If you feel like freaking yourself out

Apparently I do, cause I find this kind of satisfying.
Emergency Procedures brainstorm

Perhaps I have a latent survivalist tendency. Though you won't catch me peering through binocs at black helicopters or stockpiling shotguns.

Emergency	Plan
Bridges to Cambridge are blocked while I’m at work	Steal boat from boathouse
Political coup or martial law declared nationwide	Drive far north as possible, hike into Canada
Floodwaters rise forcing us and neighbors to third floor landing	Someone can stand on my shoulders and break skylight to get us up to the roof.  Probably third-floor neighbor mom lady, since she weighs about 85 pounds.
Blizzard, hurricane, power outage etc make baby formula, diapers unavailable	Formula=melted ice cream from all the thawing freezers in town; I can totally DIY some diapers out of bedsheets or something.
Aliens invade and enslave human race	Head for woods; live in cave while developing toxin to kill aliens
ENP destroys all electrical equipment	Camp stove; candles; carrier pigeons
Twilight zone scenario where I’m the only person left on earth	mmm…shit…this one sucks….I’d probably head straight for the ol’ pharmacy for a handful of night time stuff.
Zombies	You kill zombies by shooting them in the head.Duh.
Ice-9	Make some snowshoes, bundle up, burn proof pages for heat

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Tiredness makes it incredibly hard for me to focus on anything. Sometimes at the beginning of a task I have to write down the steps while I still know them, so that I don't end up staring at a pile of pages, trying to figure out where I was when I left off, or doing the almost-panicky thing I do where I compulsively click through every open window on my screen looking for an entry point back into whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing.

The brain, it cannot keep track of itself lately.

Among topics that would be amusing if I had an attention span > 3 seconds

-member of my family who buys into 9/11 conspiracies, to my embarassment
-my attempts to hack a not-cheap baby product that turned out to be WAY lamer than its price suggested (maybe I'll leave this until I've successfully improved this sucker)
-how old and lame I've become, that I turned down an invitation to a very fun evening with some of my favorite people because of my bedtime

There. I've bored myself to sleep.

Baby Loves Bhangra

He does, he danced very energetically at India Day yesterday. In a sea of cute kids he was certainly cutest.

Why dont' they make such pretty and cute clothes for boys though? no fair.

We have these cats staying with us, that we are babysitting. It was for someone I don't know very well. She left them on July 2, they were supposed to stay for five weeks until she came back.

It's not such a big deal that they've stayed longer, but it is a big deal that she hasn't called or anything to say when she will really be coming. It turns out that I don't like all cats as much as I liked our old cat. These two are destructive! They rip shit up and they knock stuff down. They seem friendly but it's not a nice friendly...I call the girl one Bitey.

So this woman who owns the cats, she hasn't responded to my messages.
If she doesn't come back, hey, Free Cats for first taker!

ooh, selling out

MotherTalk book blog tour:
Maximum Ride 3: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports
By James Patterson

Once, many years ago, Octuplet Dazzle and I went on a trip with my parents. We each brought a handful of paperback books of airport quality, that we could read, trade, and then dump in some hostel in South America. One of these books was a James Patterson work, the title of which escapes me. It dealt with a kind-hearted veterinarian who encounters a group of genetically engineered children on the run from the Bad Scientists. The children, luckily, have an advantage, in that they can fly. It got sillier from there.
This was easily the worst of the entire batch of pretty lousy books on the trip. We may have traded it for a cup of coffee in Baños. Sorry, coffee vendor.
Well, at some point Patterson must have realized that even for weary travelers and people stranded in airports, tales of flying children were kind of a stretch. But the idea must have seemed too good to drop entirely, as the scenario has been tweaked and rebranded and turned into a series of books aimed at children, who presumably don’t balk at the idea that “recombinant DNA” results in children who can fly (and read minds!) And this novel is just bursting with themes that appeal to kids: Kids Alone In the Woods, Kids vs. Grownups, Loyal Friends.
The execution is strained, however. There’s a feeling of self-consciousness running through the book (to the point of having the narrator-heroine chastise the reader for starting with the third book in the series). There is also a kind of gimmicky ‘blog’ aspect introduced by one of the characters. This fourth-wall-breaking doesn’t really add much to the tale, though I laughed out loud at the ‘blog comments’, which were authentically spelled.
Past all these awkward details is a standard adventure with plenty of sci-fi elements, a band of righteous kids, and some super-super-super-villains. The story is frequently violent and I have a feeling that this series is more popular among boys than girls, despite the central character being a girl. In this respect, it’s a bit unusual--books aimed at boys almost exclusively feature boys in key roles (think CYOA books). Max, the heroine of this series, exhibits virtues generally tagged as ‘male’, though, such as toughness, aversion to tears, distaste for ‘mushy’ feelings, and physical strength, which tells me she has probably been written to appeal to boys.
And appeal she does, as the Maximum Ride series is tops on many bestseller lists. I suspect the readers overlap with fans of Eoin Colfer’s fantasy novels. If you’ve got a ten-year-old, you probably don’t need to read all these reviews anyway: you’re probably drowning in Maximum Ride titles already, and will be shelling out the clams for movie tix in 2008. It’s already a successful franchise, and I’m sure Patterson sleeps on a giant pile of hundred-dollar bills, but its shelf life is limited, and I don’t expect your grandkids to be reading this series.

Possibly I could swim to work.

Good Morning. I already had an intense fear of bridges. Now it may slide over to "crippling". If you are on the red line today and see someone swaying and humming while hyperventilating with their eyes closed tight as you're pulling into Charles, say hi!

Jokester

Not Exactly Stephen Colbert, but it played well to the crowd.

Now, almost anything will make him laugh. Tickling. Dancing. Jumping. Words beginning with 'B'. But this was the first time I noticed that he created a joke of his own. He was sitting in his crib drinking his bottle. We were gathered around trying to convince him that yes, it was indeed bedtime and he hadn't had a nap all day so what the hell? He was ignoring these reasonable pleas, sucking on the bottle and chattering away. I opened my mouth and he reached up and stuck the bottle in my mouth and laughed SO hard.

A much better milestone than dumb old teeth, right?

It's Business Candy

how early is too early to eat the vendor candy out of the proof packages?

I've been here since 8.

If that makes a difference.

Secret message for fellow nerds:
OMG 38h40m!!!!

Baby's Social Calendar

There was a funeral last week, and a wedding this week, and in another couple weeks is the great-grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary. We're logging a lot of carseat miles lately. Also becoming familiar with all of New England's rest areas. (Maine? could you please get some damn coffee? We are tired)

If you try to sit the kid on his butt, he stiffens his legs so he can 'stand'. Maybe he likes being all tall (all twenty-six inches tall) and looking around like the big kids. Speaking of big kids, he cannot get enough of them. And not just because they don't know the rules about no cookies for babies.

See him break it down with Gramma.

The State

I know I don't blog about the baby much. Why? I dunno. He's always on my mind.
Here's the status

-he sits
-he claps his hands with glee
-he strums the guitar (the one that the burglars missed! ha! suck it, burglars!)
-he drinks from a glass if you hold it
-he wakes up throughout the night demanding food
-he rejects his crib
-he laughs all day
-he pulls hair
-he pinches faces
-he waves his right hand in an adorable manner
-he eats gallons of yogurt

oh my gosh! I have arrived!!

I got my first ever jackass commenter!!!

oh my gosh!
I can't believe it!
I am a Real Blogger Now, baby.

hee!

Oh I also wanted to point out this quote. The writer looks to the future with a wonderful sense of optimism and promise:

"It is only a matter of time before a same-sex couple married in Massachusetts finds a federal judge prepared to rule that under the US Constitution, their marriage license must be granted ''full faith and credit'' by every other state. Same-sex marriage will be the law of the land."

