Lyings and tirades and fears, oh my!

no trip to Massachusetts

2008-07-22T07:41:00.000-07:00

too many expensive and time-consuming things happening at once

1. Belly needs to have part of that damn dew claw removed, which means sedation or anesthesia, which means recovery time and probably antibiotics
2. my car needs front brake pads, which will be a couple hundred $$$
3. number 1 will also cost a few $$$
4. my damn finger makes things harder all around

I'm carrying a lot of guilt about this decision--letting people down, etc--but when I boil it all down, it's really not about the $$$ but about making sure my baby girl is safe and happy. I just can't leave her.

That Becky, she rocks

2008-07-19T08:29:00.000-07:00

Here is the high-larious account of the breaking of my finger. One thing she didn't note is that the REASON I didn't go to the dr. for two weeks was that everyone kept telling me it was JUST A JAMMED FIBGER and I'd be fine. Um, yeah, remind me of that as I'm trying unsuccessfully to clasp my own bra strap. Sigh.

hard to type; story to follow

2008-07-18T15:53:00.000-07:00

Meanwhile, look at me and the Booda with our front left appendages all bandaged up. We're Stumpy Jo and Gimpy too. Typing with one hand...that damn book's gonna take a bit....

George W. Bush is toast

2008-07-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

Or maybe kibble.

Here's a real conversation that S. and I had this morning.

Me: Honey, did you see George Bush in Wrigley's bowl this morning?

He: No.

Me: Where was George Bush when you got up?

He: In bed with us.

Good thing I captured Wrigley with George Bush in her food bowl. Otherwise Daddy never would've believed she'd been trying to eat him.

See, here's the thing. Wrigley's not allowed to have stuffed toys because she immediately decapitates them. But last night she brought me Annabelle's new stuffed lion and she looked so pathetic that I started looking around for something I could give her instead. Belly never plays with George Bush, so I gave Wrigley that. She was thrilled. She immediately started gnawing on him, running around the house flinging him around, bringing him outside and then back in again.

When I told Wonka about this this morning, she asked if Wiggles had decapitated him.

Me: Nope, but one of his legs is hanging on by a thread.

And those legs are wearing red cowboy boots. Deee-licious.

happy happy birthday to my girl

2008-07-14T13:30:00.000-07:00

Happy happy birthday to Annabelle Blue Butler.

My baby girl is seven years old today. Last year at this time she was the youngest of three dogs, and this year she's the older of two. She's adjusting to this role. I didn't say she's adjusting nicely, just that she's adjusting.

This next photo was taken right before a walk. When I put my socks and sneakers on, Belly runs down to the door and sits like a good girl, waiting for me and/or S. to come on already and take her for a walk.

She makes me so happy every single day. For her birthday celebration, there will be pupcorn, ice cream, and swimming (not in that order).

I have to admit that this year's birthday number hurts a bit. She's no longer my spring chicken. She's seven. Isn't that officially a senior? My heart hurts just thinking about my life without this beautiful beast. So I won't. Instead, I'll love on her and take her swim-swim-swimmin'.

Nessie lives

2008-07-10T14:47:00.000-07:00

This is from last week's swim and I just love how Belly looks like the Loch Ness monster rising from the depths. Last night we took them swim-swim-swimmin' again, and Belly actually wanted to chase the ball in the water. We'd brought the ball for Wrigley because on land, Belly couldn't care less about the damn ball. That's child's play, she says. But in the water, suddenly it's something to chase.

Their swimming last night made my heart hurt, they were so damn cute. Two little black heads, swimmin' side by side, workin', workin' so hard to get to the ball. When Wrigley'd bring the ball back to us on land, Nessie stayed in the water pretty much looking like she does in the picture here, and when we'd tell Wrigley to sit before we threw the ball, Belly sat in the water.

They kill me, these girls.

independent of linoleum

2008-07-07T15:20:00.000-07:00

How we spent our July 4th weekend: freeing ourselves of the world's ugliest linoleum floor:

And trading it in for a vinyl tile floor, though if I hadn't told you this was vinyl, you might very well have believed it was ceramic. It looks that good.

We installed it ourselves. Some of the lines are a bit off, but that just makes it more human. We briefly considered giving up our day jobs and going into the floor installation business.

