Thursday, July 31, 2008

Welcome to 2003

Several big things happened in the last week. First and most importantly, I did what apparently everyone else in the free world did years ago and joined Facebook. Or to be more honest, I was arm-wrestled and guilt-tripped into joining Facebook after many years of resistance. I mean, how many social networking sites is it really necessary for a person to belong to? Do I really want to get back in touch with people I knew in high school? I am still not sure about this one because once I joined Facebook, the whole weird, scary, shocking, unsettling Facebook world opened up. My first grade boyfriend? There. My first kiss? There. The childhood neighbor whose moving van ran over my cat? There. Ratio of high school and college classmates who are now parents? Very, very high.

Which brings me to important thing number two (clearly my priorities are in ORDER). We are having a baby.

On Monday we went in for our 12-week appointment and heard the heartbeat on doppler, and today we had the 13-week testing ultrasound and saw the little bugger squirming around like mad. Heart's beating like it should be. All relevant parts appear to be there. Despite the unreasoning fear I've wrestled with over the past three months, the doctor said we're in the clear to tell anyone we want now. So I'm telling.

We're having a baby!

I think it's a boy. We won't know for another 6 weeks but I want it on the record. Right now we just call it the bean (original, yes) because after the first two ultrasounds (I have had five--I am the world's biggest ultrasound whore. I basically demanded a scan every two weeks til we hit 12 weeks and took no guff from any doctor about it), the kid looked like a kidney bean. With a heart beat.

So now we actually have to deal with the reality of a baby, which we are very excited about but also very unsure how to approach. The stuff to buy? The things to plan for? Names? Fear not, however. I guarantee Lunchboy will have a series of spreadsheets set up in record time so we can optimize all baby-related activities to the utmost. Have I mentioned lately how much I adore my husband?

Thursday, July 24, 2008


Today was a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very bad day to wear a white shirt.


I forgot to mention this and I'd say I'm not sure how that happened, but I have officially lost my brain over the past few months and it seems like I remember things a lot less frequently than I forget them these days.


SMTT is gone.

(For now)

We came back from our road trip to find two "Do not park--moving" signs taped to the trees in front of the house, which was curious because we didn't know about anyone moving in or out. Two days later, we heard her making the biggest racket, dragging something (or things) around and then crashing down the stairs. Sure enough, she was dragging two suitcases, which she handed off to the driver of one of the pretentious Prius cabs that she takes. I checked my email and there it was. The best summer gift we could have asked for. An email announcing that she was off to Africa to do research and wouldn't be back until the end of August.


We danced. I'm serious--we did an actual jig.

Life at home has been so much more pleasant and relaxed since then. We're now hoping she falls head over heels in love with someone who lives in Africa and decides never to come back. Actually, Lunchboy floated an idea involving Ebola but we decided that was too inhumane (it was funny, though). If you lived underneath SMTT, Ebola might be funny to you, too. Though I can't make any guarantees.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Waiting it out

This weekend the weather alternated between oven-like heat and crazy, killer thunderstorms. Needless to say, we stayed in with our lovely air conditioners (and nice, safe walls) and were extremely lazy. We watched Dr. Horrible, which was hysterically funny, and also Recount, which was definitely NOT. I think these two have a nice correlation but that we watched them in the wrong order. Recount made me anxious, angry, and called up lots of memories. If it wasn't for the deadly lightning creating havoc around the city, I would have stormed out the door for a good long walk. Dr. Horrible, on the other hand? Who knew Doogie Howser could sing? Who knew Nathan Fillion could be a prick? Does Joss Whedon just have everyone he's ever worked with on speed dial for future projects?

Friday, July 18, 2008

See that girl

I know it is sad and bad and you can mock me if you want to, but I really want to see the new Mamma Mia! movie.

I've never been a big Abba fan. I've never seen the stage show or done more than watch "Muriel's Wedding" a few too many times. But everyone in Mamma Mia just looks so happy. Even if it's insane, fake happy, it's better than doom and gloom and destruction. Plus, I love Amanda Seyfriend. She is one of the best parts of Big Love.

The new Batman is probably a way better movie, but I'm not in the mood for dark. I want some cheesy, silly singing in the Greek sunshine. Plus, Pierce Brosnan and Colin Firth don't hurt. Not at all.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

A random reminiscence on past experiences with a cappella

For a small, liberal arts college that (when I first arrived more than 10 years ago) still allowed on-campus liquor deliveries from the local package store, Colby was a pretty clean-cut place. It had its cliques, its drug use, and lots and lots of drinking, but then what school doesn't? But when you wanted beefcake at Colby, you didn't have to look further than concerts by the male a cappella group, the Colby 8.

