Silly me, what was I thinking?

So tired

2008-11-20T17:57:00.000-08:00

I've been wanting to blog. When I'm in the shower, I start composing entries. But I can't seem to find that elusive intersection of time, energy, and state of mind necessary to sit down and write something.

So, in brief: Lilian You-Ying Hales-Yang was born on Saturday, November 1, at 4:30 a.m. She weighed 7 lbs., 15 oz. and measured 21 inches long. My water broke around 8 a.m. on October 31, so we thought we had a Halloween baby on the way, but she had different ideas. We were discharged from the hospital the following Monday and went home, where my family was waiting with open arms and hot food. The next 24 hours were among the worst of my life: my milk was late coming in, the baby was hungry, and we both cried for a lot of those 24 hours. The home-care nurse that UCSF sent and a nurse-practitioner in the pediatrician's office set us on a path back to happiness, my milk finally showed up, and we've been doing better and better since. At nearly 3 weeks old, she weighs over 9 lbs. and has thus far been a pretty chill baby. She cries, of course, but so far, we've been able to figure out why and remedy the situation. Our longest stretch of sleep has been about 4 or 5 hours each, but only because we each take a middle-of-the-night feeding (Chris gives her a bottle of expressed breastmilk). I still wake every time she so much as squeaks, though, so my 4-hour stretches of sleep are not without interruption.

I'm working on some posts, including a detailed version of the delivery (mostly for my benefit--there's some goriness involved) and some other stories and observations, but there's no telling how long that will take me.

This is currently my favorite picture of Lily:

Waiting

2008-10-18T14:57:00.001-07:00

Wow, has it really been that long since I last posted? I just finished my first week of maternity leave (no baby yet...her official due date is October 26) and what I've learned is that while I am very good at wasting time when I have a lot on my to-do list, I am very bad at relaxing and doing nothing when I don't have a to-do list to fret about. I end up fretting about, well, not having anything to do. How stupid am I? Actually, I do have a to-do list, but everything on it is contingent on us getting the drywall repaired in the baby's room. We've known for a while that we needed some electrical work done in the hallway outside the baby's room and we've been dragging our feet. What we didn't know is that that work required pulling power from the baby's room, which required cutting holes in the walls of her room, which we'd already painted. So now the electrical work is done, but the holes are still there. This will be remedied on Monday, so starting Tuesday, I'll be free to nest and fret to my heart's desire.

Actually, she'll be sleeping in our room for at least the first month probably, so even if she were to arrive before the work is all done, it would be okay. Just not ideal. I've finished pre-washing all her tiny clothes and linens, we have 80 cloth diapers ready to be pooped on, and our freezer is stocked with food. So now, it's just waiting. I am not good at waiting, especially when what I'm waiting for is so exciting. Chris said he jumps a little every time I call him at work, so I've taken to starting every call with, "I'm not in labor!" instead of "Hi!"

I just need to take a moment here to state the obvious: baby clothes are so freaking tiny! I can't get over it. The socks are especially adorable. I can't believe she'll be so small.

Okay, back to waiting.

Amnesia and survival

2008-09-12T13:50:00.000-07:00

I had lunch today with Irvin and Karen, which was fun and entertaining as it always is. Irvin and I haven't seen each other in a while, so we got caught up and he asked me the usual questions, like how I'm feeling and how the pregnancy is progressing. And then he asked, "Do you enjoy being pregnant?" And I had to stop for a moment to think about that, because no one really asks. And the short answer is, "not really." I've been really lucky thus far, in that I have had an easy pregnancy. On a scale of 1-10, 1 being a dream pregnancy and 10 being a nightmare pregnancy, I think mine has been around a 2 or 3. There have definitely been little problems here and there, but nothing that required medical attention or that proved to be more than a minor annoyance. And yet, I can't think of any reason I'd prefer to be pregnant than not be pregnant.