Thanks Jeff Jacoby! May it be so and in our lifetime!

heh!

reports greatly exaggerated

So I envisioned an all day vigil and shit. with dickering and filibusters. etc.
Instead I clicked over to the webcast and heard Murray say, "The speaker will call the roll,"

And then

pulse a racing

I listened and ticked off the NOs. 34!
And then, the machine vote began
(MUCH less dramatic, any screenwriters, take note, always use the roll call verbal vote in your movies)
And then...

it was over!

so quick. And now we have until 2012 at the least to just live, and breathe, and not worry. I would say I'll sleep better, but I definitely will not and for an entirely unrelated reason *cough*babykicksalot*cough*.

Anyway, I must thank the no voters, and I can even muster a little nod in the direction of the bathroom breakers who did not vote. Whatever it takes.

ConCon: Con Comme Un Sac des Marteaux

Just brushing up, in case we have to move to Canada.

For everyone on the edge of their seats, yet still trapped in their seats by the iron fist of Summer Hours, a list of the liveblogs of le concon con.

some dude's blog
bay windows
TV!

Attention Massachusetts Lawmakers

Revoke Marriage, Reinstate The Curse

but, but, I do not want them in my boat

As crazy as I find these people, I have to admit I don't understand why what they do is necessarily illegal. A lot of people have bunches of babydaddys/babymamas right? So who cares if they're doing it because they think god said so or any other reason?

They certainly wouldn't do the same for me but I say leave them to their eccentric life.

Meanwhile, in saner planes, there is a big important vote on Thursday. I am feeling fairly pessimistic and helpless about it. On one side you have people who would do anything to 'punish' me and my family, they are so invested in the idea that we're Wrong Wrong Wrong. In the middle you have people who share that feeling deep down, but are conflicted due to their belief in fairness, and cover it all up with the assertion that the Majority Should Rule, the People Must Vote, etc. On this side (the side of Right and Good, obviously), there are some very optimistic lobbyists who hope to change eight minds from the two previous categories, by Thursday.

You might be able to see why I am not terribly hopeful. People don't change their minds very often. Usually you need new information in order to change your mind. And all the information is already on the table:
-taking away marriage is mean and unfair
-letting a hostile majority vote on minority rights is disastrous
-get ready for another year of nasty nasty talk and those recorded phone calls*

They know what they are doing. And they are willing to do it. How can you change minds like that?

I am worried. I am worried for the state, I am worried for everyone who might want to get married in the future, I am worried for my own family. They say nothing will change for us personally but I'm sure that's what they said in Michigan and Wisconsin and Virginia and everywhere else, and it certainly did.

*these recorded phone messages make my blood boil with the heat of 1000 suns. it is beyond infuriating to pick up the phone and hear a disembodied voice saying that you don't deserve your rights AND YOU CAN'T EVEN YELL AT IT BECAUSE IT IS A RECORDING.

Where Were You Three Years Ago Today?

I was at work, and utterly exhausted from having stayed up until 4 AM.

It was the Best Night Ever though.

i am in this picture but only barely.

parties for jerks

Last week some "important" people showed up from HQ and canned about 15 people. "Business needs," they said. "Budget slow sales project schedules blah blah you're fired!"

This was just the latest round...they've visited a couple times over the past few months. It's become so that when they show up, we know what's going down. When there's a meeting on short notice in the middle of the day, we know. It's always bad news.

Anyway, this week one of those VIPs is retiring. Needless to say the company is making a huge fuss about it. She's having a fete in each remote office (total eight! eight parties) and we were all bullied into signing a going-away book for her. Well. I don't know if anyone else felt bullied. But I felt super phony and gross signing it. But someone handed it to me and said "sign the page!"

Like yay! You're leaving and you get cake! Everyone you just fired gets no cake, no job, no health insurance!

I had a dream that they came in and said, anyone who is planning to take vacation days-you're fired.

I believe I have, how you say, resentment?

cousins who care

I got the saddest text message on my cell phone

"You know we're still cousin's [sic]
even though you
don't talk to me anymore.
This is Rahshaan just in case you forgot. Love Ya."

aw
Is a wrong number making Rahshaan's cousin look like a douchebag?
Or did Rahshaan's cousin change his number to escape Rahshaan?

Either way I had to respond with "sry wrong numbr" (I have never gotten the hang of text messaging. I'm OLD, yo.) It was too mean to leave Rahshaan hanging. Thinking his cousin was ignoring his texts.

I am just worried he will think it a humorous joke or a brushoff. Much like Ersatz Shirky McLazy's mother did.

I also get calls for Raji.
I do not know him either.

How many people had my damn number?

Fuckers!

If you happen to see a three-man band of buskers with guitar, violin, and churango, be a pal and let me know, I gotta come kick their music-loving asses.

I call dibs

on this place. You know, for when it all goes down and we have to scram.

Answer in the form of a question, champ

My boss just won a bunch of dough on The Price Is Right. And a kayak.

I would like to get on a quiz show. I think I could win something easier than Jeopardy but harder than the show with fifth graders.

Or maybe America's Next Top Candy Eater.

And when they bark they shoot bees at you

I'm worried about the bees.

on the other hand, this is awesome. The perfect gift for those who are hard to buy for and have beef with the Man of Steel.

Murder Pizza Retrial

I see in the news that the murder pizza guy is getting a new trial. This was a big murder case in our neighborhood. I call the pizza place "Murder Pizza" which I think has a delightfully horrifying sound to it. In fact I think the pizza place should just accept fate and change their name. It is such a crummy little hole, with bars on the windows, it should totally just embrace the whole sordid thing. We're Murder Pizza! Free Pizza if you Get Murdered While Picking Up Your Pizza! Cannot be combined with other offers.

Such a weird case though. I have such a vivid mental picture of the whole thing for some reason. Like a re-enactment on America's Most Wanted. There's this kinda stout kid, wearing shorts and a yellow slicker. He's weaving down the sidewalk drunk. Then when the other kid starts talking trash, he carefully unfolds a swiss army knife, maybe first he gets the wrong blade (scissors? I didn't want scissors!).

What the hell, you know? A swiss army knife? It's not even menacing. Like if your getaway car is a VW bug or something.

thanks all for the kind comments about the poor cat. We miss her very much. Sometimes I enter a room expecting her to be there sleeping. Last night I dreamed she came back and was fine. I was like, how? how did she walk all the way home? She was not even an evil zombie cat.

Once I worked with a guy who told a story about the cat coming back. He was living with roommates somewhere in Allston-Brighton. There was some old tomcat that was hanging around. They liked the cat OK but this cat was 'intact' as they say and therefore a nuisance of howling fighting and stinkin. So one night they put the cat in a car and drove him all the way up to the Cambridge common. Folks not living in Boston: it's a few miles, but across a river. A big river.

A few days later of course, the cat was back meowing at the window. He said he felt SO bad about it. I picture a little puss in boots with a bindle, making his way across the bridge. Homeward bound! Man, that guy told great stories. He was awesome. I wish I worked with him again. for one thing he reminded me of my dad, mostly because he had the same mustache. And I find that amusing. Plus the great stories. One time he got in a fight at an all-night diner and bit a guy on the leg! ha! Well. It was funnier when he told it. Man.

here's the part of the post where I bitch about the weather. Why is it below freezing again?

how delightful

it's snowing, or should I say, it's fucking snowing.

My sister was both a model houseguest and drove me insane.

Today's Winner

I recently spent dozens of minutes creating a detailed set of instructions telling editors exactly how to create a tearsheet and submit their corrections to me. I then held a meeting where I went over the instructions WITH visual aids. I demonstrated why the tearsheet was important and what it needs to show.