This last photo is mostly for Hillary, who was so proud of her handiwork on the vents last summer when we (mostly she) installed the laminate flooring in the living and dining rooms. Also be sure to note my brown toenail polish. Two separate people told me this weekend that I look so very Goth. heh.

my loldog

2008-07-02T15:51:00.001-07:00

moar funny pictures

swim-swim-swimmin'

2008-07-02T06:00:00.001-07:00

Here's a video of the girls swimmin' at White Oak Park yesterday evening. This was Wrigley's second big-girl swim. Her first was last week, and I didn't have my camera with me. Is this the best kind of new media, or what?

Note that the video ends quite abrubtly as Annabelle realizes she can make a dash for it and runs off after a bunny. She's almost 7, but she's still a stinker.

the gecko finally got me

2008-06-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

Fifteen minutes, people. It can save you 15% or more on car insurance.

Here's the thing. I've been watching a lot of baseball lately, as devoted readers know. The sheer number of car insurance commercials during baseball games has finally gotten to me. Why am I paying so much for car insurance, I finally found myself asking. Never mind the question of why so many car insurance commercials air during ball games. The Viagra commercials make sense in a way that the insurance ones don't necessarily.

Anyway, I saved more than $400 by switching to Geico. Perhaps I should be getting paid to say this. But shit, I think I'll buy myself an ice cream cone.

late start

2008-06-26T05:49:00.001-07:00

While watching the Cubs lose to the Orioles on Tuesday night:

Me: Honey, I want to be a big league baseball player.

He: You don't hear much about 35-year-old women breaking into the big leagues.

Me: Why not? It's not faaaaaaaaaair.

Pause.

Me: Well, what about 36-year-old women?

He agreed that, yes, I'll have a much better chance in October.

your Wednesday dose of cuteness

2008-06-25T14:12:00.000-07:00

Here's Wrigley and Kramer, Julie's dog, when Julie was in Italy. Julie's dogsitter, our friend Marie, brought Kramey and Buddy (who's camera shy) over for a visit while Julie & Rob were gone. I sent Julie this photo while she was in Italy because I know how much she was missing her boy.

And please note the look on Wrigley's face. I'm pretty cute, aren't I, Kramey?

note to self on teaching summer classes

2008-06-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

Amy tired.

Amy vewwwy vewwwy tired.

Don't get me wrong. I love the students in my class. We're having a lot of fun together, and they're helping me think in different ways about some things. And it's keeping my mind active, keeping me getting up in the mornings. And when the Cubbies are winning, I can celebrate with them. heh.

But here's the thing about this summer class: it's every. single. day. There's not enough time in between meetings to digest and synthesize information. I feel like I'm pelting them with new terms and concepts every day.

Plus I haven't had time to read David Sedaris's new book. Whine whine whine.

Garage sale this Saturday. Be there. Stuff galore.

I look at Sweet Lou so differently now

2008-06-23T06:01:00.000-07:00

Oh. My. God. Those Chicago-area Chevy commercials featuring Lou Piniella and Ozzie Guillen jumping rope and playing chess and jumping on a trampoline together kill me. I wish I had taped one because I can't find it online. The one where they're rapping together is online, but it's not as good as seeing these two jumping rope together, Lou with his hands in his back pockets. Lou kicking the dirt after a move in their chess game--it's too much.

Makes me like Lou so so much because I love to think about the taping of these commercials. Hell, I love to think about his agreeing to do the commercials in the first place. And over this incredibly beautiful winning weekend, we actually saw Lou smile a few times. I think it's because of the jumping rope. It'll make anyone smile.

Kills me, I tell you. Kills me.

Damn, them Cubbies are good.

what to do when you're sick of yourself

2008-06-12T08:05:00.000-07:00

Be happy that you're teaching a summer course because it will get you out of your own head for a little while.

Tell everyone who will listen how sick you are of chapter 3. It's all so obvious and, at this point, pretty much old news. Really, how much more gift economy explanation can you take? Duh.

Duh. Duh. Duh.

I've officially hit that point in my writing process. Where everything is well, duh. Even crackheads know this.

This point always happens. Which makes me wonder, why don't we have that as part of the "official" writing process in comp? Prewrite. Write. Realize how damn obvious it all is. Despair a little while. Drive your friends nuts. Revise.