Over the years, I've gone back and forth on whether I wanted kids, but the one constant has been that I've wanted to experience pregnancy and birth. For a lot of women, I think it's the other way around: they want the kids, but don't want bother of pregnancy. For me, going through the physical experience of being pregnant was always an issue of intellectual curiosity. It's definitely one of those things that you can try to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it, but almost impossible, I think, to really convey the entire experience. The problem for me right now is that, well, I've experienced it! I know what it's like to feel nauseous and exhausted, to be unwieldy and yet still growing, to feel an active baby kicking and punching, to feel the physical aches and pains and the mental and emotional worries about the baby growing, to experience how pregnancy changes a simple act like turning over in bed or getting out of a low-slung chair...and now, I'm kind of ready for it to be over. Been there, done that, time to move on.

Which brings me to the amnesia part. You often hear women talk about how they forget what pregnancy and labor are like and how that obviously must be a genetic survival mechanism, because who in their right mind would want to go through that again? I can see now how absolutely true that is and again, I've had an easy time of it, so I can imagine that if I feel this way, women who have it much tougher must feel the entire 40 weeks dragging by. Being in the thick (ha) of it right now, I can honestly say that I'm glad I did this and got to see what it's like and I'm 100% excited about meeting the baby and watching her grow, but I don't know if I want to be pregnant again. And yet, Chris and I have always talked about having 2 kids. So unless we decide to adopt or use a surrogate, I will have to go through this whole thing again. And in order to do that, I'm going to have to forget the downsides of this pregnancy. And I have no doubt that I will, because even many of the women I know who had horrible first pregnancies (including my own mother) went on to do it again. They managed to forget, so I know I will too. (Either that or they are just mentally tougher than I am.) The survival of the human species depends on that amnesia.

That said, there is one thing that makes me a little sad when I think about giving birth and being done with the pregnancy itself. The baby and I, we are this little system right now. She's fully contained within me and fully dependent on me. In a way, it's the most private relationship possible. Chris can feel her kick when he's around and she's awake, and he has his own interpretations of her personality based on her actions. But I'm the only one who is with her every moment of the day. I feel every single little squirm, bump, and kick and I'm the only one who can. At this moment, I don't have to share her with anyone. A part of me is always tuned into her because she's always there. I feel like I know her intimately and I think I will miss that once she's born. Naturally, an entirely different and ultimately richer relationship will develop once she's on the outside, but for now, I still get to have this one little thing that's just mine.

Odds and ends

2008-09-09T12:36:00.000-07:00

We've been so busy lately, I haven't had time to sit and collect my thoughts. I still haven't quite collected my thoughts, so this is just brain dumping:

1. L.A. baby shower: my sister and parents hosted a baby shower in Cerritos and invited both families and close friends. I've never been quite comfortable being the center of attention, so I requested a co-ed shower, which turned out great. The dinner was awesome (thanks, Stella!), the cake was tasty, the company was excellent, and now, our little baby will be the belle of the ball. She has no shortage of adorable, pink outfits. Someone asked, "What if the doctor was wrong and you're having a boy?" I guess he'll have to be a boy who wears a hell of a lot of pink!

2. Birth preparation class: we took the intensive, one-day childbirth prep class offered through UCSF last Saturday. It was a lot of information to take in in one sitting, but overall, we both found the class valuable. There was a lot of discussion about pain medications and we watched footage of actual births, including one all-natural birth, one helped with narcotics, and one with an epidural. There's still a lot of information to sift through, but I feel more informed and ready to deal with the birth. I might be singing a different song when the time comes, of course.

3. We just hired someone to do the housecleaning for us. Chris has been advocating this move for a long long time, but I've resisted. As it turns out, I have a strong streak of Protestant work ethic. I just had a hard time dealing with the idea of paying someone to do something that I can do for myself. But the reality is that I can't really do it anymore, at least not as easily, and it's only going to get harder. As a result, the bulk of the housekeeping falls to Chris, but given the time demands of his job, it came down to hiring someone or resigning ourselves to living in squalor. Make that squalor + fur. So we hired someone to come every other week. She's coming for the first time this week. We spent part of the weekend picking up stuff around the house so she'd be able to clean (it's hard to clean surfaces that you can't actually see) and the house is already looking way better than it has in a long time. Ironic that it took hiring someone to clean to get us to pick up the crap around the house.

