Hold On To Your Cowboys!

Updizzle: Apparently the reason I've been ten times sicker this pregnancy than with Grif is because we're having a GIRL! So that does not exactly bode well for her teen years, I fear. But the bambina is healthy and gorgeous and building her little bones and muscles just fine, which is amazing. She is kicking me right now for talking about her, so once again with the teen years...

Griffin has never been more hilarious and has added several phrases to his daily comedy stream such as, "Of course!" and "That would be great!" But only if you ask him if he'd like to watch another episode of Little Bear, or would he like some more milk and pretzels (the only things he eats now). I tried asking him if he'd like to move out into his own apartment where boys don't ever have to potty train and they can wear diapers until they're 60 and he did not say, "Of course!" It was worth a try. He also sings and makes up songs now. His favorite being the "Polar Bear" song. It goes like this, "Da. Dadada. Da. Polar bears are sleeping. Polar bears are sleeping" [pause for applause from all available audience members within earshot]. It is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed in my life. Sometimes he ratchets up the showbusiness element with wide sweeping arm motions. (I think he definitely gets that from his daddy). And almost always he is up on some sort of a step, or "stage", or some random stranger's doorstoop.

Otherwise life is ticking along, work is cyclical, and the weather is awesome. We have a whole hellabuloo of traveling coming up, one trip of which is to visit my BFFTWD (till we die, obvi) in Dallas, TX, so if you need a new lasso or saddle, drop me a line before I go and tell me what size/color etc. I am so excited to see everything Dallas and especially to find out if "Everything's bigger in Texas" applies to my boobs because if so, we're all in for some inclement weather.

The Visor Is Extra

Because you never seem to have the time to look through those hair magazines at the salon to pick out your ideal do, I've coined and patented the haircut term for you.

Observe and Appreciate: The Star Wars Helmet.

Don't thank me now, my birthday is in a few months...

In other news, last week Griffin told me he broke his head. I said, "What?" And he said, with exasperated efficiency, "I broke......my head". So, of course I told him, as any good parenting award recipient would, "Well, if you think it hurts now, wait till your first hangover".

In other other news, you should definitely watch Anthony Bourdain's Rome episode from Monday night. If you don't want to rip your tv down off the wall/stand and eat it during this episode I don't know what is wrong with your brain, but there are plenty of neurologists who would take your money to find out. Maybe they'll even ask you to donate your brain to science afterward. (Although, I had to work on those things in nursing school and let's just say body donation is not on my list of top ten things I have to do before I die and go to Bora Bora.) Just saying.

In unrelated other news, we had a family vaca to Salt Fork Lodge last weekend and it was awesome. Pics to come, when I decide that uploading photos is more important than ridding this city of fried foods one french fry at a time after work today. It's a dirty job...

Wherein I Once Again Thank the Lord I Have Faith

Holy hell has it been that long? I kept thinking of you (my solo reader that may or may not be my mom) and hoping you hadn't forgotten me. It is I, and I am alive. For now.

Much to fill you in on in the meantime, starting with the fact that it's so f-ing hot right now I'm hanging out in my microwave for some relief. Also, we went on an amazing vacation to White Birch Lodge a few weeks ago and I cannot say enough about lake water swimming. Except that I'm a million miles away from it right now and that is undesirable.
Here's a pic:That's the whole fam-damly on the husband's side, plus the 3 absolutely edible babies that pretty much took control of the vacation and had there way with it from the beginning. Obviously. Griffin had more fun that you can throw a rock at, which he did, over and over and over. It was quite interesting one day how he threw a kicking and screaming fit on the beach because he couldn't pick up the 14 ton boulder that was parked in the sand so he could throw it in the water. He's his father's son, I'm telling you. Not at all like me.

Another funny story goes something like this:
3am: wake to get ready to go to airport
4am: car arrives
6am: flight to Chicago
8:30am: running up airport gate with pee* running down my arms, onto my pants, down my legs and into my sandals. *Not my pee.

There's something calming about the feel of your child's pee drenching your clothing in a public place that you're just going to have to take my word for until it happens to you. Or maybe it's the direct hand of God reaching down to pat you on the back and say, "Hey there, you're going to be alright. Some day."