Moments ago I was handed a stack of crappy photocopies with corrections scrawled on them from an editor who announced he didn't "feel like making a real tearsheet."

he's officially lazier than me! woo!

My sister is coming to visit this weekend. Who knows what we will do. Oh, forget it I know exactly. I will worry for days about how to entertain her, what to feed her, and how to make her comfortable. She will arrive, borrow a set of keys, and take off to party with her young and energetic friends until post-subway-hours, then sleep until noon. rawk!

It'll be fine...we just have very little common interest wise.

cat gone. bummed out.

Deathwatch: Cat

Here's some sad news. The poor cat, the Nighttime Howler, is kind of on her last legs.

When we came home from Shelbyville in December, we realized that she was completely deaf. She couldn't hear the kid howl and made no sign that she could hear us anymore either. Since then we "call" her by stomping on the floor.

The next thing that happened was we took her to the vet for her checkup. She had lost weight and was very thin. The vet took blood, which is a horrible ordeal for both the cat and anyone listening to the cat. Turned out she has some thyroid problem. This is on top of her existing kidney problem that we've known about for years.

So now we give her a little pill every day. At first we wrestled her down and stuffed it in her mouth. Then I found that you could just hide it in a treat and she would scarf it down. The vet said "see you in six months!", which implies of course that the cat will live at least six months.

But her appetite is very low, and she hardly ever eats her food. I wouldn't either, it is gross, but she used to eat it. She is very thin and light.

The other night she tried to walk across the room and her legs wobbled and slipped. She had to lie down and take a rest halfway between water glass and couch.

So we've been feeding her cat junk food, petting her, and letting her in the bedroom at night (previously forbidden after the broken glass incident). She sleeps all the time. I carry her to her food dish so she can eat three little kibbles.

Octuplet Dazzle got that cat when she was just eleven years old. The cat was, by all accounts, a very cute kitten. We inherited her when my mother in law went on one of her long trips to India, and we just never gave her back. That was seven years ago. So, I'm bummed out.

poor puppy

The drug ads on TV with the cartoon puppy make me inexplicably sad. The puppy! and the boy! Drugs came between them! Now they are alone! it's very sad, if you think about it, and if you are insane.

There were a rough few hours this weekend while our computer was dead. But I got a part and fixed it, and we can all relax now, constant stream of internet into the household is restored, now wikipedia can recommence sending stupid information into our brains.

I didn't grow up with any internet but I can't imagine how you do anything without it. A phone number? Instructions for the coffeemaker? Why does the baby do that? Shopping? Oh, series of tubes, how would we ever live without you.

I am done with snow. Snow? You can suck it.

Lousy Smarch

DAMN it is cold outside.

I know everyone thinks it is stupid to have dst early this year but, as someone who doesn't have to be at work until nine, I am excited. sorry, early birds. But you have that whole worm thing going for you, right?

My Secret Identity

There is another person living nearby named Shirky McLazy. (that is, she shares my first and last names). She chooses not to have a home telephone or maybe not to list her number (did you know it costs extra to be unlisted? fuck that, sez me, I'm cheap). This creates a certain amount of annoyance for me, because anyone who looks her up in the phone book gets me and calls me and asks to speak with me and then informs me that I have a dentist appointment or offers condolences for having lost my job or other very alarming things.
Once I got a call from my cousin Amanda McLazy and she said she was in town, wasn't that great, and we chatted for a few minutes before I realized that both us Shirkys apparently had cousins named Amanda and this one was not the accomplished lobsterwoman from Maine that I had supposed. She was embarrassed but I tell the story at every family gathering, it amuses me so.
I have begun getting emails from the other one's mom (you'd think that your mother would know your effing address). Mom is obviously new to email cause she sends the kind of horrible, horrible forwards that I really should only come from your grandmother. I've emailed this woman a few times now gently explaining that I am not her daughter, I am not from Pittsburgh, stop emailing me crap poetry and urban legends, but maybe Bizarro Shirky has a wacky sense of humor cause Bizarro mom keeps coming back with "Ha ha! You're such a kidder! Love Mom!"
I wish I could use this whole situation for hilarious pranking but I can't really think of anything funny.

Someday I will run into the other one, and I can give her a bunch of messages. Until then...hope she doesn't rob any banks.

vast and relentless, is the sea

gaaaah!

Another

Probably the weirdest compulsion I have is scotch tape. I love the smell of scotch tape but I can't just sniff it. I take pieces and play with them until they are gray and unsticky. At the end of the day there is a little pile in front of my keyboard. It is wasteful and I have tried to stop. Here are the ways you can quit your tape habit:
1. lotion on your hands interferes with the sensation of stick and pull that you get from fingers on tape
2. don't have tape at your desk
3. have some other kind of tape, tape that doesn't have the same delicious smell and stickyness. Substandard tape is not satisfying at all. Packing tape, masking tape, and removable tape are all crap. I need regular scotch tape.

I would eat it if it were edible. I am sure.

In other news, I have a persistent eyelid twitch that is uncomfortable. what would stop that? drugs? acupuncture? wishing? I do not think it is caused, as cartoons would have me believe, by stress. Nor do I drink any caffeine. I think it's just one of those things. I am getting old.

nothing to report

At the present time, there's nothing interesting me that I feel like writing down. For one thing, it stresses me out to discuss child-related things. The threat, however imagined, of disapproval from others leaves me tongue-tied. Like, did you know some people don't approve of Pepsi-B for babies? Ridiculous. It has a B right in the name.

I don't even want to say "I'm back at work" because of my fear that people will say "How could you leave that sweet baby?" The answer is, I extracted my heart with a corkscrew. Or so it seemed.

So let's resort to lists. Here's a list of things that make me mildly weird.

1. I can't stand being asked "What are you reading?" when I have a book in my hand. Ever since I was a child this question has filled me with inexplicable and irrational rage. I have no theory about why this is.
2. I do not like shrimp, or cheesecake. I know other people find these luxury food items irresistible. I find them revolting. But that just leaves more for you!
3. Previously-mentioned fear of ocean and its inhabitants (extends to aquariums, which I have to sprint through, in order to not die of fear). I have been in the ocean maybe 2 or 3 times, cautiously, and each time ended with me hallucinating a giant fish brushing my legs and a comically flailing race back to the beach for a delicious dose of skin cancer. Apparently the real threat of melanoma scares me less than the purely imaginary threat of fish cooties. Go figure.

shiver

god this

thing is creepyass

lucky fellow

has a new lid

Photo Recap

The End: The Homecomening

Early the next morning, we packed our bags into the car. We strapped the car seat into the rental car for the first time. We marveled at how much fucking crap we had and mourned the end of traveling light.
I snuck into the living room to put presents under the tree. Just as we were about to leave, the family came downstairs to say goodbye. The other adopting family gave us a tiny sweater for the baby and we wished them good luck with their adoption.
And then we were off. Alone with the kid for the first time ever as we drove toward the airport. He was treated to some new words as I got lost, too.

He was a dream baby the whole time, slept on both legs of the trip and only woke up in between to chug a bottle. Everything was like a dream.

My aunt was going to meet us at Logan, but as we came down the escalator, my sneaky mom was there too, snapping photos. They picked up all our luggage and brought us home and put food in our fridge (and threw out the food that was in there to begin with. Whoops.) They took a bunch of pictures with the baby and then excused themselves.

Hard as it was to believe, we were home for good.

Part 2b: the fosterening continues

when we left our intrepid gang, they were stuck in Shelbyville for Christmas and New Year's, living in the basement of a foster home, and missing their ancient cat....