4. I've definitely moved out of the wonderful pregnancy glow of the second trimester. I'm not exactly suffering any serious complications, but it's just not as comfortable. Obviously, my belly is getting even bigger and that makes it harder to do simple things. For the past few weeks, I've been having pain over my pubic bone, as though someone had kicked me square in the crotch. It's normal and expected pain, but knowing that doesn't help it hurt less. Sometimes, just walking is painful enough to make me short of breath. Now I'm having this weird issue with the Eustachian tube in my left ear. For a few days, it was randomly clearing, even though I couldn't tell it was clogged. It would suddenly clear and everything would instantly sound louder. Today, it's not doing that. Instead, every 30 seconds or so, I hear a faint click/pop sound in that ear. It's surprisingly annoying for such a minor bother. I'm beginning to think I'm playing host to some little insect. (Gross.)

5. Someone needs to figure out how to make pregnancy disability and family leave from work easier to figure out. Even the people in our benefits office are not always clear on what the rules are and need to confer with each other to figure out each person's specific situation. How I long for the ease and generosity of the parental leave rights of Sweden!

Why it's good to be very pregnant

2008-08-26T17:31:00.000-07:00

I got out of jury duty today because I'm very pregnant. The judge told us it would be a 4-week trial, starting a week from today and the schedule would be Monday through Thursday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. and Friday, 9 a.m. to noon. He told us we could fill out a personal hardship form but that many would probably be denied. I filled out the form and said that I have bi-weekly OB appointments now and will soon have weekly OB appointments and that my OB probably could not accommodate Friday afternoon only appointments for me. And I got approved for a hardship dismissal! Thanks, baby!

However, I do not recommend pregnancy if getting out of jury duty is your only goal.

That gust of wind is my sigh of relief

2008-08-20T13:45:00.001-07:00

You know what's better than maternity pants with the stretchy waistbands? Dresses with no waistbands.

Grow the hell up!

2008-08-19T16:43:00.001-07:00

Chris sent me this, which made me laugh out loud.

Recalibrating and adjusting

2008-08-07T19:24:00.000-07:00

Obviously, a lot of things change when you get pregnant/have a baby. You have to go through a lot of adjustments to your life and most of the important ones are things people discuss openly, like finances, priorities, lifestyle...things like that. But it turns out, there are a lot of tiny things you have to recalibrate and adjust during pregnancy that no one really talks about, mostly because in the grand scheme of things, these things are tiny and insignificant. And probably because after you've gone and had your baby, they're no longer relevant, so you just forget. Since I'm in the thick of it right now, I wanted to note some of these things down so I don't forget later.

As your belly grows, you have to constantly reassess where you exist in space. Living in the same body all your life, you tend to have a reasonable sense of your outline and instinctively know how much clearance you need. That's currently out the window, because not only has has my belly changed drastically, but it continues to change. I keep bumping into door frames, tables, and chairs because I underestimate how much room I need to turn around. Even little things like doing dishes require some extra thought now. I'm used to leaning against the edge of the sink as I wash dishes, but I can't really do that anymore. Ditto with the bathroom sink as I brush my teeth. A couple of weeks ago, Chris went to hug me and kind of crashed into my belly. We're rocking the A-frame hug now (previously reserved for people you're obligated, but not excited, to hug).

As my body continues to ready itself for the big event, I can feel my joints loosening, particularly in my pelvis. Sometimes, this hurts badly enough that I can't really walk normally and other times, it's just a feeling of weakness and lack of stability. Some mornings, I have to sit down just to put my pants on because I don't trust that I won't topple over while trying to balance on one leg.

For the most part, I can still bend over to tie my shoes and all that, but a couple of times, I've been in the passenger seat of the Saturn (which is rather low-slung) and dropped something in the footwell. The first couple of times this happened recently, I bent forward to pick up the item like I normally would and found that it's kind of a no-go situation: my belly is in the way. Instead, I have to use my foot to scootch the item in question closer so I can grab it. Even sitting here at my dining room table, it can be difficult to bend over sideways to pick up a dropped pen.