This One's Going in the Baby Book

From time to time I hear things from my Grant like, "Do not blog about this" or "I don't want this to end up on your blog" and "This is not to go on your website". Which, of course you know translates to "ABSOLUTELY BLOGWORTHY" in my brain of brains, or lack thereof. Hereafter lies the latest addition to this group... (Faint of Heart Disclaimer: If you have problems reading, talking, hearing, or otherwise being part of certain feminine matters regarding the "special time of the month", you may want to sit this one out).

[Curtain up, my mother's house over the holidays which is a venerable 3 ring circus of adults, children, babies, cats, Santa, neighbors, solicitors etc etc.] The house is somewhat empty, magically, and I run to the loo to quickly pee all whilst leaving the door open so I can hear Grif getting into some kind of trouble all the way across the house, knowing I can't actually stop him, and imagining the horror I will find upon exiting said restroom.

Only this time he pops his head in for a visit just as I grab my Kotex from the drawer. He immediately begins screaming something at the top of his lungs. Now, this little 18 month-old fireball of mine is quite verbal at this age but there are still many, many, many things he says that I scratch my head at and move on because there is no possible way he is saying something intelligible to my brain (much like 90% of the things my husband says as well, but I digress). I initially do the same to this exclamatory outburst but as he keeps it up for 2 minutes I realize he is saying something. And when the realization of what it is smacks me full in the face I have to hold on to the wall to keep from falling off my "seat", both in comedic appreciation and also in fear of what he will blog about me someday...

Let me digress again for a second to give you some back story. There are several things in this world that can make my son absolutely lose his mind in excitement for. Lest anyone question his paternity or maternity, one of them is food. (Obviously). Trucks, trains, airplanes, babies, slides, dogs, and balls also rank pretty high up there on the scale of unimaginable bliss. And, within the food category also exists a hierarchy of favoritism. Starting out with chicken or meatballs, advancing to bananas and peas, then up to blueberries, and at the utmost top remain the unseated champions yogurt (or "gogurt") and cheese.

Back to my restroom experience...

After seeing me begin to unwrap my Kotex, Griffin begins circling the bathroom yelling at the top of his lungs, as if his very life depended on me understanding what he is saying, "Cheese? CHEESE! Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese. C.H.E.E.S.E!"

I'm so proud of that kid.

Which is Practically Scientific Research

We went to Park City with an amazing couple friend of ours, Brad and Nicole, or Bricole for future reference. The weather was amazing, the skiing was awesome, and I only had 2-3 emotional breakdowns about missing G to the izzo. Note to mom's: if you're on vacation 800 miles from your 17 month old, do not, I repeat do not try to talk to him on the phone. Disastrous. There I am, balling in the bathroom at the bottom of the ski lift as women stop to stare at the mumbling marshmallow sobbing into her cell phone. But needless to say, he was perfectly fine without us, or so we hear from the grandmom's (Who incidentally probably wouldn't tell us if he was a basketcase because they knew we would have been on the first plane back if they told us he so much as sneezed. And since it behooved them to have us gone, so they could hog him to themselves, they refrained from mentioning anything like that. Thank you, Grandmommies).

So there we are, our first night in Park City and after a 5am flight, an hour bus ride, and 4 hours of skiing, we all decide to hit the local grocery store for some provisions and also food etc. I'm cruising the cereal isle, almost comatose from exhaustion when Nicole runs over to tell me, "I think Katherine Heigl is here!"

To prove how out if it I was, I go, "The girl in Grant's class who runs the marathons? Who gives a flying rats a**, she's too skinny anyway". (Again, I was barely conscious and that is why my initial reaction was not to run up and down the isles screaming, "K-K! It's me! Your long lost, BFF! Do you want to come to my house to play?")

Nicole stares at me for a second and takes off to get another item on our list. As I near the milk and eggs isle I glance to my left and OH MY GOD, THERE'S KATHERINE HEIGL. Wait for it... Ohhhhhhhhh, Katherine Heigl, now I get it. (Brain attempting to connect neurons now.)

