Friday, February 29, 2008

Reasons I Must Keep Blog and Therefore Personal Identity Confidential:

- So no one tries to find out where I live and abduct Hunter for the Human Genome Project.

- So my friends from high school and college who I haven't seen since graduation for reasons of my own choosing, namely weird dudes named Blade, can't find me.

- So my writing is free of extortion from outside sources who may want themselves portrayed in a more flattering, or more humorous light.

And the single most important and completely serious reason:
- So when I run for President, no one will tie me to this ranting and raving piece of poo*.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Friday, February 22, 2008

And They All Lived Happily Ever After

Ohhhhhhh do I so have a story for you!

Picture it: Brooklyn 2008. Husband and wife are lieing in bed after a long grueling day in the rat race comforting each other with exhilarating thoughts of the new life they are bringing into the world. Each shares their own unique thoughts and hopes, both voicing their growing love for each other and appreciation for all the small things they share in this life. At one point the husband professes his love for the rest of eternity and the wife reciprocates with her promise that there's nothing the two of them can't handle that this cruel world could throw them.

{Interlude: Wife remembers she has forgotten to take her pre-natal vitamin and excuses herself for a moment to run to the kitchen where her supply is kept. {Interlude the Interlude: If Martha would just send her the damn pill cap tops that remind you to take your pills like she promised she would on that show a few weeks ago, this Interlude would not be happening, eh hem.} Continue with Interlude 1: Wife makes her way to the kitchen and reaches around the baby gate keeping the dog out of the trash, to turn the light on and what does she find? Oh, is that a little flash of vermin running along her counter, now hiding behind her Barefoot Contessa in France cookbook? Surely, in this idyllic dream sequence, a rabies-infested rodent is not sullying the antiseptic countertops with it's feces covered feet? Oh but you're wrong. It is! And there's it's cute little button nose peeping out from behind Madame Contessa's chubby mug. Delightful.}

I - er, the wife - starts calling calmly to the bedroom for her husband's assistance. And calling. And calling, and now it's not so much a "calm" voice as it is a, "get your holy ass in this kitchen right now and spear the beast behind the cookbook or so help me God, I'll never let you see your friends again" voice. Husband understands immediately the gravity of the situation. He takes charge with his tools of mass destruction, aka Raid spray (?), and sends the wife back to bed. Wife returns to bed and fights valiantly to not imagine what is happening in the other room.

Husband returns to bed, hands wife her vitamin, and returns to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. Both say nothing more the rest of the evening. The lights are turned out. The house is quiet. Husband and wife fall mercilessly into sleep. The end.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Wanted: Baby Room Designer (Preferably Pro Bono)

I'm not one you would call "design savy", or "decor oriented", or even "stylish" which explains exactly why I have absolutely no idea what to do with a baby nursery. So far my exploits have consisted of googling "nursery decor" and clicking on the 15 links that come up, praying one will be a fully equipped decorated nursery for under $100. Alas, this has not been the case.

The three ideas swimming around my pea sized brain consist of The World, Noah's Ark, and Animals and their Home Countries. I have no clue what to do from there. Was there a class in elementary school or possibly college called Nursery Decor 100? No? For shame. Now my baby will inherit my awful sense of interior design and be forced to endure years of unrelenting mediocre living environments. I feel cheated.

I do love this website though, and am trying to incorporate it into my life:

Help me if you can! What are your ideas?

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Minus the Licking of the Behind

My dog believes he is human. He really, truly does, and it's starting to freak us out a bit. Let me highlight some of his homosapien tendencies for you, then you decide for yourself. See? See how I don't force my opinion or mandate you follow my belief patterns? I'm just about awesome like that.

First, he communicates his thoughts and feelings better than 90% of actual humans I know. When he has to go out, he simply sits down staring at us until we finish what we are doing and when we look up, his face says, "Excuse me, Madame. But would it be alright if you took me outside to the sidewalk lavatory now?" Swear. Also, when he is thirsty he picks up his plastic water bowl, carries it across the room to where ever we are in the apartment, lays down with it, and pins us with the following look: "Hi! I'm thirsty now. Can you fill this up with that big water pitcher in the refrigerator?" Honest to God.

Second, he only associates with members of the canine family to disgustingly mock their poor hygiene and communication skills. He is so above that. He'll refuse and ignore every single dog at the dog park, but will chase incessantly the tennis ball that I or G throws. Nonstop. And if another dog dares to get his tennis ball during the "Human" game we are playing? He just sits down patiently and stares the dog down with this: "I'm sorry. But we brought that tennis ball from home to play with - us HUMANS. So can you please drop it right now and never look at or sniff me again?" He gets very frustrated with these "dogs".