Getting in and out of bed continues to be entertaining. I used to dive into bed but can't do that anymore. I have to do this careful roll-in maneuver to avoid landing on my belly. Getting out bed is no longer about popping up into a sitting position and hopping up because my abs (or lack thereof) don't let me pop up in the same way anymore.

Even the cats have to do some adjusting, mainly to the fact of my slowly shrinking lap.

These little adjustments are such minor inconveniences and it's mostly amusing to notice them. I can't wait to see what else is going to change.

You stop that right this instant, young lady!

2008-07-08T19:42:00.000-07:00

Do you know what is seriously uncomfortable? Needing desperately to pee while being kicked in a bladder-ly direction from the inside. Little girl, you are in so much trouble!

Growing in fits

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

I really expected my stomach to expand gradually. It just makes sense. But that's not how it seems to happen. When I started showing, it really did seem like the baby belly appeared overnight. I went to bed on a Friday looking normal and woke up on Saturday with a baby belly. The same thing seemed to have happened over the weekend. We were in L.A. for a brief visit with my parents and when we got back on Sunday, Chris and I both realized that my belly was suddenly looking bigger than it had on Friday. Just kaboom, bigger. Even my sister noticed when she picked us up at the airport. So weird. Good thing those maternity pants I ordered came in. I am definitely not fitting into my pre-pregnancy pants, at least not without flashing my underwear to the world.

Ptery was really active all weekend. At one point, during our flight back, I felt kicks/punches in just about every quadrant of my belly, rapid-fire. Usually, the kicks are confined to one general area, like she's testing a leg or an arm. This time, it felt like she'd figured out all her limbs and was just flailing around like a crazy thing. It was like hosting a phalanx of Rockettes in my belly.

Newsflash!

2008-06-28T21:17:00.000-07:00

Maternity pants are so. Freaking. Comfortable.

Who knew?

Kung-fu baby

2008-06-26T18:34:00.000-07:00

For the first time, we felt Ptery kicks this morning. I think I've been feeling her move around for a couple of weeks now, but I couldn't say for sure. Some of the sensations have been just light and fluttery, and I couldn't tell if it was her or just normal intestinal movement. But this morning, as I was lying on my back in bed, I felt a definite little thump under my belly button. I put my hand on the spot, and lo and behold I could feel the next little bump, not only internally, but against my hand, too! I grabbed Chris's hand and put it on the same spot and he felt the next few little kicks, as well. She was doing a one-girl kung-fu demonstration, it seems. Either that, or she thought it was about time I got out of bed (it was). It's so cool to have this kind of evidence that she's growing in there.

Speaking of growing, it's high time I went and bought some maternity pants. My work pants have been getting steadily more snug in the waist, though they fit fine everywhere else. I've resorted to using hair elastics to secure several of them (through the buttonhole and around the button), but even that is getting precarious. It'll feel good to have something stretchier around my belly, I think. I was looking at some maternity clothes online and the maternity pants with the full belly panel crack me up. They make the model look like those old men with their pants pulled up to their armpits. Heh.

Mushroom madness

2008-06-20T23:22:00.000-07:00

About 2 weeks ago, Stella got me a mini shiitake mushroom farm from Far West Fungi. I followed the directions but didn't expect much from it. (The directions couldn't be simpler: just cut about a dozen small holes in the plastic bag for air circulation, make sure it doesn't dry out, and let it be.) I was wrong, to say the least. I don't know if it was because of the recent warm weather or what, but the thing pretty much exploded with mushrooms. In fact, Chris exclaimed over the quantity and size of the mushrooms last night and both of us thought they had grown even larger when we checked it this morning. And then, when we got home tonight, I swear they had gotten even bigger. I harvested them all tonight and we're going to be eating mushrooms for a while, I think. If you consider the price of the block and the number of mushrooms you get from a single harvest, it's already a bargain compared to what you pay for fresh shiitakes at the market. And, according to the instruction sheet, if you take good care of the block, you can get 3 or 4 harvests out of it. Crazy!