And friends, let me make your day. She. Doesn't. Really. Look. Like. That. Now, let me go off for a second here and I'll be back to where we started in a second. The thing, or one of the many many things about show business that pisses me off is that women are portrayed and expected to look unbelievably gorgeous at all times which is a feat not even Jesus could pull off, so that's one thing. Jesus doesn't want us to kill ourselves and airbrush virtual people out of thin air so that small children can grow up thinking the world is made up of 10 foot Barbie and Ken dolls. In fact, I believe there may be some underground footage of satan himself creating Barbie and Ken, but it's strictly on the DL so I can't show you.

Getting back to Katherine, I think she's unbelievably cute, I sincerely do. But - she has flaws, and zits, and greasy hair too. And I only stared at her for about 5 minutes, but I'm pretty sure nothing she was wearing was name brand or even new for that matter. As if I needed any more reason to stalk her, now I really want to because she's normal! Or so my assessment was after 5 minutes of staring...

Remind Me To Tell You the One About "Cheese!"

Boy oh geez it's been a while. Insert several apologetic comments here... And on to the news!

Let's take stock, shall we?

3 weeks in Ohio for Christmas vacation - Check.

1 week stint in Park City having a marvelous time skiing - Check.

2 cases of near-death gastrointestinal virus, not marvelous - Yep, check.

1 Katherine Heigl siting - Check.

423 new toddler toys I don't have anywhere to put - Check.

7 days of delaying taking down Christmas decorations - Check.

200 new words in Griffin's vocabulary - Check, check, check, CHEESE!

22 days past rent due date - Whoops and check. (Well, actually there's no check, that's the problem. See, my checkbook was among the casualties in trying to pack up way-too-much-f'ing-crap in about 15 minutes to come back to New York after my near-death viral experience last weekend. RIP checkbook, sorry Landlord.)

And most importantly, at least 37 good stories I have to tell you, just as soon as I get around to it. (Read: So if you're lucky before next Christmas...)

Ciao!

Didn't Davy Crockett Die There?

Now I will readily admit that remembering historical dates is not one of my most intense forte's. Nor was it during middle or high school when I was actively learning it. How I managed to get through those classes without failing, is still a mystery up there with MJ's toxicology report but at least it's over, right? However, I do have some sort of sentimental need to visit historical sites and imagine myself living through whatever battle or march or wagontrain adventure that once took place there. Hence my intense desire to see the Alamo when we were in San Antonio a few weeks back.

My best friend from high school, (and coincidentally college as well) and the only one who can make me scream laugh instantaneously by imitating yours truly, got married to the cutest Texan podiatrist you have ever met. And we all know how those guys grow on trees down there, am I right? So we trooped the fam down south for the main event and had an awesome 3 days catching up with friends, tubing down the Gruene River, and 2-stepping our pants off at the reception. It went way too fast and everyone was gone before I even had the time to get sick of them. The nerve.

When I booked the trip to the Great State, I decided to give us a late flight out on Sunday so we didn't have to rush around totally hung over in the morning only to realize we missed our flight which left us time to sightsee for a hair or two. All weekend we had been trying to find something to do that day until someone casually mentioned they had went to see the Alamo the day before. WHAT? You mean there's actually an ALAMO? And it's in my near vicinity? And there followed several straight hours of me chanting: MUST SEE ALAMO. MUST SEE ALAMO. So that together with Griffin screaming about the heat and his dislike of his rental car seat, directly led to Grant's head exploding several times that day. Holy Matrimony, Batman.

Eventually, we worked our way to downtown San Antonio and found a parking garage relatively near where we thought the Alamo was. ALAMO. ALAMO. ALAMO. We pack up Grif in the stroller and laden ourselves down with 80 million pounds of shit and no I don't know why, but we're parents and that is what parents do. And we've walked two steps out of the garage before the heat of Satan's Inferno descends on the 3 of us and we almost spontaneously combust right there on Main Street. Did you know that about San Antonio in July? I guess I should have been tipped off when I learned San Antonio actually means Satan's Inferno. (Yeah-huh.) Somehow we make it the 3 blocks to the ALAMO and we enter the grounds. The gardens are beautiful and there are these huge big billowy trees giving shade to the crumbling old stone walls that you can tell were hand stacked way back in something-07. The place was packed and we tried in vain to wander around taking it all in as quickly as possible before death overtook us in the form of a Flaming Grim Reaper. Grant kept asking to leave but I hadn't quite had my historical site fix so I kept inventing things to show him so we'd have to stay a little longer.