THE ACTIVITIES

One night, we went to the son's school Christmas play. It was a public school but they did a full-on Santa and Elves deal with no attempt to pretend they were down with non-Jesus December. I thought that was a little weird. Isn't it? Don't most schools stay away from the red and the green, because of all the kids that will feel left out? Or is everyone in Shelbyville a Jesus Christian? Weird.
Another time we went to the mall. This was the site of our very first (by no means last) super dumbass parenting trick. We totally forgot the diaper bag. I was so ashamed of this I didn't mention it to the foster mom or the other adopting family because, hello, I didn't want to be reported. We were still under surveillance! Now that I think about it, the other mom would totally have shared her kid's diapers and milk with us. As it was...we were standing in an enormous Shelbyville Mall (which had no bookstore, by the way.) with a starving hungry baby who was screaming. Luckily, we have other ways to feed the baby a little bit. So I stood in a bathroom stall, not touching anything, feeding the baby to calm him down. He didn't get a full meal but I was very pleased. Always prepared! like a boy scout!

Another time we went to the zoo! Shelbyville has a big zoo with all kinds of animals. The foster mom's sister in law works at the zoo and not only got us in free but brought out a snake for the kids to pet! Sadly, the kid is a bit young for snake petting. But the older kids enjoyed it. They had a whole "Herpaquarium" which comes from "Herp" which means "Disgusting" and "Aquarium" which means "Revolting". I am hoping to not pass on my crippling fear of creeping, crawling, swimming, sliming creatures, but I absolutely could not open my eyes walking through there. Shiver.

THE GAMES
We went to walmart (did you know I had never been in one before this trip? Well, I hadn't. But it was not that interesting.) and bought Connect Four, Don't Break the Ice!, Barrel of Monkeys, and Set. We later realized that perhaps the young children of the house might also enjoy the games. That is how we ended up spending entire days playing Barrel of Monkeys. At which I kicked the asses of everyone under 10. HA!

THE COOKING
I was desperate to eat something that had not originated in any type of pouch, and the foster mom told me she hated to cook, so I made pizza with the kids. It was hilarious but not as crispy as I like really. We also made cookies which was the messiest mess that ever messed. I wish we could have done it twice. It was fun.

THE COURT DATE
In Shelbyville, the parents have to go to a judge in order to relinquish. This is where the judge asks if they are OK with this etc. I don't really know exactly how it goes down. All I know is that the day was the 20th, at ten AM. We talked with Suzanne the night before. We didn't talk about the adoption at all...just about her other kids, and Christmas, and stuff.
The morning of the 20th I watched the clock creep closer and closer to ten. I kissed the baby one million times and whispered that I would miss him if this didn't happen. The four year old made me sit still while she did my hair (six bows! I looked hot, I tell you what). I was sitting still when the phone rang. It was the social worker calling to tell us that it was complete. Suzanne and Richard were still certain that they wanted to do this and had declared such to the judge.

The big part was over. I cried. The four year old asked me why I was crying. "Like your mom was talking about, grownups sometimes cry when they're happy. I'm happy because Godot gets to come home with us," I said. "You mean the birthmom and birthdad decided?" "Yes, they decided."

THE PLOT THICKENS (OR ANNOYS)
A couple hours later, we got a call that the Shelbyville agency needed one more piece of paper from Massachusetts. HOwever, the Massachusetts social worker was in an all day meeting and could not be reached before 1:30, when they needed this magical paper. A pissed-off Octuplet Dazzle set out for a long walk, since this would mean we were definitely here for New Year's. Our one percent had evaporated just like that.

THE TWIST
About thirty minutes after Octuplet Dazzle left, I heard the phone ring upstairs. Foster mom answered. "OK, I'll tell them," I heard her say. Then she came down the stairs. I thought she'd update me on this magical piece of paper (never did hear what that was), but she said "It's done. You can go home."

I was stunned. After all that angst? We could go where? I looked around then remembered that OD was gone. "She went out for a walk," I said lamely. (Octuplet Dazzle Loses Her Cell Phone Days Before This Trip is a different story)

I invited the family out to dinner but they had plans, so I ordered in CHinese for them. I waited and waited desperately by the door for OD to return but she was out walking around, probably still pissed off. Finally I left the baby with the foster mom and drove out to find her, which I did not.

Two hours after she'd left, she came back. "We can go home," I said, "it's done!"
She did a total cartoon double take "Whaaa?" thing. I had to explain a couple of times.

"We have a flight at ten AM. We're going home."

Part 2: The Fosterening

I have to start by explaining that I have never, ever, ever been a good journaler. My past is littered with lovely blank books that have the first six pages written on. Every overseas trip I've ever taken began with long and loving journal entries and ended with "Soup for dinner. Aiport noisy. Ran out of kleenex." So this next bit is a bit jumbled.

THE PLACE
We followed the social worker's tiny car about 15 miles across town (I know! why are towns so big out there!), desperate to not get separated from the car that held our kid. The area was very suburban, very residential, very new. The houses were enormous by our standards, and modest by other people's.

THE FOSTER MOTHER
This woman turned out to be the nicest woman on the face of the earth. Seriously. I had been very worried since finding out that the family was very religious. First of all, we are not religious in the least. You have to go back three generations in my family to find churchgoers of any sort. Octuplet Dazzle's mother is more religious but only in a way that an Evangelical Christian would describe as "heathen". Then, obviously, we're hugely gay. So.
But forget all that. She was super, super nice. She welcomed us, and her 17th baby of the year, into her home.

THE ROOM
we stayed in their basement, which was a nice big room with a fridge and a microwave and a rocking chair and a TV. And a bed, duh. We unpacked all our delicious microwavable foods that we'd had at the motel. Here are foods you can make in a microwave:
rice a roni (the san francisco treat)
indian food in a pouch (tasty bite and similar)
frozen peas
baked potatoes
nachos
soup

We put the baby in his bassinet. So cute!

THE FAMILY
Later that night the kids were home from school and came down to see the baby. The five year old daughter of the house, I'll call her Sharky because her real name is a lot like my real name, is crazy for babies. She gave him a little kiss. We gave the family the chocolates that I had lovingly made and brought all the way from Boston. We chatted with the family a little. The dad is big into movies. I secretly had known that already, having googled him. heh. The seven year old boy was a total grinning ball of motion. We watched Sharky perform her Cinderella Ballet DVD dance steps, and I felt lucky to have a boy. Not that there's anything wrong with Cinderella Ballet DVDs.

THE DAYS AND NIGHTS
Nights: awake often, at every sniff and sneeze and snore. The days: kinda dull. It was super warm in Shelbyville, and we went for walks. I felt nervous that we'd never find our way back because I am not used to winding cul de sacs and identical architecture. But we did. One night we went to the library. They were very sweet and checked out books for us to stave off the boredom. We weren't allowed to take the baby anywhere by ourselves really. SOmetimes I would drive to walmart for diapers and rice a roni and canned pineapple. Mostly we hung around in the house or outside in the sun.

THE OTHER BABY
two days after we arrived, another baby came on the scene. She was a little bigger and a little younger than Godot. She didn't have a family yet. THen they found her a family in Minnesota (yah). I could only imagine that family's excitement. Imagine! one minute no baby, the next minute, a baby!

THE MINNESOTANS
They arrived in a huge pack. Mom, Dad, two small children, and Dad's parents. Holy crap! We found them friendly and interesting. Their other two children had been adopted from another country and were 4.5 and 2.5 years old. we ordered in chinese food with them. Their 4.5 year old daughter was really fun. She loved the baby too. We let her hold him and feed him. She was also absolutely mystified by our status. Are you his mom? Is he your brother? Is she your sister? Friend? Cousin? Mom? (ouch, that) Do you have a husband? She eventually decided that I was merely a large and awkward kid. "Pretend you're a grownup," she'd say. I'm trying, I would think. Have been for years. Her dad laughed when he heard her call Godot my baby brother. "You can explain it to her," he said, "we don't mind." Which I know he meant nicely and it was nice, he was very nice, but still, really, you don't mind my existing, that's big of you, really....ouch.