How is it that I can teach the same concepts every semester and yet when it comes to explaining in writing something that is just so damn obvious to me, I want to just go, duh? Maybe because with new students each semester it's never really the same teaching, but with writing, it's the same damn concepts waiting for me. There's no immediate audience feedback.

Will I ever finish chapter 3? Duh.

why I love the Cubs so much

2008-06-11T12:29:00.000-07:00

One, it's fun to watch them win. I feel like I somehow had a part in their winning, what with all my cheering (and sometimes swearing) at the TV.

S. is a bit worried that my love for the Cubbies is getting out of hand. For instance, on Friday night they weren't on until 9:40, and I was moping around the house whining about not wanting to wait any longer. I wanted my Cubbies NOW!

See, many of you might not know this about me, but I'm an all-or-nothing kinda girl. And what the Cubbies allow me to do, number two, is focus completely on them and--drum roll, please--not think about work or what I should be doing.

Three, I have a crush on, in no particular order, Ryan Dempster, Aramis Ramirez, and Mark DeRosa. And now that Geovany Soto has shaved his face, I realize that he's quite a cutie, too. S. finally admitted last night that he has a man-crush on Ryan Theriot. Next time we go up to Wrigley, he's gonna get himself a Theriot shirt. I wear my DeRosa shirt with pride.

One thing I would like to do for the Cubs is send them a team razor. The FACIAL HAIR on some of these guys is enough to make me fall out of my couch. Kerry Wood, PLEASE do something about that wild buffalo growing on your chin, and Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick, is Scott Eyre planning to NAME the cat on his chin? And Reed Johnson, you highlight-reel-center-fielder, you, just go all the way and do one more swipe with the razor. Your team will thank you for it.

I've never experienced this kind of team love before. I kinda like it, peeps.

I'm still here

2008-06-09T08:49:00.000-07:00

Remember the days when my going more than two days without blogging made me nervous? Like I had so much to report that I'd never get through it?

Them's were the days.

Now I go almost two weeks and I still wonder if I have anything to say.

Perhaps I've become more of an internal processer. I process things before I get a chance to sit and blog them, so by the time I have a chance to blog, there's nothing left to say.

My blog for the year 2008 will probably be summarized as: I'm still here. Not dead yet.

I completely missed the anniversary of my adopting Annabelle on May 30. Six years. But that was because S. and I were on our way to North Carolina for his dad's memorial service. S. gave a beautiful eulogy, lots of people got up and talked about what a terrific person Gerry was, and the service ended with Gerry & Janet's 14-year-old grandson singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Not a dry eye in the house. I was tempted to get up there and say something because I really did love S.'s dad and I actually feel sad to have only known him for a year and a half. But I knew I wouldn't be able to be even mildly coherent.

I've been watching the Cubs faithfully and boy, that takes up a lot of time. So I haven't been reading much, but on the drive back to Illinois, S. and I listened to the audio version of David Sheff's Beautiful Boy about his son's meth addiction. Fascinating stuff. It just blows my mind the stuff that meth'll do to a person, and I want to know more. I can see that easily becoming a mild obsession...I've already ordered a copy of Nic Sheff's Tweak.

S. and I installed a vinyl tile floor this weekend, with grout and everything. It looks fantastic. We're gonna do it in the kitchen, too, but we wanted to try a small space first: basement hallway, where if it turned out badly, nobody'd really notice.

And I'm writing. Some days it's torture, but I'm somehow getting through it.

stops and starts

2008-05-28T05:59:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow afternoon, once S. gets home from work, we take off once again for North Carolina. This time we're driving. Flying has just become too much of a nightmare. Though driving all the way to NC comes with its own brand of stress, at least we control the stress. And we get to stop to pee whenever we like.

S. and I have never taken a road trip of this length together. We've driven to Chicago and back many times, but this summer we're doing this trip and then we're driving to Massachusetts at the end of July. In my cute little Honda Civic. It's cute, but it's not exactly roomy.

In other unrelated news, we watched Rendition the other night. A few weeks ago, I updated my Facebook status with something like "Amy and S. watched The Savages last night and she dares anyone to name a more depressing movie." Well, folks, I found one. It's called Rendition. Slit-your-wrists depressing.