Finally, after a grueling 2 hours of the heat I give in and we walk back to the car. We're sitting in the cool of the air conditioner waiting to pull out of our parking spot when Grant goes, "What the hell happened at the Alamo?"

Though I really wished I could scream at him for an insensitivity to the sweat, toil, and sacrifice of our forefathers, I could only say, "Hell if I know, that's why I picked up this brochure".

Ah history. I can only hope to impart such a keen sense of nostalgia to our son someday.

Well, Do You?!

The second series of events set in motion during the Pallone Hotel Patio Fiasco of 2009 was my dad showing up after wandering in the wrong courtyard looking for us for some undisclosed amount of time that might have resembled about an hour. Dad shows up with his suitpants and a white t-shirt on and immediately takes a seat of honor and beer from Vince. Gina offers him a brownie, to which he automatically says, "These aren't marijuana brownies, are they?" .......

Because did you know, my family is big on marijuana brownies? And especially serving them on hotel patios? With a million kids around? And especially offering one to my dad? Well, I didn't either. Cut to the rest of us just losing our shit again and it taking a good 5 minutes to regain breathing function before we're able to have a conversation. Now I see where we all get it from. Epiphany.

Which isn't even the funniest part, a while later my dad leans over to my brother in law Mike and says, "Hey Mike, how would you ask an old lady if she wants some chicken?"



And so ends the rest of any coherent conversation during that evening because the only thing that happened after that was a series of different people in different pitch ranges, with differing volumes screaming at the top of their lungs, respectively, "DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!"

The end.

DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!

Let me explain.

This past weekend was my cousin on my father's side, Dominic's wedding in Ohio. 2, repeat 2 weeks ago I decided to pack the whole fam-damly up and go home for it. Leading up to our departure a series of hectic things occurred, per usual, and had me contemplating my intelligence score several times over. However, with the promise of things to come in my head, I persevered and boy was I not disappointed.

The wedding was beautiful, outdoors, under the shade of giant oak trees on the front lawn of this tiny little Inn in Granville, OH. After the ceremony, we all smashed inside for the dinner and dancing (aka. free Budweiser and wine). We danced a little, ate a lot, smoked cigars on the patio, and imbibed on a few free beverages. Then the beer ran out. So they broke out Bud Lite bottles and the party really got started. Excuse me, it's hot in her'.

Round about 8:45ish pm the little one was getting tired and we decided to continue the party back at our hotel where we could put him to sleep, go next door and drink the rest of the night away with my siblings. My brother Vince and his wife Heidi came with and voila! Grif hit the sack immediately and we were 3 or 7 drinks in, as well as 3 or 5 philosophical convo's in, by the time the rest of the fam showed up.

Needless to say, more drinks were poured and consumed hastily. And the first of 2 series of events was set in motion: I'm jittery still thinking of how hard we were laughing, or maybe that's the coffee. Who cares anyway. So, all of our rooms had walk out patios to this central courtyard thingy. We were on Vince and Heidi's patio and had accumulated round about 14 chairs from miscellaneous departments for all to have a seat. Mindi, my other sister in law, was the first victim. She was only maybe 1 or 2 drinks into the hotel scene when she decided to go back in the room for something and whamo right into the screen door, full tilt and dropped like a hotcake right ontop of Grant who was the lucky one in the chair closest to the door. What else would you do when you make a fool out of yourself in front of a hugemungous group of people, she blames Grant for "pushing her into the screen door", right.

Next up was Julia, Mindi and Noah's 7 year old daughter. She's talking and walking and talking and whamo II. Screen door meet Julia face. Hello? How are you? For this we try to muster not laughing so as not to hurt the little one's feelings, but no sooner is she out of earshot before we lose it and 1 if not 2 unnamed victims slightly peed themselves.