THE SOCIAL WORKER
We had to have a post placement visit there in the foster home. It was fine, but that was the point when we were informed that Kentucky ICPC was all run by one woman. One woman who was taking vacation between the 22nd and the 2nd. THe court hearing was for the 20th. "THere's a one percent chance it could happen on the 21st," she said. "But you should make plans for Christmas and new year's here." So we did. We also did our best to ensure that that one percent was at least doubled. But what could we do? YOu can't fight City Hall, as they say. We tried to put a good spin on it. After all, Christmas is not a big deal for us (see above re: religiosity). THe big deal was that we wanted to be in our home! with our food! and our cat!

THE LAZY BLOGGER
Here's where the lazy blogger takes a break.

Next: The Fosterening Continued; The Homecomening

Part One: The Hospitalening

Not like I'm all organized and shit with the parts. I am going to forget all kinds of stuff here and do a bad job. but read on! some things might be funny!

November 29, 2006

We battled late takeoffs with short connections to arrive in Shelbyville, USA in the early afternoon. It was warm, not Novemberlike to me at all. We jumped in our rental car (smelled strongly of cigarettes) and drove to Babies R Dumb to buy a carseat (subsidized by Great-Grandma McLazy: "get the safest most expensive one"). Unable to decipher the instructions, we left it lying crazily in the backseat, hoping no one would notice and call CPS on us. No baby, no foul, right?

We checked into the motel and rang up Suzanne, the expectant mom we'd met three weeks before. We got a disconnect message. Which, of course, made us plenty nervous. But we called the social worker and learned that she was doing well and would check into the hospital at 5 AM the next day. We were to accompany her and DON'T BE LATE. A sleepless night.

November 30, 2006
The nauseating hour of 4:30 AM arrived and we walked the three blocks to the hospital, where we found an unstaffed registration desk and no Suzanne. We wandered the halls of the place for a while until we found her waiting by the desk, wondering where the hell the registration clerk was at this hour. A call to the ER (always staffed) and someone appeared to check her in for her surgery. We walked up to the L&D unit and were shown to the waiting room, which smelled strongly of pee.

You imagine yourself in this situation and tell me if you could sit still. I could not. We passed out truffles to the nurses, hoping to bribe them into treating us well, which turned out to be unneccessary since they were all just about the nicest people on earth.

Eventually I went to the bathroom. Which also smelt of pee. When I returned, Octuplet Dazzle told me to run and get my bracelet, because the baby was born.

While I stood swooning, they strapped my bracelet on my wrist and tried to explain to me that the baby was having trouble breathing, or, as the nurse put it, "being a pain in the butt." We followed his bassinet down the hall to the intermediate nursery...not the NICU but one step down from that. "Wait about 30 minutes," they said at the door, which then was shut and locked. We couldn't even see inside, but we stood outside shaking as we called my mother. "How big? How long? what time?" We knew nothing.

Hours later, we were finally admitted to the intermediate nursery. Nurse Dire Predictions talked about holes in the heart, apnea, oxygen at 70%, blah blah blah. Where was the doctor? Not there*.

The baby, who we barely dared to call our own Godot, had IV with antibiotics, oxygen cannula, and a feeding tube. Later we would learn that most of this was excess treatment by a kind of old fashioned hospital. But at the time...poor baby. They let us hold him if we wore gowns and gloves.

We spent the rest of the day by his bedside and with Suzanne, who was in some pain besides being ravenous and not allowed to eat yet.

*Small world tidbit: the doctor was at a conference with my grandfather, in DC, at that very moment.

December 1, 2006

In and out of the Intermediate Nursery all day (you have to wash your hands for three whole minutes every time) and out just to get food for us and for Suzanne. We watched TV and she talked about her family and music and other regular things.

They let us hold him without gowns.

In the evening we went out to find a computer to upload the first pictures. While we were at Kinko's, the social worker called us to tell us to "let Suzanne get some rest". I was terrified that we had somehow overstayed our welcome in her room and had bothered her. Five minutes later she called us asking us to please come back and bring a fish sandwich. So I guess we weren't that bad.

December 2, 2006

This would normally have been the day that Godot got out of the hospital. But they still weren't discussing discharge. We booked another night at the motel. We met Richard, Godot's father, who came to stay the night with Suzanne. He was kind of quiet but sat and watched TV with us and did a crossword puzzle and had some chicken wings.

Suzanne was discharged around noon. She came to say goodbye to us as we sat by Godot's bed. I cried a tiny bit.

I started to get a rash from the hospital soap and the three minute scrubs.

December 3, 2006

They took Godot off the oxygen. We really thought he would be able to go home, but the nurses wouldn't talk about discharge yet. With Suzanne gone, we spent most of the day with Godot, and out doing errands. We bought food to cook in the motel.

I made ramen in the motel room coffee pot.

December 4, 2006

More of same. Baby OK. Us tired and afraid to leave the hospital even for a little while. Every errand seemed to take ninety minutes, we got so lost in the city and couldn't find parking. We were tired and cried. I cried to my mom. I cried in the motel. I cried in the car.

December 5, 2006

Today they said that he would not go home until friday. When I reported this to my mother, she was furious and called my grandfather to tattle. (A little boasting, a little background: my grandfather is a neonatalogist and a big shot one too. He was running a conference in DC that week) My grandfather demanded the name of the doctor, who we still hadn't seen (he was at the conference).

The baby was eating regular style now instead of the feeding tube.

We moved to a cheaper hotel.

December 6, 2006

We finally met the doctor. I name-dropped and he promised to call my grandfather. The baby was off oxygen, eating well, and healthy. He agreed that we could leave the next day.

Driving away that night I cried, because even though the nurses were nice and kind and very good, I knew that they didn't have time to hold him every time he cried. And we weren't there.

December 7, 2006

We got up early and went to the hospital. We waited until noon, feeding, changing, and bothering the baby. Taking endless pictures. Finally the social worker arrived to take custody of the baby and drive him to the foster home--we were to follow in our own car. We were not allowed to drive the baby anywhere.

One more heel stick, one more test, one more lost paperwork and we were good to go.

Next: part 2: The Fosterening

Guy walks into a bar

I don't know how to start my story here, folks. The middle's muddled, but the ending ends with Me, Octuplet Dazzle, and Godot in our VERY OWN HOME.

trapped in the south

very little internet these days, folks. sorry. We are trapped in a maze of bureaucratic requirements and untimely vacations of ICPC workers. Possibly we could escape on the 21st but if not...we're here until 2007.

The sad part is that we will have to leave the baby here in the foster home and go to a hotel for the holiday...because, you know, these people have lives and family of their own (WHAT NERVE!).

Trying not to think about that and cry.

Baby doing very, very well. Small and cute. Nothing we brought fits him. Eat and grow fat, baby!

Godot McLazy Dazzle

Probably not his real name. He won't say one way or another though.

welcome

Clementine starts us off strong with two doozies

If it was a baffling comments contest, I might stand a chance

my own entry

This weekend my mother in law said

"Why don't you get a white one? It'll fit in better."

Please keep in mind this is not a white woman speaking, nor is anyone but me in the family white. If she is all about fitting in, you'd think she'd tell us to get an "Indian one". But the logic of Mother in Law is not to be understood by mere mortals.

PS she followed up with "I can't be excited about it, because it's not your own." Which was at least predictable.