Three white lines

2008-06-18T17:16:00.001-07:00

Ptery's a girl! This is oldish news now, but I just realized that I never posted it. Before we knew, lots of people asked if we had a preference. I usually denied that we did, but in my secret heart of hearts, I hoped it would be a girl. I wasn't letting myself hope because 1. you have a 50% chance of getting the other, and 2. it really doesn't make a difference whether the baby's a boy or a girl. It's not like I'm going to tell a son, "Well, I really wanted a girl, so I'm not going to love you as much since you're a boy."

Chris and I debated which would be easier. It's a draw, I think. Everything I've read indicates that girl babies are easier to deal with: no arcs of pee during diaper changes, easier potty training, and just basically calmer. I think all that changes at puberty, though, because as I recall, teenage girls are basically evil. (I was one, and I was probably one of the less evil ones and I still am not entirely proud of my teenage self.) So evil is a strong word, but I maintain that teen girls are more difficult in every way, from the crazy hormones to the bitchiness and manipulativeness to all the outside messages you have to worry about. I do think that boys that age are a bit more easy-going and even-keeled, if not exactly graceful (physically or otherwise). And I think society presents them with fewer mixed messages than it does to girls (be sexy! but not a slut! be smart! but not too smart! you can do it all! but only while smiling!).

Really, either way, we're done for. Neither of us has much experience with babies, so I'm fully prepared to be overwhelmed. I just found out yesterday that a newborn goes through something like 15 diapers in one day. When will I have time to pee?

Blargh

2008-05-08T18:40:00.000-07:00

If you're easily grossed out by talk of barfing, stop reading now.

This wasn't supposed to happen. You're supposed to get morning sickness during your first trimester and then it wanes at the second or it keeps going. I thought I was safe, because I was totally fine during the first trimester. But the moment I hit week 15: BLARGH. I haven't actually thrown up yet, but during the day, I get hit by these waves of "ooh...my stomach feels weird" followed by dry heaving. (I know, it's so gross. I warned you!) Candied ginger helps a bit, but nothing else really does. It's also kind of embarrassing, because have you ever seen the look of someone about to barf? Not pretty. In fact, it's alarming because you think the person's about to puke on you. So I try to keep the barf face hidden. It's easy enough during work, as I can just hide in my cube, but when I'm out and about, I end up trying to hide in my jacket or behind the person I'm with. Bleh. Hate this.

33 is the age for me

2008-04-28T18:16:00.000-07:00

Sunday was my birthday and Chris and Stella surprised me on Saturday night with an awesome party at our house. They are a sneaky pair, those two. I had no idea until Chris and I arrived home from dinner (which, by the way, was awesome). As we pulled in, I noticed that the house lights were on, which made me suspicious, because I knew we had turned them off on our way out. Then, when Chris opened the back door, the lights were off and I heard telltale voices. But other than that, they kept it well under wraps. Nice job, you two, and thank you!

I had a lovely time hanging out with lovely people. Chris ordered an awesome ice cream cake from Mitchell's and some people supplemented with other tasties like cupcakes and an alcohol-free tiramisu (yum!). All in all, a great birthday this year.

10 fingers and 10 toes

2008-04-20T22:06:00.001-07:00

The doctors tell me that's my baby. And I say, "Sure, that's my baby. But how do you know it's human and not an alien?" But you know, they're OBs and they do this all the time, so I will trust them, for now. At least it's not a pterodactyl like I'd feared. Giving birth to something squawky with a beak and wings is a terrifying prospect. Chris and I are going to keep calling it Ptery, instead of just "it," at least until we know the gender.

The OB resident who did my last ultrasound counted 10 fingers and 10 toes (specifically, 5 fingers on each hand and 5 fingers on each foot), showed me the nose, legs, and a fluttery little heartbeat. It's pretty damn cool.

We're due toward the end of October, so who knows, we may end up giving birth to a little ghost or goblin.

7 weird/interesting things about Chris

2008-02-17T21:56:00.000-08:00

Rita recently tagged me for a meme: 7 interesting things about my significant other. I don't know if Chris knows I'm doing this, but here goes.