Third time's a charm and my sister Marie was that lucky charm. She decided to take a different approach and run through the screen from inside the room coming out, so we all got to see her face as she realized mesh is not as forgiving as once thought. And this was a pivotal run-in because she set the screendoor off the track. Setting up the 4th and finale of all screen door run-ins: Noah.

So in an attempt to encourage more gathering and boozing, my brother Noah went to his car to get 2 bag chairs he brought from home to set up outside. He was returning to the patio, from inside the room, 2 bag chairs over the shoulders and a beer in hand. Not only does he smack the screen door with his forehead, knock it to the ground and faceplant, he does it without dropping the chairs or his drink. It was a hotel patio miracle folks, and I wish you were there. Who needs church when you have God making miracles happen every day?

And I'll go on record here as the one who peed my pants, no qualms about it. And yes, it was well worth it.

Recently, friends took mercy on us for being cooped up in New York during the longest winter in America to invite us up to Connecticut for the weekend. I think Griffin's face here sums up how excited we all* were to get out of dodge and enjoy some sunshine and green grass.
Erica and Carter, you are the butter to my lobster roll (which we inhaled at the fish shack on our way home Sunday). We needed this like the captain needed those Navy snipers.

I will try to sum up to those of you who do not live in NY the appeal of "weekending". At first it sounds like something those damn pretentious East coasters made up to flaunt their money, and I'm not denying that is somewhat true. But for the other 89% of the population who cannot afford a room in a hotel, let alone an estate in the Hamptons, traveling away for the weekend to go anywhere, be it roadside bus stop or midstream beaver dam, relieves the pressure of living in a city that eats crack for breakfast and breaths fire down your back every 5 seconds.

I'm going to go on record here and admit that if anyone invites us anywhere other than New York, and I can drive there before Grif has a complete meltdown in his carseat, I'm there like sequins on Cher's ass, that's right, for the long haul. So if you're sitting there reading this and thinking, is this a cheap plea to be invited to our summer home? Know this: YES, IT IS and NO, WE'RE NOT BUSY. You're welcome.
*No, Hunter didn't make the trip. Because when Momma's on vacation she don't pick up shit. Literally.

Top Ten Things I Want To Do In My Lifetime, (This Month)

1. Have many more children - like 4. (Coincidentally, this also accomplishes another goal of mine: Disregarding my husband's wishes).

2. Visit Tahiti for long enough to actually enjoy it to the fullest. (Fully aware this may exceed a year's time).

3. Learn an Asian language.

4. Publish something I wrote.

5. Own a home.

6. Take my kids camping.

7. Kayak the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.

8. Travel to Italy with my parents.

9. Spoil my grandchildren. (With attention).

10. Wake up every morning of my life to my awesome, red-headed husband, snoring and stealing the covers.

*What's on your list?

Fairy Godmother

This shot was taken on our vacation to Naples with our friends and their baby. Griffin's Godmother took it while I was off ruining my skin with sundamage. I can't get over it. He didn't see her coming and all of the sudden she stepped into his line of sight and snapped just as he was reacting.
I wish I felt like this every morning when I woke up. Incidentally, I do not, most days.

I Hope It's a "Big" Plane

In preparation of going back to Columbus next week, I need to do a few things:

1. Freak out about packing, because there is never a good time to start, we never have enough space, and yet we always take too much stuff.

2. Notify everyone within a 25 mile radius of home that we'll be in town in case they want to get together.

3. Pre-plan every breakfast, lunch, and dinner so as to accomplish #2 without leaving anyone out or spending too much time with any one person, group, or organization thereby offending other persons, groups, and organizations, thereby removing us from wills and/ or Christmas lists in the future - not an option.

4. Pack all necessary items including many unnecessary items for two adults, one baby and one high maintenance dog to permit us to be away from our apartment for 4 very short days - not to mention it's daylight savings time and we lose a whole 60 minutes to nothingness (completely unfair and litigious).

5. Freak out for approximately 24-72 hours about our plane going down en route.

6. Streamline books to take for pleasure reading: HA. That's a good one!

7. Coordinate pick up and drop off of earlier mentioned high maintenance dog, then over analyze the effects of leaving him for 4 days on his non-existent psyche.

