me.

But seriously, next time someone blindsides me with their capacity for cruelty, can they at least do it when I'm not about to start my lady time? This is ridiculous.

*I have to give credit for this gem to my lovely sister. Who knew that postpartum menstruation could produce the motherload (haha, no pun intended) of comedic material? Now you can see why I love her so much.

Wherein the Author Plots Revenge

2008-12-30T01:25:00.002-06:00

So I am still up. I've had a stressful day, and I don't really want to air it all here, but stuff is going on right now that is keeping me up late at night. I was just lying here in my bed, thinking about things and chewing the inside of my lip off, and I dunno, blogging seems a more productive outlet for this nervous energy, yes? Maybe I can finger-puke the details here later, but for now, I just want to state, for the record, that I have the most wonderful, supportive sister and father that anyone could ask for, and it's nice to know that they are in my corner. I couldn't ask for better advocates.

Could the holidays have been any better? I ask you, was there ever a more perfect Christmas? I was able to give all my loved ones (and my liked ones) the exact perfect gifts, and I actually got everything on my Santa list (except the Wii, but that's what birthdays are for, right?), even down to the new tires! I got to bake a metric ton of chocolate chip cookies (you're welcome), and I got to spend time reflecting on the holiday with my family, my most treasured loves. I spent a week at Molly's, and a couple days at Granny's in San Antonio. Even my mom's visit last week seems less insane when viewed in the light of this post-Christmas glow.

I have to tell you about the Chinese Auction, though. My dad's family is huge, and the sheer numbers make gift buying prohibitively expensive, so everyone just brings an Auction gift instead of buying for thirty individuals. Basically, after the prayer and the meal and the first dozen Scrabble face-offs, everyone draws a number. Whoever draws the "1" picks a gift and unwraps it. Then, "2" can either steal that gift from "1", or unwrap another gift. "3" can then choose to steal either gift that has already been opened, or unwrap a third, and so on, until everyone has a gift. The thing is, each gift can only be stolen twice before it is locked down with the third gift-holder, so the only way one can guarantee that they will keep the gift they want is to steal something that has already been stolen once before, thereby locking it down and dashing the hopes of a loved one.

So I was "8" this year. There was some decent stuff up for auction this year, but I totally had my eye on the SceneIt "Friends" Edition DVD game, which was in the possession of my step-cousin, Lindsey, who had stolen it from someone else, probably one of my cousins, The Breeders (seriously, are they trying to have all the babies? Leave some of the babies for the rest of us. Jeez!). When my turn came, Lindsey mentioned that she was not a Friends fan, but her sister-in-law was, and she wanted to give it to her. Not wanting to be the bitch who stole the game from the new girl, I opened another one containing a bookstore gift card (to be fair, I knew what was in the gift, having seen DeeDee wrap it, telling me she bought it with me in mind).

I was happy with my choice for about twenty seconds, though, because "9" was my step-aunt (Lindsey's mom), and she stole the game from her daughter to lock it down for her daughter-in-law, and Lindsey, now without a gift, looked in my direction and STOLE MY GIFT CARD, right after I did her a solid by not stealing from her. BITCH! So then I was without a gift, and not having any interest in anything else that was available (game was locked down, and rules forbid stealing back an item that was stolen from you until the next turn, thereby making the gift card off-limits, too), I opened another gift.

It was The Dark Knight on DVD. Guess how long I held on to that one. My beautiful cousin Amy was "10", and she stole the gift card from Lindsey, who then jumped up and stole the movie from me, leaving me empty-handed again. Now the game and the gift card were locked down, and I couldn't steal back the video, since it had just been stolen from me. Great. So here we go again, me unwrapping another gift.

This time, it was a heated foot massager, and I actually held onto that one for a couple rounds, but Molly's number eventually came up, and she made quick work of taking that one off my hands, leaving me with no gift and no appealing options, for the third time (the video was locked down by a Breeder in one of the preceding rounds), so I resumed my familiar spot in the center of the room to open a FOURTH gift.

I got a bag that Granny purchased in Turkey this fall. Somehow I managed to hold on to it until the very end, and it's lovely and I'll totally use the crap out of it, but seriously? It was the worst Auction of my life. And as for Lindsey, she's SOOO out of the club. Sure, I may forgive, but I'll never forget. Next time, I'm stealing from her and locking that shit down!

Now I feel much better. Maybe I can get some sleep, now that I'm thinking about camel tapestry bags instead of drama. I can just count the camels...

My Christmas: Update!