1. Chris has a severe needle phobia.

Obviously, he can't watch when he gets shots or has blood drawn. He passed out once when a nurse was putting an IV in before surgery; luckily, he was already lying down. But he also can't listen to other people talk about needles. He gets queasy and needs to run away or cover his ears. He's never actually passed out during a conversation, but I wouldn't be shocked if it happened. He's also put off by blood. We've already determined that could never be one of those dads who watches his children being born. His place is at the head of the bed, preferably duct-taped or otherwise secured to a chair, with a helmet on. Oddly, he has a tattoo.

2. Chris has a hard time closing cabinet doors.

Whether it's in the bathroom or the kitchen, Chris tends to leave cabinet doors open. I attribute this to the fact that he's often thinking about something other than what he's actually doing. More than once, I've bonked my head on an open door.

3. Chris is extremely ticklish.

A lot of people are ticklish. I'm ticklish. But Chris is beyond ticklish. He starts giggling if you start making grabby gestures at his mid-section. And once you get him in that frame of mind, any touch on his torso, whether intended to tickle or not, sets him off laughing and flailing around. (Duck.) But even worse are his feet. I once read that a person can't tickle himself, but Chris can tickle his own feet. In fact, he sometimes starts giggling if he handles his toes too much while clipping his toenails. It really is as funny to watch as you're imagining.

4. Chris can burp better than anyone I know.

He excels in both volume and duration. He can burp the alphabet or pretty much any word. He can do it on command, too. It's a dubious talent that I'm afraid he will try to pass on to our kids.

5. Chris is unable to do "guest" cleaning.

You know, guest cleaning: in the hour before guests arrive, you stash things in bedroom closets; vacuum of the rugs; do a quick wipedown of the sink, mirror, and toilet, and hang a fresh hand towel in the bathroom; and just generally get the house presentable. Chris gets distracted in the course of cleaning up and starts, like, alphabetizing DVDs or filing bills.

6. Chris loves and uses tie pins.

His co-workers make fun of him and call him "old man," but he still uses a tie pin every time he wears a tie. It is old-mannish, but it's also kind of cute.

7. Chris played his first badminton tournament in utero.

His parents were both competitive badminton players and his mom played a major tournament while pregnant (and showing) with Chris. I'm pretty sure she won, too. It's basically in his blood.

I'd rather have nightmares

2007-04-03T19:38:00.000-07:00

I just dreamed a dream so boring, it would've put me to sleep...if I weren't already. In my dream, I was in an office supply store, trying to find the right toner for our printer. No, seriously--it was that boring. No conflict, no twist, no weird moment that marks it clearly as a dream. And last week, I dreamed that I was grocery shopping.

I think I need to get out more to do interesting things.

Thar she blows!

2007-02-06T09:54:00.000-08:00

Last night, Chris and I had dinner at Pier 39* so we could watch the Queen Mary 2 set sail for Hawaii. She's on her inaugural trip around the world right now, though her stay in SF was too short: she docked on Sunday and left just over 24 hours later. Normally, I wouldn't be that interested in a new cruise ship, but she's the successor to the Queen Mary, which is where we had our wedding reception.

Overall, I was impressed by the sheer hugeness of the QM2, but I think the original is still more attractive. She has the iconic 3 black and red smokestacks and the jaw-droppingly gorgeous Art Deco ballrooms. I have no doubt the QM2 is luxurious inside, but it seems that modern-day luxury is more cookie cutter and plastic-y than old-timey luxury. We held our reception in the Queen's Salon, which has these massive columns, amber sconces, and this amazing gold...art...thing on the wall. (Yeah, I have no clue what to call it, but you can see it here.) Sure, she's seen better years, but she's undeniably a gorgeous ship. I wish some old, rich boat lover would pay to restore her to her original glory.

*In my nearly 10 years of living in San Francisco, I have never been to Pier 39. It's like DisneySF: all tchotchkes shops and themed restaurants aimed straight at the tourists' wallets. My eyes almost fell out of my head when I saw that the restaurant where we ate (which we chose for its optimal ship-viewing location at the tip of the pier) was charging $20 for HALF a Dungeness crab! I can go down to Clement St. and pick up a live one for about $5-7. Fifteen minutes in boiling water and we are in business. Hell, if I'm feeling really lazy, I can get a cooked one at Safeway for just a bit more.

Ho, ho, ho!

2006-12-25T12:20:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, yo!