Third, he understands at least 1,435 words of the English language, in sentence form. And I have the sneaking suspicion that he's fluent in French as well. Seriously, think of a phrase that you have never heard a dog recognizing and I swear he knows it. Or he knows where to look it up if he doesn't, and he'll get back to you later. Per esempio: "Mommy doesn't feel very good", he immediately stops whatever annoying thing he was doing and jumps up to lay across my legs on the couch with his head laying in my lap. Or, "You're not getting any of this steak, you already ate. Go play," oh yeah, he also processes several sentences at once. Waiting until I've completed my thought and then he'll run off to find a toy to amuse himself with. He also knows, "Coogee is coming over this weekend", because his daytimer is organized weekly.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

I Love That Lemon

Today my inbox held my weekly update from - a very good and helpful website. Here's an excerpt:

"Welcome to the second trimester! {Uh, thanks for inviting me?} Your baby can now squint, frown, grimace, pee, and possibly suck his thumb. Thanks to brain impulses, his facial muscles are getting a workout as his tiny features form one expression after another. His kidneys are producing urine. {Hey, I don't need any help in that department little one, I'm doing a-okay with my own overactive Herculean kidney function. Thank you very much.} He can grasp, too. In other news: Your baby's stretching out. From head to bottom, he measures 3 1/2 inches — about the size of a lemon."

So, let me get this straight... Right now I have a frowning, squinty, peeing, grabbing, lemon swimming around my uterus? That's sweeeeeeet! This procreation job is ten times better than my real job. Besides, otherwise I'd just be blogging about how damn hot it is in my office. Damn hot.

Friday, February 8, 2008

I. C. U. P.

About a week ago I had my 3 month follow up appointment at the OB office which went splendidly well. The splendidness started right away when I quickly and efficiently peed in the cup.

I think I need to talk about my self consciousness surrounding my inability to pee into cups when it is vital and essential that I do it. I can't do it. Every single time I have been hired into a new job, received a physical at the doctor, or otherwise needed to pee in said cup, I suffer from extreme stage fright and can not "perform". The extent of embarrasment and harassment I have endured for it is painful. I've had Pee-monitors staring me full in the face while on the pot trying in vain to deliver the goods. No dice. Scary, old, hairy Pee-monitors, who are giving me dirty looks the whole time I squat over the porceline torture chamber, not-peeing. I swear they're all thinking to themselves, "Wow, this doesn't look like a druggie! I'm really surprised by this one. It just goes to show you that you can't read a book by it's cover. What's this world coming to?". As I adjust and readjust to try to get my freaking bladder to release a drop of yellow sunshine. Nothing.

I usually have to come back two or three times to attempt the cup peeing again and again. How defeating.

And now...? And now I pee in that cup dammit! I pee all over it! I fill it up and dump it and fill it up again. Just to show them. Those Pee-monitors. I want to go find every single one of them and pee all over their shoes.

I'm okay, really.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Monday, February 4, 2008

Caught Up

Over the weekend friends and myself played America's favorite pasttime - Catch Phrase. I cannot begin to tell you how deeply and affectionately I care for this electric disk of fun-ability. Rarely has there been a time when I have not narrowly escaped suffocation for laughing so hard at this game and/or the contestants.

Such was the story Saturday night: witness some of the finer points.

* Uhhhhh, (I don't know why but every single person who has ever played this game starts out the exact same way.) Not your leg but your ___? [Arm!] Yes! Only not the navy but the ____? [Army!] Yes!! Second word, oxymoron? Oxymoron! [??] You know! Army blank! The oxymoron?! Buzzzzzzzzzzzz! [Um, that's a dumb clue.] Well, I guess it just travels in some circles and not others.

* Oh, oh, oh! The first song I learned to play on my trumpet!
[You played the trumpet?! When? When did you play the trumpet?]

* Not King Kong but ____? [Donkey Kong!!] No.

* Oh jeez, three words! First word, the thing you walk through to get to the bedroom or bathroom? [Hall!] Yes! Okay, last word, this is a pyramid, in Egypt, I think? Um, it was a dead pharoah or something? [The mummy?] No. Um, like in Mexico where the pyramids are? [???] Ooh, ohh! He had a revenge?! [The Mummy!] No!!! Agh!