2008-12-22T16:32:00.003-06:00

So I just have a quick second to post this update, but the greatest thing happened - I didn't get a flatscreen TV for My Christmas. My sister intervened, and I got a new camera instead, and I was completely surprised. It's so nice, and I loveloveLOVE it! I still need to get a decent memory card for it, but I am totally a photo-taking fool. So that's one item from my list, checked off and received... let's see if Molly can put a bug in Santa's ear about the rest of it...

My Christmas

2008-12-19T16:45:00.002-06:00

So my sister and I are having an early Christmas with my mom this year – she is driving to Austin tonight to spend the weekend with us, and she’s bringing along her boyfriend (it seems weird to call a man who is pushing 60 a "boy," in any respect) for the first time, even though they’ve been together since 2004. This is actually the first time since she and my dad divorced/separated that she has come here for Christmas – generally, her stance on the holiday has been that we must either come home or not have Christmas with her at all. Since Molly and I hate going to Abilene, it’s always a huge drag. But now that Tyler is here, we have decided to take advantage of his gravitational pull on the grandmother, and we are totally using him as bait to get out of going home. If you want to see your grandchild, you must come here.

Anyway, the presence of the boyfriend is something my sister has yet to come to terms with. Don’t get me wrong, we both have issues with him, most of which stem from a) the fact that my mom was LIVING WITH HIM within two weeks of splitting with Pops, b) he makes sex jokes at her expense, for our benefit, and c) he’s not totally nice to her. But she’s reasonably happy. He doesn’t hit her, he supports her financially, and everyone else in the family seems to be over the moon for him. I am willing to tolerate him to a degree that Molly is not. If you couldn’t tell, I am the smile-like-everything-is-fine, non-confrontational, peace-maker of the family, and she is the passionate, in-your-face, tell-it-like-it-is sister. This weekend will be a test of her self-control, at best.

All of this is made more difficult by the fact that my mom has decided that this is My Christmas. I am not sure what that means, beyond the fact that she announced to us that she wants to get me a special gift because it’s my “turn”. To which Molly is all, “…”, and I am all, “This is completely unfair, but I will gladly accept the flat-screen TV you want to buy for me.” I feel all selfish and greedy for wanting the TV, when my sister isn’t getting something equally awesome from her (or who knows, she might get something awesome too, and it’s just an elaborate secret, though that doesn’t explain why my mom would go around calling this “Becky’s Christmas”). I don’t feel like I have missed out on anything. My sister has had lots of big things happen in the last few years (graduation, marriage, childbirth) that call for socially-appropriate gift giving, and I haven’t done a whole lot of graduating/getting married/gestating children recently. But I have already been married, and I pretty much scored the mother load at my many bridal showers. And my day will come again, eventually (at which time, by Mama’s logic, Molly will get a huge Christmas gift).

But my mom is determined that I am getting a fancy TV this year from her, and no amount of protesting or eye-rolling will sway her (again, I am totally gonna take the TV. I want the TV badly enough now that my protests have become hollow). She latched onto a conversation we had back in October where I was complaining to her about the grief I caught from my family about wanting to watch the DNC and not really having anywhere to watch it without Pops demanding that the channel be changed, or having to suffer being asked if I was “really gonna vote for that communist.” Sure, I could get my TV out of storage and set it up in my bedroom so I could shut the door and watch what I want in peace, but it’s packed away in the far back reaches of the storage unit, and that wasn’t a feasible option for me when it was 8:55pm and Obama was taking the stage at 9:00. Regardless, the point of the conversation was not “I need a new TV,” it was “I don’t have any space where I can just be at rest, doing what I want when I want.” But she concocted this idea that I need a TV, and she is running with it, full steam ahead.

So, yeah. It’s My Christmas, apparently. Since I’m such a nice person, and since it’s the holidays, I will allow all of you to receive gifts, as well, but know that they will not be as awesome as my flat-screen. It's okay, though - wait until I find a man who is willing to marry me and impregnate me, because then your gifts will ROCK the Kasbah.

Wish List

2008-12-10T14:17:00.002-06:00

Dear Santa,

So here's the deal. I love the holidays, and I am super pumped about them this year, and I am having a great time getting gifts for everyone and making plans for the extended weekend with the family and all, but there's one glitch- I don't really know what I want for myself this Christmas (I know, I know - "first-world problem"). There are a few things I would like to get, but none of them are really major things that I wouldn't get for myself. To be perfectly honest, thinking of an answer when people ask me what I want - that's possibly my least favorite thing about the holidays. I can never nail it down. I either think that the items on my list are too extravagant to expect from a loved one, or too mundane to warrant exalted holiday-gift-status. As a result, I shrug and offer no suggestions, a response that is as frustrating to give as it is to receive, believe me.