We make 'em sing for their supper

2006-12-12T21:37:00.000-08:00

Most of the time, I make dinner for us. I usually get home at least an hour before Chris and if I don't want to keel over from hunger, I have to do something about it. But as soon as I step foot in the house, I get a persistent reminder that certain someone elses are hungry too, in the form of loitering underfoot and persistent meowing. And not just "Meow, meow." Oh no. It's more like...well, take a look:

Yesterday, Chris made it infinitely worse (and funnier) by joining the fray and egging them on. Here's Chris taunting the cats with their food and singing along with them:

It's like a boys' choir in here. Also, in every recording of my voice, I sound like I have a lisp, even though I don't. Weird.

A great loss

2006-12-07T15:41:00.000-08:00

I'm guessing you've been following the story, but we lost one of our own yesterday. My co-worker, James Kim, died trying to save his family as they were stranded in the Oregon wilderness. Everything that's been said about him is true: he was kind, intelligent, curious, devoted to both family and work (family first, though!), and just an all-around excellent human being. James and I weren't exactly friends, but we were friendly, and I miss him. I'm heartbroken for his wife and daughters--the thought of losing a partner and dad is crushing.

You can see excellent tributes here, here, and here (video).

My little Heat Miser

2006-11-20T17:32:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure I know Vin's favorite feature of the condo: the heating vents. They're located down by the floorboards instead of up near the ceiling, which is great for us. But I think Vin thinks we arranged it just for him. I suspect we'll be seeing a lot of this in the winter:

Can't you just hear the "Ahhhh..." from him in this one?

I've seen him napping in front of the warm vents and I've also caught him turning around so he's evenly heated on all sides. My little rotisserie kitty.

Free shoe shopping

2006-11-05T18:19:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite features of our house is the built-in window seat/storage unit in the master bedroom. The middle section has two doors that open out to reveal pull-out shelves for storing shoes. (Well, I supposed you could use them to store just about anything that will fit, but it's perfect for shoes, and my first thought when I saw the drawers was, "SHOES!") The day we moved in, Chris lined up my shoes very neatly on the shelves, and with a sigh of utter satisfaction, he pushed in the drawers and closed the doors (we had issues at our last place regarding my shoe storage, or lack thereof).

For the past 3 weeks or so, I've been wearing the same 3 pairs of issues over and over. They're comfortable and slip on and off easily, so they're among my favorites. A few days ago, I noticed that none of those 3 pairs really went with my outfit, so I opened the storage cabinet, and holy cow! So many shoes! Lined up all neatly and attractively, just like in a shoe store! It had been so long since I looked at those shoes that I'd forgotten about some of them. It was like getting a dozen pairs of new shoes, for free. I was like a kid in a candy store. I almost changed my outfit just so I could wear one particular pair.

So in light of our new restricted financial state, that's my new plan: hide away at least half of any one item (books, CDs, DVDs, clothes, books) and every few weeks, swap everything out. New! Shiny! Exciting! I'm still trying to figure out how to stash away Carlo, though.

Skål!

2006-10-22T22:45:00.000-07:00

Chris and I had a really productive weekend in terms of getting the house in shape, a breakthrough weekend, if you will. We got rugs, a TV/media center, a coffee table, a new bed frame, among other things. Of course, this involved renting a 10-foot moving truck and trekking out to the Ikea in Emeryville--not once, but twice. (We originally planned to only have "grown-up" furniture once we bought the condo, but, well, we bought a condo. So.)

To celebrate, I picked up two flavors of pickled herring (mustard and garlic) at Ikea's marketplace today on a whim. When we were vacationing in Barcelona this past July, the Swedish couple we were with, Pär and Lisa, prepared a traditional Swedish mid-summer festival meal: pickled herring, boiled new potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, bread, cheese, and many, many little bottles of aquavit. We were surprised to find that we actually enjoyed the herring, at least the non-traditional flavors. The traditional flavor is...strong, we'll say. Anyway, I replicated that meal tonight, in celebration of all the work we accomplished. Though, Ikea doesn't sell aquavit, so we substituted some vodka we had in the freezer. (And that vodka seems to be kicking in now, so apologies if I get a little loopy.) And I added broccoli to the mix, because it feels weird to eat just fish and potatoes.