(Answer: Halls of Montezuma - now who in their right mind would get that? Okay, maybe I should have said travelers diahhrea, but I didn't think of that, jeez.]

Also, it should be mentioned that the girls beat the guys a whopping 5 games to 1. Never before has such schooling been done by the women to the men. It was beautiful.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Martha Will You Adopt Me?

I have completely neglected to tell you about the Single Greatest Live Studio Audience Experience of My Life, or SGLSAEML. On Wednesday morning, January 23rd, I arrived at the Chelsea studios of Martha where my friend Ursula was waiting in line for us. We stood in the freezing cold, risking our lives, our poor circulation systems pumping their hearts out, for about 30 min to go into the waiting area. After ticket check and security screening we were given two handouts and told to fill them out and sit down in the waiting room. One of the sheets was some sort of disclaimer form and the other a question and answer form where we were to write down any questions we had for Dr. Weil. Oh, if only I had the power to google this dude's name while we were sitting there to figure out who in the heck he was, I would have felt much more prepared to design an inquiry for him. No such luck.

So based on what I know of Dr. Weil, A.) that he is some sort of physcian, and B.) there is no B, I decide to write a pregnancy question. This I must have learned from my mother somehow, though I'm not sure when, but I felt strongly deep down in my 15 minutes of fame heart that a pregnancy question would land me smack dab on camera. I scribble down my question and move on to the muffins Ursula had just brought me. Yeah, Martha has muffins and water bottles for us while we're waiting. I mean do you hate this lady or what?

Then the nice Martha Stewart Studio Audience Assistant comes around to everyone to collect our question sheets and honest to God, I am not fabricating this story at all, she reads mine and goes, "Hmm. This is a great question! I'm going to write down what you are wearing..." [Gasp, dribble tiny amount of urine, commence palm sweat.]

Cut to: I'm sitting there freakishly trying to call everyone I know on my cell phone to tell them to stop whatever they are doing and turn to Marthavision. Finally, they start to heard us cattle-style into the studio and as I go by the nice assistant lady she marks my ticket with a star. Oh you glorious little red star, I love you. And tells me to show the audience seater people my star. Audience seater people? I was showing every living thing I came in contact with, waving that little ticket like Charlie on his way to the Chocolate Factory, God bless him. Better believe it. So we get upstairs and are seated, and then moved, and seated again until everyone is happy with the arrangement.

Holy cow, Marthaland. It's so much more than you think it is from the privacy of your own home. It's like Lollipop Land or Gingerbread Town or I don't know, Tequilaville. And the nice assistant is giving me instructions on reading my question and standing up and microphones and I'm freaking out again. The show starts and I forget completely about my ensuing daytime TV debut when Martha starts making some effing avocado and egg whites salad and all I can think about is shoving those neat little lettuce cups in my face four at a time. [inhale] Okay, then two segments go by and the third and all important question and answer segment comes up next. I've already reapplied my lip gloss 14 times, fixed my hair a thousand, and rearranged my question to now be a full-on autobiography.

Question #1 goes something about water purifying yaya-shut up. Question #2 follows, blah calcium supplements, blah whatever. Question #3 next, I can't sleep wah-wah, so sad, wah-wah wah. Dr. Andrew Weil, well-known expert on organics and healthy living, begins his answer and goes on. And on. And then on. And on some more. I'm ripping out my hair, spitting fire, waving my arms, anything to get the man to shut up so we can get to the most important Question #4, and what happens? A COMMERCIAL BREAK IS WHAT HAPPENS. I'm sorry what? Did you say your childhood dreams and aspirations are ruined? Really? WELL, WE'D RATHER HEAR ABOUT SERTA SLEEPERS AND DIRT DEVIL COMBO VACS RIGHT NOW.

[Inhale, tear.] It's okay. Really. I'm completely over it. I've come to terms with the fact that my Daytime Television Debut was coldy wrenched from my warm, caring fingers. That the world will never know the answer to my pregnancy question that was CLEARLY extremely important nationally and internationally syndicated is nothing short of catastrophic. But serenity now. Oh dear*.

*My feelings were somewhat assuaged by the take home gifts we received, namely an Ultreo ultrasonic toothbrush, Meridian Health Vitality Glowcaps, Isaac Daniels GPS Sneakers, and an HP Pavillion dv6700t notebook**.

** Kind of seems silly to be upset about the question thing now, huh?