8. Consume any perishable food items from frig and cabinets - check.

9. Water plants - shit I always forget to do that on a regular basis - thereby making me feel really guilty about leaving them for several days without the option of having me water them.

10. Make lots of lists.

Though every trip home is always much anticipated and way too short, I will not have nostalgia for these packing, unpacking, and repacking trips once we are permanently relocated in O to the izz-O.

Witness: The Family (Insert Jaws theme here).

Blagojevich Was Their Web Designer

"The ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, the shin bone's connected to the knee bone, the knee bone's... (Error: The knee bone is no longer connected to anything because the owner of said knee bone doesn't know how to ski and therefore lost the connection of knee to rest of leg). The end!"

Take home message: Get to ski lodge early to secure snowboard before they run out so you don't wind up on ski's that you don't know how to use. Thereby paying millions (okay, tens) of dollars in medical bills to fix your dumb broken knee cap.

By the by* and all kidding aside, skiing is not so bad. I may have to retract my earlier statements about skiing, skiers, those amongst the ski and so forth.

Upcoming will be pics of the ski lodge we stayed at while at Hunter Mountain because I would be selfish to keep them to myself when truly, you need to see the majesty that is the Friar Tuck Resort and Spa for yourself. And we, the management, use the term "Resort and Spa" so loosely we're practically impeachable.

*Don't know what the hell this means but felt like exercising my poetic license this Friday am.

No Animals Were Harmed In the Making of This Post

Holy F-balls. You know life has you by the gonads when you go an entire two + weeks without remembering you have loyal and pissed off readers who are waiting for your every written word. Internet, I'm sorry. I've let you down. You can't possibly make me feel any worse than I already do, so don't even try. Unless you tell me that I won't be the surprise guest on 30 Rock someday, in that case you could make me feel worse than I already do. But why would you do that? I mean seriously. That's f-ed up of you. I may never talk to you again for even suggesting it. Wow.

I need a sec.

Okay, I'm going to forgive you this time.

In other news, part of the reason I've neglected you is that we just returned from a weeks stay in sunny and be-a-utiful Naples (Florida, not Italy, have I mentioned how we're now a 3-person, no-income family?) and Grif was totally chillin like the villain that he is in the pool every day so YOU KNOW there will be pics of that coming soon.

Here's a sliver to tide you over.

Exhibits 1 and 2 - Hawaiian Trunks, size 12 months & Mohawk in a Baby Inner Tube.We went with friends of ours who have a mother in law who has a husband who lent us his condo - which is totally the way to go if you ask me. The couple, Allison and Josh, brought their 3 month old baby boy (because you know, the courts kind of frown upon a kid that young staying home alone while his parents vacation in Florida, I mean you can't do anything these days, I tell ya), who will some day be Griffin's BFFL so needless to say, but I will, we had a great time.

Exhibit 3 - Zebra Sunglasses:
You rock that shit, Max. Hard core.

GPS or Going Postal Soon

For the sake of my marriage I have decided to invest in a navigational system for the new car. This piece of information was shared with us quite some time ago, and in the interest of being cheap, we forewent purchasing one at that time. Now as our couple's communication hangs in the balance, by a very fine spiderweb-thin thread, I feel it is time to take the plunge.

Unfortunately, we have a semi-large road trip coming up tomorrow for which we will probably not be able to secure the GPS system and this makes mama kind of nervous. Wish us the best luck ever, which never happens when we're on a roadtrip, fyi. And hopefully we will return to New York a functional twosome, wherein both of us is breathing and capable of independent thought.

I'm looking so forward to this weekend of reunionizing with great people that I can slightly overlook the impending doom of the trip up to Mystic, CT. Some peeps we see all the time, some we haven't seen in months, and some not in several years. The magnitude of funness measured in decibels is deafening and we could use a little "vacation from our problems" (What About Bob-style). Not that we have problems, we have no problems. Just don't tell me HOW OR WHERE TO DRIVE ONE MORE TIME WOMAN*. Like that kind of 'no problems'.

*Sidebar: Lately his driving resembles more realistically "Grand Theft Auto" than "Reality". God's honest truth.