The contest: whose relatives said the most retarded/hilarious thing about adoption
The rules: it doesn't have to be a mother in law but any kind of relative.
The prize: candy! candy! candy! I made candy. If you are diabetic or whatever we'll think of something else.
The entrants: more than just me, I hope. Just send a link to the blog post where you describe the hilarity and then I'll have a vote. The winner gets the prize and The Satisfaction Of Winning. Everyone else gets to feel better about their own Mothers in Law or other insane relatives.

waiting for the locksmith or someone like him

Just in time for thanksgiving, some fucking asshole attempted to burgle our building. The front door lock is all fucked up now. I am waiting for the locksmith instead of driving to syracuse. yay! I think it will probably cost one million dollars to fix. Plus, the cat sitter has the old key. *&%^$^$&%*^%@!#$%

I believe I will go eat a cupcake.

Guest Post by Octuplet Dazzle

Dazzle’s Candy Review

A little bit about me:

I have to admit that have been a bit influenced by Steve Almond’s Candyfreak. Upon reading this book I have been a bit obsessed with candy of the south, west, and Midwest. My obsession was renewed upon tasting an “Idaho Spud” which my mother-in-law obtained at some number cruncher’s conference in Las Vegas. Recently I went a bit nuts and bought all these old time candy from an online candy store with the idea of using them as stocking stuffers. I also did the same with my obsession with LUSH body products, but that is for another guest entry. Upon receiving my box o 35 candy bars, I have tasted several. Here we go:


SPACE FOOD STICKS – for nostalgic purposes only

I have dreamed of tasting Space Food Sticks after listen to my sister go on and on about eating them in Australia and loving them and never ever seeing them again. They come in a blue wrapper and are actually called “The Original Out of This World SPACE FOOD STICKS Delicious protein power snack. 10 Space Stick Bites in Every Pack”. The second I saw “protein power snack” I immediately worried. All this time I had envisioned sticks looking like elongated tootsie rolls, so was puzzled on seeing a package in the shape of a starburst bar. Upon opening the white wax paper packed piece you notice a rectangular brown chew with a fake chocolate scent. With your first bite, you notice the if-chalk-were-soft texture, with eventual consumption you realize you are eating the first Power Bar. Yick. Don’t try it folks.



CupoGold – giant mallomar

My sister also got me into Whipped Cream Pumpkins made by Chocolate House. They have a thin chocolate shell and a delightful melty marshmallow cream center. After tasting those I have bought every other seasonal Chocolate House product and was disappointed to not find them at my local DollarTree as I have in years past. To compensate – I buy every new-to-me item with a chocolate coating and a marshmallow like center. CupoGold satisfies. Its claim to fame is almonds and coconut in the very satisfying thickish chocolate shell. Nothing blow-your-mind here, but satisfying for those who enjoy the occasional mallomar.


Coconut Long Boys

These come in two inch long tootsie roll like wrappers with a red and yellow logo. Aside from feeling like your eating something from seventy five years ago, these were okay. I am not a big fan of the coconut, but these are good for those desiring a little zazz with their tough-to-chew caramel.


Cherry Ball

I’m not sure what these are actually called. They are spheres with a stripe of red, green, blue and yellow on a white candy like a beachball. The cherry is not satisfying like the cherry of a Jolly Rancher. It is Candy Cane Cherry, or Christmas Ribbon Cherry, and only meant to be eaten by Grandmas.


Peanut Thing in an translucent orange wrapper

This was a candy in the shape of a peanut. I was skeptical. The packaging caused me to expect teeth breaking brittle with rancid peanut paste on the inside. This was actually an unexpected delightful item. Forerunner of the butterfinger with out the chocolate. A satifying ratio of peanut flavored shell to tasty peanut butter innards.

for the time capsule

Things I Say I Won't Do as a parent, but probably will not be able to stop the train of destiny:

let the kid watch TV
teach kid to roll eyes
swear in front of kid
give kid candy
dress child in stupid cartoon character clothing
permit toys of an irritating and noisy nature in my home
call my mother in the middle of the night
dismiss mother's advice with scornful tone and feel bad about it later

ONE

Is the loneliest number. Of trickortreaters. THat's how many we got. Whaaat? are we ugly? not ugly enough? Could hear them up and down the street all night but they did not ring our bell. We even had a jack o lantern. Maybe they heard we had bad candy or something. Which is untrue. We don't even have candy. we have superballs. Currently like 143 of them, and what the hell are we going to do with them?

In the words of a famous New Jerseyan

WhooooaOH! We're halfway theeeeere! WHOOOOOOOOAAAAAOH! LIVIN ON A PRAYER!


heh.

Phrases that make your email sound xxxxtra bitchy

Collected from actual office emails (mostly)

"For your information"

"Fine."

"Do you even know how"

"Calm down"

"As I told you before"

"Am I to assume you will be doing this correctly?"

"Your mom is so ugly"


Yes, it's true, everyone I work with has suddenly become a huge asshole. So, I welcome Friday with xxxxtra love this week. Happy Diwali, yo.

World Land-Speed Record

It didn't take long.

We broke the car.

I don't know how, but I feel ridiculous. It's such a stupid thing, but pivotal to the function of the vehicle. Quite simply, we can't put gas in the fucker.

We don't drive much, and since purchasing it (the seller had kindly filled it with gas) we had never needed any. Last night it was finally getting low. So I toodled off to the neighborhood Sunoco. Drove up to the pump. Turned off the car. Yanked the thingy that opens the tiny gas door. And exited the vehicle to find--closed gas thingy. Huh? My usual method of problem solving (try the exact same thing over and over) failed me, and I had to get back in and drive away with no more gas than I had arrived with. The shame!

I tried to yank it open with a butter knife, to no avail. I stopped there (thinking of yesterday's chair cushion bonfire). Now I have to bring it to the fixit place. He said it will take three hours. That's three hours that I wouldn't have to spend, if I didn't have a stooopid car.

Car? You are not being my friend. What gives?

Add it to the list

The Answer:

The cat barfed on it.
So I tried to clean it up.
But could still detect a faint outline of cat puke.
So I washed it with soap and a scrub brush.
Then it was wet.
So I tried to dry it.
With the hair dryer.
Which set it on fire.

The Question:

What the fuck happened to the chair cushion?

The List:

Things I have made worse by "fixing" with very dubious "skills".

Other items on the List:

Roomba battery (attempted to save money by replacing cells myself; not realizing I don't know how to solder)
Kitchen switch controlling disposal and light (wanted to replace face plate only; could not find matching; thus had to replace entire electric box; now disposal works but not light, and the whole thing is a little crooked too.)
The refrigerator (too embarassing to discuss)

Harvest Loon

Call me a copycat but I have dreams like that all. the. time. So far, they have been almost entirely non-predictive.
Last week I dreamed:
--I was given a two-inch baby, which I stored in my mouth to keep warm.
--A blond woman handed me a baby and went to the "snack bar". I thought she would come back for the baby, but it turned out to be a robot, so she didn't.
--I was surrounded by dozens and dozens of children, none of them were mine.

Psychic score: 0
Weird score: One Million

Many, many moons ago...when our homestudy was being hastily finished, I had a dream that our kid would be born in October.

October's here. Prove me psychic, October! Except no two-inch babies please!

Enough of that

Not that I'm done with whining and feeling insulted! I could do that forever! But it has been determined that only 50% of sisters in law hate my guts. So I'll play half-full for now, and plot revenge for Thanksgiving. Mwa ha ha!

The blue car is a learning experience. We are pretty much learning how to drive all over again. And that is challenging in this town. When I first learned to drive, as a wee lass, the soundtrack went like this:

"Okay, you're a little close on the right side. Okay, now you're a little over the center line. Now turn left. No, LEFT. NO, NOT THERE! THAT'S THE HIGHWAY! STOP THE CAR! I'LL DRIVE HOME!"