Preppy, handsome, and charming, the Colby 8 always recruited members who must have spent years perfecting their class clown capabilities because their concerts were always funny and always packed with undergrad girls (including me) who watched raptly with eyes full of stars and tried to be surreptitious in wiping the drool off their chins. The 8 did concerts in the library during exam week, they popped up in the Spa and the chapel, and they were pretty much like the small college version of celebrities. Girls wanted to date them. Guys enjoyed the concerts even if they refused to admit it. It was oh so very brick-and-ivy.

I coxed a bunch of the a cappella guys on the crew team and saw them do things like try to wipe their ball sweat on each other and take pictures of each other's fruit baskets on crew trips, and yet they still somehow seemed cool. And then, after graduation, I dated one of them for almost three years. And the thing was, J was in an a cappella alumni group. They continued the fun after college, and they were proud of it. So when I read articles like this, which make it sound like most former a cappella singers are mortified to admit their melodious pasts, I giggle because the alumni group did no such thing. They reveled in the singing, the paid gigs, the ability to maintain their college camaraderie, and the uniform (white shirt, khakis, brown belt, tie). And they still perform at Colby, usually during reunions and homecoming weekend. I missed their concert at our reunion last summer, but that was ok because every time I hear the songs they sang on the radio (hello, "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life" and "The Way" by Fastball), I have to change the channel because I heard them way too many times to be nostalgic about it.

Note: I have no idea where this post came from, but I read that Slate article and somehow felt like writing. Weird. Call it therapeutic?

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

I sense...a hatred for Friskies

Work has been insane lately, which has meant no time for anything fun, really. It also means I've been so busy that I'm not doing anything fun enough to write about. OH! Except this: last night I talked to an animal psychic to see if we can figure out why Scully is such a nervous wreck.

You might remember that last year (or the year before?), Lunchboy and I consulted an animal behavior specialist to figure out why her highness was refusing the use the litter box. The specialist's advice was really helpful and seemed to be effective until we went away on our road trip. We're still not sure what happened while we were gone, but when we came back Scully was hiding in closets and refusing to use the box again. At our wit's end, we went with a friend's referral to the animal psychic. I figured hey, what do we have to lose? She was affordable and it wouldn't hurt anything.

So last night I sat on the back porch for 45 minutes, talking to the psychic and watching our newly resident family of hawks swoop around the evening sky. The psychic was not cheesy or cliched or predictable. She said a lot of useful things about what Griffin and Cringer have apparently been doing to mess with Scully's head and suggestions for how to make the situation better. I was pleasantly surprised and really enjoyed the session, though not the part where the psychic told me that, before I adopted Scully, she had been with a family that kicked her a lot. She ran away from them but is still afraid of feet and slamming doors, which totally jibes with her behavior over the past 10 years. My poor puss! Also, poor Carmen, who came over to see if the session would make a good article and ended up sitting around listening to one half of the conversation because my speaker phone wouldn't work. Sorry!

My tiger and day lilies are blooming. So are the hostas. I gardened this weekend for the first time in ages and enjoyed pottering about, still not really sure what I was doing. I have an area of the side yard for all the plants that didn't do well where they were first planted. It's like the reject pile at a discount store, but it's somehow still green and thriving. Maybe not so pretty, but also not dead. Yet.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

...and the wind blew

Things I enjoy about windy days downtown:

The omnipresence of Scooter Man, a guy who looks remarkably like Dean on Weeds, who sails around Copley on his Razor using only a big sheet of plastic and a seemingly endless supply of leg power for velocity. He wears a helmet and a safety vest--he is not stupid--and he is always smiling. He seems to get great joy from windy days and he always imparts that to the people around him, even when he almost hits them.

Things I enjoy slightly less:

Feeling the building sway back and forth, sometimes violently.

When windy days coincide with days when I wear a skirt, necessitating an awkward walk to and from the T with me holding my skirt so I don't flash everyone within a half-mile.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008


What happens when you try to order a lot of food? I'm serious--when you are ravenously hungry and you order a crapload of whatever food you're dying to eat, what happens? Is the food prepared and brought to you swiftly and without question? Or do you get looks?

I get looks. Apparently being petite and female means I am not allowed to eat a lot. If I go into any of the food establishments near my office and order two grilled cheese sandwiches, this is what happens without fail:

Me: I'd like two grilled cheese sandwiches, please.

Them: ???

Me: Two. Grilled Cheese. Sandwiches, please. (maybe I talk quietly?)

Them: TWO?

Me: Yes, two.

Them: Ok. (raised eyebrows, not sure if they heard me correctly) Two you said?

One thing I will say for Wisconsin is that this doesn't happen there. In Wisconsin, you can order two 4-cheese sandwiches and no one blinks an eye. All they want to know is do you want mustard with that. I wish more people could be like the people in Wisconsin.