Know What I'm Doing?

I'm sure as hell not going to Hawaii on a free trip this week because of the kumquat/squash/perpetually rolling ball encased inside my uterus currently. Now, don't get me wrong and P.S. your panties are starting to bunch, we totally would rather have a brand spanking new healthy baby boy than go on vacation for a week, for free, anywhere in the world, but can you agree that it kind of hints at blowing? Not to mention that I just heard a woman who had her baby last week is taking it's 11 day old self all the way across God's green earth to make sure she attends the conference in Hawaii. Talk about insanity. And she's a doctor no less. But who am I to criticize? I drag my poor fetus through the slums of New York City's worst hell hole for hours every day commuting back and forth to work. I'm pretty sure that ranks high on the "Best Gestation Environment Ever" list.

In other news, everything is going well with the baby so far. We still have not arrived at a name yet, though we're drawing closer to narrowing it down to any male names that are no more than 2 syllables - thank you, G. I keep forgetting to take this glucose tolerance test that is supposed to be done in the next two weeks - mainly because they told me I can't eat anything sweet at least an hour before the test and it's rare for me to go an hour abiding by this rule. Hmm. Maybe tomorrow.

Also, do you care what I had for lunch today? Because I just burnt the hell out of my tongue on clam chowder and boy does it feel nice. I'm running out of things to eat for lunch around here that will satisfy my meager attempts at eating healthy, well-balanced meals for the fetus. In the past two weeks I've had cheese pizza, a grilled cheese, clam chowder, a spicy chicken sandwich a la Wendy, fries, cheese pizza, spaghetti with cheese melted on it, and veggie pizza. Before that I was packing my lunch every day and avoided consuming so much freaking cheese. Now, there are no groceries in my frig and until my husband cries uncle and orders them himself, I'm stuck with the cheese diet. Cheese. Say it. You really want to go to the frig right now to see what kind of cheese snack options you have. It's okay, you can, you're a grown up.

I'm off to fill my water bottle. AGAIN.

Key West Part Deux

And some more pictures from our Key West vac-I-must-escape-the-city-before-I-behead-someone-ation. Witness: the Roosters.
I don't know what in the Sam hell they're doing down there, but the Roosters are taking over the island. This one in particular likes to chill next to his motorcycle outside of the Cuban Cigar shop, chatting it up with the yocals. We spent several days admiring the Roosters before I finally realized something strange, there were no Hens. A few days went by before we had our answer why. What follows is a detailed eyewitness account of IHP (Insane Hen Phenomena).

Jogger Guy: I finally found out where all the Hens are.
Lazy Wife: AH! Where?! I need to find a Hen, for my own sanity.

Jogger Guy: Okay, so I'm running down the sidewalk next to the 4 lane road out there and just as I near an intersection, I notice off to my left side a Hen sitting on a 6 foot fence. Just as I'm passing it, a car flies by on the lane farthest from me and the Hen, I'm not shitting you, flies off the fence and beelines it directly into the side of the passing car, nailing it in the gas tank. The dude in the car slows down and is craning all around trying to figure out what in the hell just happened. The Hen shakes a bit and continues on her merry way across the street.
Lazy Wife: (Mouth agape.) Wha? Are you kidding?

Jogger Guy: No. And it gets better. So I ran a while down the path and then turned back towards the hotel. Just as I reached the site of the earlier incident, I saw the Hen again. And sure enough, a car was approaching in the opposite lane. Right before the car got to the Hen, she ran across the street and was hit by the bumper of the car.
Lazy Wife: This is the most interesting story I've ever heard.

Jogger Guy: She was okay though, she just got up and walked back to the other side of the street.
Lazy Wife: They should post a sign there: SLOW DOWN! KAMIKAZE HENS IN THE AREA!

We had a great dinner across the street from our hotel, Beach Side Resort, I think? Supposedly, the chef is some famous guy from Miami. The food was amazing, and the service was great. But the restaurant was empty and the staff were all standing around with nothing to do. Me thinks Mr. Miami overestimated the demand for a high end restaurant here.
These are my feet. In a wave. On the Beach. I took about a hundred photos there.
This is me looking like a big dork on the Danger Tours Kayaking and Snorkeling trip we took. The ship was beautiful though.
I decided to stay in the boat with the food while G took to some freezing cold snorkeling. The water was clear for 6 or 7 feet, awesome.