I'm not so good at watching movies without pausing 100 times. The pause button and the DVR were made for me. I guess I'm a little bit ADD. After I'd paused it four times during the first twenty minutes of Rendition, S. was getting really frustrated with me. At one point, I was saying something over the movie and he couldn't hear, so I paused it. He looks at me: what? Me: I paused it because you couldn't hear what I was saying. He: No, I couldn't hear the movie.

Then last night we took the girls out for their evening walk. Fifty feet from the house, I had to hand Annabelle over to S. because I'd tied my shoe too tight. I tied it, took her back, and realized once again that it was still too tight. So I stopped to tie it again and he went ahead with the girls. He: We haven't made it a block and you've stopped twice. It's like watching a movie with you.

we were REALLY hungry

2008-05-27T14:28:00.000-07:00

HOW hungry were we?

SO HUNGRY we each had a monstrous hamburger and then we fell over dead.

Ya gotta love how my eyebrows make me look like a mad scientist who's just discovered that this hamburger thing has to be eaten before WE ALL BLOW UP.

It was deee-licious.

entertainment

2008-05-23T05:34:00.000-07:00

What's better than watching a dog chase her own tail?

The look she gives you when she pauses, as if to say, "you have no idea what you're missing."

one more thing

2008-05-14T08:21:00.000-07:00

About my need to work: this makes me feel better.

"The passage into mystery always refreshes. If, when we work, we can look once a day upon the face of mystery, then our labor satisfies. We are lightened when our gifts rise from pools we cannot fathom."
Lewis Hyde, The Gift (25)

wee epiphany

2008-05-14T06:15:00.000-07:00

I like working. It makes me happy to feel like I've gotten stuff done. It's part of who I am. Talking with S. last night, I realized that I feel better when I feel like I've accomplished something for the day. Then I can relax and not have that nagging little voice tapping me on the shoulder while I try to read.

Plus, I like what I'm working on. This isn't justification for working too much (how that sentence itself sounds like justification). It's coming to terms with what makes me feel good.

And, from the department of "what does this have to do with anything," I give you this conversation between S. and me a few weeks ago.

We were watching a History Channel one-hour segment on the Unabomber. S. loves true crime stuff, and I had seen the Unabomber's brother speak at ISU my first year here, and it got me thinking about the role of writing in his being outed. Anyway, there was this:

Me: Why's he called the Unabomber, anyway?

S. Because he's a bomber and there's only one of him.

LOVE IT.

Actually, he's called the Unabomber because his first targets were at UNiversities and Airlines, so they took those first few letters and called him the UNAbomber. Not very original. Or creative, but there it is.

on that little nagging voice in my head

2008-05-13T09:09:00.000-07:00

Finished all the loose ends associated with grading yesterday. I am officially done for the summer and, with the exception of a diss proposal defense on Thursday, have a few weeks before I begin teaching my summer course. And those few weeks I should be using to a) rejuvenate; b) write; c) sleep in.

But here's the thing. Last night I was on the couch reading a memoir, S. was at the table studying for another insurance exam, the puppies had been walked and fed, and the Cubbies were coming on in an hour. All was well. Except every few pages or so, I'd stop reading because of this nagging voice in my head telling me that there was something I should be doing, some kind of work that needs to get done. It's a real bummer.

Because here's the other thing. I'm doing very well with my writing and my publications and my teaching, so we can't really say that it's tenure I'm worried about. I've got three articles in CE, one in JAC, a co-edited book, a chapter in another co-edited book, and much more in the works. My book--the real one this time, after many false starts--is coming along nicely.

I'm 35 years old. I've got a terrific job, a terrific partner, two terrific dogs, and I should be able to sit back and enjoy some of it without this nagging voice in my head telling me I'm not doing enough.

Like today, for instance. I took the day off and there's some guilt there. I want to just hang around the house and read, take the girls for a walk, drink my coffee, and chill. And wait for the Cubbies to come on at 7. Perhaps this is all a result of defining myself for so long by the work I do. When I'm finally able to relax about the work, I don't know who I am. So there's the nagging.

On Friday we're going up to Chicago for a Cubs game and we're staying overnight with S.'s cousins. Then on Sunday Jen & Michael & little miss Nola are stopping by on their way through to Houston. That'll be great and I'll be able to have fun because it's stuff I've been planning. But just having an entire day in front of me with no work to do. It's hard.