Nevertheless, here are the small things that I need/want that require all my willpower to resist just getting for myself:

- fingerless knitted gloves with pop-top mitten flaps
- a yummy scarf
- laser hair removal
- maybe some perfume
- maybe a proper camera that's not in my phone
- a Chuckles calendar
- this bird necklace
- new panties (watch this be the only thing I actually get from this list)
- the gift of shopping
- new tires (because nothing says "Happy Birthday, Jesus" like steel-belted radials)
- Wii (because I can actually hit the ball in Wii tennis, whereas in actual tennis, I'm a flailing klutz) (also, because it's fun to say - Wheeeee!)

You know what? I guess I do want stuff for myself this year. I didn't realize it until just now when I made out this list for you, but I kinda got on a roll, thinking about the fun stuff that could possibly be waiting for me on Christmas morning. Granted, none of these things can compare with the Brooke Shields beauty center of 1982, the Barbie hot tub of 1984, the Cabbage Patch twins of 1986, or the dual-cassette CD player of 1990, but I think a year of seeing Chuck on my wall might come close.

Also, I hope you like chocolate chip cookies, because the factory is scheduled to start production this weekend, and we only make the one kind. This ain't Mrs. Field's.

Love,
Becky

Why I Broke Up with Food

2008-12-04T17:27:00.004-06:00

So I had a lovely holiday weekend. I got off work early on Wednesday (like, psycho early, at 10am!) and spent the day helping my sister prepare to receive houseguests in her new home. We cleaned and made pies and chopped veggies and toddler-wrangled until my mother and grandmother arrived from Abilene. It was nice and low-key, as any proper night-before-a-holiday should be.

The next day we cooked up an excellent feast of no fewer than 15 dishes, and I might be overreacting, but I got kind of pissed when my mom kept going on and on about how wonderful the meal was and how she was so “proud” of us. Why can’t I just take the compliment? She meant it sincerely, and that should be enough. Maybe it’s because my sister and I have been making this same holiday meal for the last decade, without variation. This is just the first time my mom has bothered to show up and enjoy it with us. It WAS super delicious, and the cranberries turned out better than they ever have, and the turkey was moist and yummy, but geez, it’s not like we’re novices. She did the same thing when we showed up to my cousin’s bridal shower a few years ago bearing gifts, as if we are complete idiots with no concept of proper etiquette. “Oh, you brought gifts! Thank GOD!” Shoot me in the face, please.

The rest of the weekend was basically spent overeating and getting shafted by the BCS (I am not going to launch into THAT bitch-fest here, but I will say that it is marginally easier to stomach OU going to the Big XII championship game than it would have been if Tech had gone. Can you imagine? Tortilla-throwing in Kansas City? Classy!). I finished a holiday project that took me eight long months to complete, and I helped my aunt decorate for Christmas.

And then Monday night happened.

I was poisoned. By tamales. Tasty, seemingly untainted (but clearly tainted) tamales. I was the victim of a food-borne attack.

All the loving care and attention that I have paid to food over the years was betrayed. Food lured me in with its delicious aroma and texture, and oh gee-hovah the taste, and then it laid in wait. It lurked for more than a day, gathering reinforcements from its homeland (Mexican casserole that was initially delicious on Monday night). Then, without warning or welcome, food took my heart and threw it on the ground and stomped on it. And then it grabbed my stomach and emptied all of its contents out of my mouth. And then it kept trying to empty that which was already empty on a regular two-hour rotation for the next ten hours or so. And then it left me for dead, in a feverish, dehydrated, sweaty mound on my bed for the remainder of Tuesday.

I vaguely remember waking in two-to three-hour intervals to look around frantically for a moment, wipe the drool off my face, and kick off/pull up the comforter for temperature control. I dunno, I looked in a mirror at one point and I seem to recall thinking a bomb had gone off on my face and head (note: my normally curly-but-tamable hair expands during my sleep - ask anyone who knows me - I wake up with the Big Texas Hair). Pretty...

I woke up Wednesday morning with a headache and overall soreness from all the retching and horking up my guts, and all, but for the most part, I survived. So did my sister and brother-in-law, who were apparently collateral damages in food’s attack on me (they happened to start puking at the same time as me, in a totally different zip code, and they were kind enough to do the math and figure out that the tamales were the only things that we ate that no one else shared, keeping it contained between the three of us). Sadly, our taste for tamales didn't make it. We award it a gold star as a combat casualty, but since we also hold it responsible for the whole damn thing to begin with, it's not like we are gonna write any songs about it. In fact, we have sworn off food altogether, and will never engage in any of that nasty business again. I’ll keep you posted on how all that works out.