But I'm no longer the worst hazard out there. Drivers here deserve all their bad reputations. Now the experience is like this:

"They're not honking at you. Don't worry about that guy. Okay, worry about that guy. Okay, there's a huge SUV trying to cut you off. Just let him. Let him go. No, you watch the road, I'll flip him off for you."

Beyond driving, there's parking, moving the car for street cleaning, and remembering to lock the car without locking the keys in it. Cars! Sheesh!

The extravagant thing we got (more extravagant than a car? what?) is a GPS for the car. We are cursed with very, very poor navigational skills and decided that the only way we could ever do this is with technological assistance. And it is very cool. Very cool indeed. It has a little voice (named dave) that tells you where to go and when to turn and even (this is great for me) which lane to be in. Dave is the best! True that! Double true!

My true calling

Everyone I've talked [complained] to about the recent throw-down drama-fest bitchparty has commiserated about their in-laws. Everyone's in-laws are such cows! What the hell!
Once I remember my mother telling her brother-in-law to put a lifejacket on the baby (we were on a boat.) He told her to fuck off. She is still pissed about it! The baby is in high school!

It's those kind of Classic In-Law Moments that make me think, wow, everyone has these people in their life, and would like to honor that special relationship, but there's very little exploitation of that market.

So, I present to you, Greeting Cards for In-Laws. Look for them in better stores everywhere.

Don't read this

Seriously. I am going to sound like a big baby whiner and a real bitch in about three seconds. So beat it.

I guess I got my comeuppance for posting about my in-laws, the Bickersons. Sister in Law--may I call her Queen of Bossy?--sent an extremely hostile and insulting email (Email: the Choice of Emotional Cowards) all about ME! I can't tell you how flattered and humbled I am to be the star of such a long and windy diatribe, describing my percieved flaws in every detail.
DID YOU KNOW?
I am bossy and controlling (Which is like Stephen Hawking saying, "hey, you're pretty smart!". SUCH AN HONOR.)
I am unpleasant to spend time with. (As unpleasant as listening to someone browbeat a hotel clerk or other service personnel?)
All her friends (SHE HAS FRIENDS?) agree with her on these points. I've never even met them! But I'm famous!
I am probably suffering from bipolar disorder, I am that bitchy. (Doctors, they love to diagnose!)
Our "relationship" is troubled (You know, we really should be bickering more. Eight years of love and devotion is Not Normal.)

And probably some other delightful bits of cheer I am forgetting.

So if you see me stomping southward carrying a sharpened spoon handle, you know where I'm going. And let this be a warning: if you refuse to be bossed by the Queen of Bossy, you will pay the price.

I feel like such a cliche (can't get along with her in-laws), but at least I know I'm in good company.

This weekend we went to cape cod with my sister in law and her husband. They are exhausting. Here are the topics of conversation they enjoy:

1) You made a wrong turn/why didn't you warn me I was making a wrong turn/you're a terrible navigator
2) How many calories/fat calories are in this food item
3) Americans are stupid/fat/lazy/ignorant/diabetic

Nothing puts me off my feed more than hearing how healthy or unhealthy something supposedly is. It saps all the love out of the food for me. The more they talk about sugar and its evils, the more I want to eat ten pounds of frosting off a cupcake shaped like kermit the frog. The more smug they are about watering down their orange juice, the more I want to pour the stuff straight down my gullet.

But then, I am just a stupid, fat, lazy, ignorant American! I don't know any better!

We have nearly almost kind of purchased a car (used! the horror!). I believe it will be in my possession today or tomorrow. Then we can drive our own asses and not have to ride with the Bickersons. And I might eat a cupcake too. So there.

A Valuable Lesson (in song)

Hot Pepper!

Don't put it in your eeeeeyyyyyyeeee!

Hot Pepper!

Don't put it in your EEEEEEEEYYYYYYYEEEE!

Hot Pepper!

Keep it out of your EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

The End.

How Capitalism is Working For Me

Here's how the car buying has gone so far:


Me: I have some money. Will you take it, and give me a car in exchange?
Car dealer: No. No I will not.
Me: It is American Dollars!
Car dealer: get the fuck out of my face!


It may have something to do with the exact number of American dollars I am offering to exchange for a working vehicle. Which happens to be less that Car Dealer would like to obtain. I can see how this will be a problem for me, probably ending in my spending more than I want to/getting a lamer car than I want to. And damn, it is hard to be a lamer car than the one I want.

heh

"We all took a taxi to St. Peter’s, which we had already been through. At a small side door we were admitted to the Vatican palace. Mother and my sisters had to cover their heads with little black veils that were supplied there. Some men were in full white tie evening dress. There were about 200 people at the audience. We were conducted upstairs to a huge ornate renaissance room with beautiful ceiling paintings and wall frescos. Soon papal attendants lined us up standing in rows to wait. Then the Pope entered in a white gown and white skullcap. We were all told to kneel. He held his two fingers up and gave us all a blessing; then walked slowly along the kneeling lineup presenting his hand with a ring on it, which each person in turn was expected to kiss. The “audience” did not mean that we were able to say anything to him nor he to us, except for his blessing at the beginning and at the end. Many people had brought rosaries and little crosses that they held in their hands when they took the Pope’s hand, so that he would have touched it; and that would have given, I suppose, some special quality to the cross or rosary. When he came to Betty Jane, 2-years-old, who was standing because she was so small, he held his hand out to her just like everybody else. But she didn’t rise to the occasion. He waited a few seconds and Mother whispered “Kiss it, kiss it.” But she answered very audibly, “I don’t want to.”


(Look, I don't know what they were doing there. They were not even Catholic.)

Done! (Bathroom Edition)

Take a good look, because it will never be this clean EVER AGAIN!

I am going to scream

Never try to improve your home, I say.

The tiling guy totally flaked on Saturday (which was his suggested time! not mine!). He did show up on Tuesday, about an hour late, but he did come. He and his helper worked a while and argued some and then left at the end of the day, promising to return to finish the job on Thursday morning. "I will be here at 9," I said. "Not before 9, because I have to drive my wife to work. I will be back at 9."

Is that clear to you? Because guess what.

While I was out driving Miss Lady to work, he left a message on the machine. "I want to come in before 9, because 9 will be too late," he says, "I have to be somewhere else at 9."

When I returned at 8:30 and heard this message, I was pissed off, and I called him up. "I'm at another job already," he whines. I don't know if he really whined. It's for the story. Just go with it. "I can come in tonight, though," he says. Dude. DUDE. NO. "I took off work today, and that's kind of a big deal for me," I said (assertively, I hope). (No laughing. It was a big deal. Though I do next to nothing at work, they are really weird about having people there anyway. Go figure.) "Grumble, grumble," he said or something like that. "I'll see what I can do." Oh THANK you. Thank you so much for going out of your way to SHOW UP WHEN YOU SAID YOU WOULD YOU BIG DORK.

9:30, he rolls in. I point out where he has installed a fucked-up piece. "That is going to drive me crazy," I explain. He tried to blame it on me but what the fuck? I sure as hell didn't install it that way. YOU DID.

Now he has gone out to "get stuff" while I sit here, not at work, and I CAN'T EVEN USE THE BATHROOM.

I have already paid this guy for Tuesday's work, so I'm in this for good. Just have to tough it out (and go to whole foods to pee.)

No stories about your fabulous experience hiring home repairs, okay? Misery loves COMPANY, people, not tales of terrific handymen.

update: he is here, but he is not speaking to me or something. Yes, I hired a thirteen year old. What is UP with people?