It's called living my life. I wish I had the confidence to just shut that little voice off and tell myself instead that what I'm doing is more than enough. I won't be on my deathbed wishing I'd written just one more article. Ugh.

dressed up for a good cause

2008-05-12T06:04:00.001-07:00

On Saturday we got up butt-ugly early to drive to Peoria to participate in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. We decided that if we were gonna walk 5K, so were these girls. On Friday night we bought pink fabric and hot pink ribbon to signify that they, too, would race for a cure.

There was a teeny-weeny part of me that was a little bit worried about how Annabelle would do with the huge crowd. But my god, these girls were both SO GOOD. Whenever someone wanted to pet Wrigley, she'd sit like a good girl. And Annabelle let people pet her and even leaned in on a few choice people.

Lots of people took pics of these girls, and the crowd got a good laugh when Belly found the only possible puddle on the entire walk and plopped her belly down in it.

S. had been wondering if perhaps this year's t-shirt would be a bit more gender-neutral than last year's, and, well, nope. But he wore his shirt with pride all the same. His mom died of breast cancer, so we walked for her and for our dear friend Nan, a breast cancer survivor.

What better way to spend a Saturday morning in May?

cupcakes, part II

2008-05-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

My colleagues/friends Cheryl, Katherine, and I have a routine on Tuesdays after we eat lunch together: we eat cookies. Yummers. This week we were really full from the pizza, and we skipped going to the Garlic Press because it was in the opposite direction. But when we passed the new Medici bakery, Cheryl let out a little whine and pointed to the door, so we went in.

The first thing that caught our eyes was a row of BEAUTIFUL cupcakes decorated to look like sunflowers. The yellow frosting was expertly applied to look like leaves, and there were tiny chocolate chips in the middle made to look like the brown center of a sunflower. Have I mentioned that they were beautiful? I wish I'd taken a picture of them.

Me, to the person behind the counter: Are they muffins or cupcakes?

She: They're chocolate cupcakes.

We three, collectively: Yummmmm.

We decided to share one because they were HUGE and, well, they were three bucks a piece. Cheryl treated.

We walked back to school gawking at it in its to-go container. I kept saying how I wanted to just stick my finger in that frosting and do a big swish across the top. I restrained myself until we got back to our offices. Katherine opened the container and I stuck my finger in. The frosting was hard. I couldn't do a big swish. I pushed at it and some frosting stuck to my finger. I put it to my lips. "It tastes like...nothing."

Cheryl: WHAT?

She takes a swish and agrees that it tastes like nothing.

I run down the hall for a potty break (as I am wont to do at the most interesting times) and when I come back, Katherine has taken a bite out of it. "It practically broke my fork," she said.

It was not a chocolate cupcake. It was a burnt, hard yellow cupcake and did I mention that it was hard. I lifted the entire thing with my fork and no crumbs fell on my desk.

We were pissed. Katherine takes a bite of the chocolate chips in the middle and declares that they are not semi-sweet; they're BAKING chocolate.

We begin imagining possible reasons why it could be so bad. The bakers had to practice making sunflowers for some competition they'd be entering. Or they had LOTS of yellow "frosting" left and they had to do something with it, so why not put it on the burnt yellow cupcakes?

In the midst of all this, I say, "If my honey had bought something that he thought was a chocolate cupcake and he got this, he would've had a little breakdown."

Cheryl decides she's gonna call them and tell them how horrible it was. We would've returned it, but we all had things we had to do soon and it was a little bit of a walk. So Cheryl calls and says, "I was just in there and I bought one of those sunflower cupcakes and I wanted to tell you that it's....terrible." I'm in the background, reminding her to tell them it's hard as a rock and don't forget about the chocolate chips and the frosting had no taste. I'm helpful that way.

She's listening to the person on the other end and says, "Oh, I seeeeee." She hangs up and tells us she's the SECOND PERSON who's called today to complain about the cupcakes. They're taking them out of the case.

And I'm left wondering why they left them in the case after the first person complained. And even more, what kind of person calls to complain about a cupcake? Not just us, evidently.

It was, after all, a $3 cupcake. That's almost a gallon of gas!