Adventures in Key West

This pic was taken from the car while driving down US 1 through the Upper Keys. You would not believe the colors of the water. It was exhilarating.

We totally got busted trying to take my picture under the "Big Un's" bar sign by this guy who was all, "Why don't you both get in the picture and I'll take it for you!" Thanks, Random Picture Taker Guy!

Since Trip Advisor is the lifeblood of the Agrotourism Industry, I checked it out for suggestions on where to eat and what to do while in Key West. That is where we found this little gem of a breakfast nook. Note to All: If you are ever ever ever in Key West, you must eat here and if you don't get the Chocolate, Walnut, Banana pancakes I'll never speak to you again. Trust me, I know food.

This is me trying out features on the camera but also spying on the cruise ship people simultaneously. See how sneaky?

The day before we left we ventured as far south as Key West goes and found the Fort Zachary Taylor Park and Beach. It was beautiful, not crowded, and... There was a snack bar. People, snack bar, on the beach, whoa.

In Under the Wire

Do you know what I love, Internet? I absolutely LOVE when I get a brand spanking new shit-ton of work handed to me at 2:46pm on Friday afternoon. Doesn't that sound fun? Are you kinda jealous of me now? It's okay.

So before I bury myself up to my bazoongas in this project, I figured I should sit right down here and write you a little love note. Em kay?

G-man and I returned from Key West, F to the LA on Wednesday and what a lovely time we had. The first hotel was beautiful and came complete with a free, all you can eat breakfast buffet, can we say yes mam to the Make Your Own Waffle Station? Yes Mam! We rented a little Corolla in the morning to drive down US-1 to Key West, which according to Mapquest should have taken us 3hrs 29minutes, but in reality-land, where everyone besides Mapquest techies live, it took us close to 5 hours. But who cared? It was beautiful scenery and the water is 324 shades of blue down there, throw in the fact that my eye lubricating water didn't freeze when I stuck my head out of the window like it would have done in seconds had we been in New York, and I was a pretty happy camper. Our second hotel, which may or may not have been called the Holiday Inn Key West, was a near disaster zone, complete with the screaming nighttime neighbor ritual that consisted of her accusing him of shoving her down and him accusing her of falling because she was so drunk, etc etc. But for $183/night, it was still the cheapest hotel on the island and I was willing to make some allowances.

We ate t.o.n.s. of seafood and layered it with pieces of Key Lime pie and Key Lime ice cream - which can make anybody's day 10 times better. I wasn't aware that March in Key West is the Midwest Vacation Mecca of the US and every other license plate was from Ohio, Michigan, Illinois, or Minnesota. While comforting to be amongst some of my own kind, I suspected come Easter morning there was going to be a shortage of hosts at the altar and no where to sit at St. Mary Star of the Sea. I totally hit the nail on the proverbial head. People, I have never seen so many sunburnt Catholic vacationers in my entire 27 years. There must have been a thousand or more. They were multiplying like loaves and fishes up in that piece. But the tears in the priest's eyes during his homily was one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

Hunter behaved himself at the kennel while we were away, thank the sweet Lord. He also had a love affair with my friend Stacey, which I am more than happy to indulge, considering it may give me a way out of this city now again. Although, listening to Stace tell stories about what the two of them did while we were away kinda makes me jealous that I didn't get to join in the fun. You just can't win, can you?

Baby update: The Fetus with the Mostest is running circles around my abdomen by day and night. I think the fact that I crave sleep more than any human being alive, or gone, has destined me to give birth to a child who will never shut it's eyes. This is a slightly devastating possibility that I will refrain from acknowledging until absolutely necessary. I'm gaining pounds by the milisecond, and now the maternity pants I bought, maternity, don't fit anymore. But I'm joyously forging where ever my appetite takes me because I can, mostly. And I promise, one of these days I'm totally going to break out that Yoga dvd again... Totally.