Done!

Because I never know when to end a joke

more hilarious faces from the hilarious internet

Me, as a Monkeyman:


Me, as different evil gnome baby:


my wife, as the world's fattest baby:


and me, as "drunk" (how is that a face?):

wanna see something scary?

This site here has provided me with my face, transformed into a "baby"

Introducing..... evil gnome baby from 1000 miles below the surface of the earth!

Hold the phone! A car could be blue!

Okay.
Here's what we've learned from our car research:
we can maybe afford this vehicle.

We might also want to look at something in a bicycle. Maybe even a tricycle!

Right now I am wondering whether we should try to buy a car off, you know, some guy, or go to a dealership. If I'm buying from some guy, my own ignorance dooms me. If I go to a dealership, my paranoia and suspicion combine with my ignorance to create a Perfect Storm of Mishap.

Am I overworrying? Is car buying actually fun and puppies? Someone lie to me, quick.

PS High five to anyone who IDs the post title!

Sharks will EAT YOU, is all I'm saying

This weekend we drove through miserable, awful traffic to Maine for a cousin's wedding. Spending time among these particular cousins always makes me feel very, very lame. They are excellent people in all respects: kind and thoughtful and good with names, easy conversationalists, accomplished musicians and lobsterwomen, and they have a herd of adorable blond children who never, ever, ever cry. I know my dad wishes one of his daughters was seaworthy (we suffer from motion sickness, and in my case, a crippling phobia of ocean-dwelling creatures that keeps me land-based whenever possible). These girls know how to tie knots and talk about boats just like my dad likes. How'd he end up with a pair of lubber kids, I'm sure he's wondering. Meanwhile I feel a little embarassed all the time I'm there, while they ask oh-so-kindly about the adoption and I have no information to give them. No, I don't know where my kid is. I don't even know if/when he/she will be born. I felt a little envy watching everyone tickle the babies, and then hated myself when my cousin, who nearly died having her child after years of IVF, sympathetically said, "It must be so hard not knowing when this will end." Well, I would have complained of exactly that a minute ago, but now I feel like a jerk. Adopting will not physically try to kill me nor land my kid in the NICU for five weeks.

Why is everyone so nice?

Due to circumstances beyond our control, we may finally cross over to the dark side and become car owners. There is no describing how many different ways this terrifies me. Here's a start:
1. I hate driving
2. I am a very bad driver
3. And a worse navigator
4. I have never owned a car
5. How much do I know about cars? They have four wheels. Generally. I think.
6. I will never ever be able to fool a salesman or mechanic into thinking I know more than that. I might as well have a shirt made that says "Pigeon" to wear when car-shopping.
6. I hate spending big money. Especially on things I won't enjoy.

I am happy to have advice about car buying, car driving, car care, and how to not hate cars. Bring it on (she said to the empty auditorium).

Greetings from Boredomville

I have been kind of grumpy lately, and though I know that suffering is the wellspring of comedy, I'm not actually miserable exactly so there's no funny.
For one thing, I am trying to get the bathroom floor tiled, and "The Guy" won't call me back. Why must he be such a cliche, I ask? For another thing, I am trying to eat less candy*, which is ridiculous and I don't even see why I'm doing it except I realized that I probably eat enough candy in a year to fill a dumpster, and that grosses even me out. Then, one of the agencies where our profile is was like, we are missing one of your forms, which isn't a big deal except it makes me think that they are only NOW looking at our file, three months after sending it in, and what the hell is up with that? Then of course, there is the lung-crushing soul-sucking brain-frying HEAT we've been putting up with for the last few days. I like to eat my lunch outside, I have never set foot in the cafeteria (five years now), I always go to the park and sit by the fountain like all the other blue-shirted office drones. (In the winter I go to the library or someplace.) But the heat has caused some kind of bacterial bloom in the fountain water and it smells like hobo feet.
And of course we've had no indication of any kind that we will ever, ever, see the other side of this adoption thing. Which is more discouraging than you might think only three months would be. The thing is, it took us a dog's age to get to the waiting stage so I feel like I've been waiting more than a year. I am getting older! The world is getting crappier! Hurry up!


*and ice cream, cookies, brownies, cake, frosting straight from the tub, popsicles, candy that comes free in sample copy shipments, and old candy I found in my purse.

what'd I say

Still the King of Jackasses

Dear Cat-sweatshirt people

(tm Mimi Smartypants)

Besides being absolutely gross, what does finding a dead ladybug in my purse mean?

Ew.

Ass of the Day!

Today's champion is:

MITT "RHYMES WITH SOMETHING" ROMNEY!

Come collect your lovely prize! A kick in the nuts, from me to you!

his winning entry

my ebay advice to the world

If you're anything like me, you never read an ebay seller's feedback until a month has gone by since you paid for your ridiculous item with no sign of a package on your doorstep. Then, when you realize you may have bought something from the ebay equivalent of the guy who sells stolen library books down in the Common, you go and read all the feedbacks they've every gotten.
My advice to the world is to read what has been written, and then multiply it times "fuckin' A".
Everyone on ebay is a big ol wuss and is afraid to put down anything accurately negative. Or else someone will say something nasty back. Feedback deterrent. So when you read:
Was a bit testy in emails
you should think:
Writes in all caps, calls mother a whore

When you read:
Slow shipping
you should think:
Start your christmas shopping in May

When you read:
Some miscommunication
You should think:
Seller is dead, corpse does not answer emails

When you read:
Item arrived slightly damaged
you should think:
Seller employs a grizzly bear as packer/shipper.

When you read:
Item not as described
you should think:
Item was actually anthrax

My other advice to the world is, stay away from ebay. It is a delicious drug, but still a drug.

progress

As you can see, I have done 7 characters. Or one week of waiting.

idle hands

We're settling in for a long eighteen month wait. (I figure, it's better to have low expectations. Then, a pleasant surprise is possible) So, I have invented a project to occupy me.

This project will keep me busy for over one month and also decorate the walls of the second bedroom at the same time. How efficient!

Every day I'm making one of these:





And every day I'm hanging one up on the wall:



You can't see the elaborate system for aligning these properly. It involves thread and tape. Very sophisticated.

The problem is that nice as these look, I am still shaky on what they sound like. But the idea is that the kid will see them every day and become A GENIUS. My wife has a belief that bright colors make you smarter. I have a belief that other languages make you smarter. Obviously, our child will be an UNSTOPPABLE SUPER GENIUS. But in a good way.

Anyway, there are 36 letters I'm doing. So this will take 36 days. And then, there will be only about 452 days left to wait. No sweat, right?

to take the sting off NY and GA rulings

"Conscientious and nurturing adults, whether they are men or women, heterosexual or homosexual, can be excellent parents. The rights, benefits, and protections of civil marriage can further strengthen these families."

http://pediatrics.aappublications.org/cgi/content/full/118/1/349

thanks, opa.

Surly Bird

You know what store I hate? Pearl. Aren't those retail workers lazy and arrogant? Or maybe they all just hate me in particular. Either way I always forget how much I hate them until I'm already in the store, climbing over half-unpacked boxes of stock to get to the dusty, shelfworn item I want, and then standing in line behind someone returning 75 tubes of paint while the cashiers one-up each other with ohmygodiwassodrunklastnight tales. I always swear I won't go back but I do. Cause I'm dumb like that.

Do you know what is fun? Fireworks! Plus, they make your mom grumble disapprovingly like Marge Simpson! Which is funny! Then you can tease her by hiding your fingers like they got blown off!

In related news, if anyone needs a gross of sparklers, call me. I may have gotten carried away at the Fireworks, Candy, and Puppydog Store. EVERYTHING WAS 2 FOR 1.