How to Waste a Work Day

2008-11-21T16:16:00.003-06:00

So I can’t get a flip flopping thing done today. I am going to visit my best-good friend in Fort Worth this weekend, and all I can think about is how much fun we are going to have. I am sitting here, counting the hours and the minutes until I get off work, so I can get in my car and tear ass in a northerly direction. My work has suffered, I am not gonna lie. I have spent the greater part of the day reading blogs and watching puppy cam (thanks, Teej). I also trimmed my nails and cleaned out my desk. There is actual work that I should be doing, mind you, but I am good for nothing today.

Here are some of the things that have been filling my head today:
- Shiba Inu puppies – hello? Have you not seen how cute they are?
- Santa’s reindeer – I cannot defend this one. A solid half-hour of time was spent crawling on the internet, learning that most artist renderings actually depict female caribou. Also, the names Donder and Blitzen mean “thunder and lightning” in Dutch. And Rudolph is allegedly the son of Donder. No word on the identity of the mother, though – talk about patriarchy.
- Visions of going kung-fu on some of my coworkers – I am the dispatcher for a plumbing/commercial kitchen repair company, and some of the technicians are unsavory on their best days. For some of them, today is not their best day. I get that it’s Friday, and the holidays are a week away, and I don’t really want to work, either (see: this whole post), but you can’t just ignore the schedule I have set up for you after carefully considering our customers’ time and the level of urgency their issues carry. Why even have a dispatcher, if the techs can just blatantly disregard all the work that I have done – in an effort to make their jobs easier, and keep them busy the whole day so that they will get a paycheck, you should be happy that you even have a job you redneck whack job – and do whatever they want instead, or maybe not even show up to work at all?
- My nephew – holy hot damn, he’s so wonderful. I haven’t had a Tyler-update here in a while because I started to feel like a broken record, always going on Kathy Lee-style about him, but that’s not to say that I haven’t been spending tons of time with him. He’s just so sweet. But he’s also a huge turd. Last night, he insisted on throwing cupfuls of bathwater on me while I tried to shampoo him up, and then got pissed at me when I took the cup away after telling him “No! No throwing water!” like eight hundred times. He also would have none of my help once he realized that Molly was actually there while I was tending to him – he only wanted her. See, I’m just second-string.
- My sister – she just bought her first home, and the move-in process is about to make her lose her mind. She planned and organized and packed the old place within about an inch of her life, and everything is still a huge, chaotic mess. She has learned that it is almost impossible to pack, unpack, or move anything with a curious toddler underfoot, grabbing nails, box-cutters, tape dispensers, etc. She pretty much can’t get anything done without another person there to act as a kid-wrangler. So the daytime work hours are a wash, and she called me at 4:17 pm yesterday demanding to know where I was, only to groan at the realization that I still had 43 minutes of work left. But they should have everything at least IN the new place by Sunday. Sadly*, I will be out of town until that time.
- My sweet nephew, part deux – The move has him in a state. There’s too much going on for him to bother with such trifles like meals and naps, until the situation has reached emergency levels, at which point he has a two-hour meltdown. This is not normal for him – he’s generally happy and affectionate. Last night was his first night in his new room at the new house. But none of his furniture has made the move, so we put him to bed in his portable playpen/crib, in a strange dark room, all alone. Needless to say, he was terrified. Since I was the designated kid-wrangler, I waited a few minutes to see if he would settle down on his own (poor baby was exhausted), but no, he was fully screaming by the time I gave in. I picked him up, held him close and rocked him, and he immediately melted into my neck, no longer yowling in desperation, but still giving a little post-cry gasp every few seconds to remind me that he had been in the throes of despair and could easily return. After about an hour of rocking and rubbing his little back and softly singing Simon and Garfunkel, he passed out cold. And then I snuffled his rosy little cheeks off.

I realize I failed to mention anything related to Twilight or the movie of the same name that opens today, but that's only because I can't form a coherant thought due to my piddle-on-the-floor excitement. Pretend that I said all the stuff that there is to say on the subject, and that you were impressed with my eloquence.

*Not sad at all

Seriously, Don't Tell Me I'm Too Sensitive

2008-11-17T13:54:00.004-06:00

So I saw this quiz being featured over at this other site, and I took it, and holy crap, I feel a little bit exposed right now, because in two questions, they were able to peg me, pretty much exactly. The following is my result, straight out copy-pasted, no editing.

Your result for Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz ...
You Are an Ingrid!

You are an Ingrid -- "I am unique"

Ingrids have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.

How to Get Along with Me
* Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.
* Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself.
* Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.
* Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.
* Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I Like About Being an Ingrid
* my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level
* my ability to establish warm connections with people
* admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life
* my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor
* being unique and being seen as unique by others
* having aesthetic sensibilities
* being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

What's Hard About Being an Ingrid
* experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair
* feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved
* feeling guilty when I disappoint people
* feeling hurt or attacked when someone misunderstands me
* expecting too much from myself and life
* fearing being abandoned
* obsessing over resentments
* longing for what I don't have

Ingrids as Children Often
* have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games
* are very sensitive
* feel that they don't fit in
* believe they are missing something that other people have
* attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc.
* become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood
* feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce)

Ingrids as Parents
* help their children become who they really are
* support their children's creativity and originality
* are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings
* are sometimes overly critical or overly protective
* are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

I wish I had something more substantive to post. Ho-hum, blah blee, I got nothin.

Wherein the Author Finally Let the Tears of Joy Stream Down Her Cheeks

2008-11-05T10:42:00.004-06:00

So I spent the better part of Tuesday breaking randomly into tears. Some people volunteered, some knocked on doors, some manned the phones, but I struggled to hold my shit together. That was enough for me. Too. Much. Emotion.

I didn't originally intend to post anything election related, because it's all pretty much been said by the rest of the Internet, and also because I am still not convinced that I haven't dreamt the past three days. Sure, the polls and pundits were predicting an Obama win, but after the last two election cycles, I wasn't about to take their word for it. Couple that with the total shock that the networks (Fox News included) were able to call the election the minute the polls closed on the west coast, without leaving us in limbo into the wee hours, as per usual. I'm left in shock, thinking, "Can it really be over? The eight years of Bush? The years of the world hating us because of hanging chads in Florida?"

And then there's the part about being in Texas, which normally is a wonderful thing - I couldn't live anywhere else (I tried) - but, red state much? Actually, Austin and the other major cities aren't that bad - there are Real Live Black People in the city, along with libraries and universities and museums and things that make a person less retarded. It's just the rest of the state that is bat shit crazy (and by "rest of the state," I mean "my family members who do not live in Austin"). All of the major cities went to Obama (as well as most of the counties along the border), but out in the sticks? McCain all the way. My hometown went 72% for McCain. And Ochiltree County (up in the panhandle next to Oklahoma) gave him 92% of their vote. 92-goddamn-percent. And these are adults we are talking about. 9 out of 10 adults in that county thought that McCain was a better choice than Obama. I can't even wrap my brain around that.

But while I am a bit floored by the extreme of the support McCain was able to maintain here - without really having to do any campaigning (again, bananas!) - it's not all that surprising. I never expected Obama to take Texas. No one did. I expected Austin and the border to go to the democrats, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that Dallas, Houston and San Antonio joined us as blue oases in an otherwise red wasteland. The point is, it's expected - Austin is full of wack-o liberals, and the rest of Texas is made up of God-fearing gun-toters. And that's fine.

Because there's Pennsylvania. And Ohio. And New York. And Illinois. And California. And Washington. And, bless your little hearts, Florida. Despite what many people here think, Texas is not a nation unto itself. And I could not have appreciated that any more than I did on Tuesday.

I spent most of the day pulling my hair out, not even having the task of actually voting available as a distraction (I hit the polls on the 21st, a full two weeks before election day, if for no other reason than to give the big eff-you to Pops for the hours of O'Reilly Factor abuse he has inflicted on me). When I wasn't pacing and biting my nails, I was welling up with pride and appreciation for every person who voted. I cried at lunch, which freaked out my sister a little (she wasn't worried a bit). I cried at Ben & Jerry's after work, which freaked out my coworker a little (he was worried, but not quite as emotional). And I cried again that night every time another state was called for Obama. Molly and I watched the returns from her couch, quietly mumbling the occasional "Oh, my gosh," or "He's really gonna win," just to remind ourselves that this was actually happening.

By the time he took the stage, I had welled up no fewer than a dozen times. By the time he finished speaking, we were both in tears. Our President-elect (how great to type that out, and be talking about Obama) has some serious oratory skills. I mean, I am pretty much in total agreement with his policies, but even if I wasn't, I don't know that I could resist his charisma. It's like Lincoln, but less history-ish. More contemporary. And less Republican. And hopefully, less assassinate-able.

And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope. - Barack Obama