Here's Chris and our Swedish-inspired spread:

Closeup on the fish (we added the lingonberry conserves just because I love it so):

Yum! The mustard-flavored herring is my favorite. Big thanks to Pär and Lisa for introducing us to their traditional meal! We'll be on the lookout for aquavit so we can do the meal right.

I'll have more picture soon, as we finish getting the house in order.

Do the (crazy headless) chicken dance!

2006-10-08T23:08:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the radio silence over here. Between moving, unpacking, my sister moving to town, my parents staying with us for a weekend, Chris's birthday, Chris's birthday picnic, Mae's visit, and work, I've been like a crazy, headless chicken. The past two weeks have been exhausting and maddening, but I think things are finally settling down.

We have most of our boxes unpacked and we've found homes for all of our stuff. Surprisingly, unpacking has become a bit more difficult now that we're down to the small stuff. We're not quite sure where things should go, so we unpack them, set them down somewhere, and kind of move them around as we need to, until they find a fitting home. We still have some big furniture pieces to buy (couch, TV/media cabinet, bed frame), but the new house is definitely coming together. Not that it's tidy or neat, mind you. The place is still a jumbled mess; it's just a navigable jumbled mess now.

The cats seem to be adapting just fine. They're still figuring out their hidey-holes. Chris discovered Vin's just today. Background: a few days ago, AT&T sent a technician out to help us with our (lack of) DSL, so Chris came home early to meet him. By the time I got home, they'd already been down to the garage and out to the back of the house to check the wiring. After the tech left, I hunted around for Vin (Carlo had already won the tech's heart), but he was nowhere to be found. We looked everywhere, in a state of increasing panic: under couches and the bed, in closets and cabinets, and in boxes. Eventually, we started expanding our search, on the off-chance that Chris had left a door open (even though he was certain he hadn't): the back staircase, the garage, and finally, outdoors. At this point, I started to freak out, but when we finally came back upstairs, we were greeted by Vin, standing there in our hallway, blinking sleepily. At this point, we'd looked for him for a good 15 minutes. Generally, he comes when called, even if he's hiding, so I was ready to believe he wasn't in the house at all. We couldn't figure out where he'd been until today, when Chris discovered Vin sleeping in a nest of fur on one of the shelves in one of our bedroom closets. This closet doesn't have a hanging bar; instead, it has four or five L-shaped shelves. Vin, being the athletic jumper, figured out a way to climb from one shelf to another and made a bed of Chris's Stanford sweatshirt, which was folded up and sitting in the corner of the closet. The pile of fur gave away the fact that Vin's been using that nest for a while now. And since Chris is a big pushover when it comes to the cats, he let Vin sleep there. When Vin finally jumped down, Chris just replaced his sweatshirt with a cat bed, so Vin could continue to use his little hideout.

Like I said, Stella moved here last weekend. It's a big change, for both of us. She's leaving the nest for the first time (finally!) and I get to have my sister nearby. In fact, she's living only 2 blocks from our house, which is great. She's been over a bunch (to use the Internet connection, to watch TV, and oh yeah, hang out with us) which is both weird and awesome. We haven't lived in the same town since I was 18. There was a short period after I graduated college, but nothing but random vacations and weekends since then. I like having her here.

Yesterday, we threw Chris a birthday picnic in Golden Gate Park. Stella and I whipped up a bunch of food and schlepped it all out there. Vern, in her infinite wisdom, brought a kick ball, to everyone's delight. We ate, played kickball, played croquet, wrestled with dogs, and ate some more. Somehow, after two horrible days of rain and overcast skies, we got a gorgeously warm and sunny day for the picnic. Today was beautiful too, which made watching the Blue Angels swoop over the Bay even more enjoyable. We went to North Beach, to the house of some of our friends, for brunch and then watched the air show from their rooftop. Despite my misgivings about the military, I am a sucker for sailors and impressive aerial tricks.

So that brings us up to date. Hopefully, I'll be writing more frequently in the coming months.

It's moving day!

2006-09-25T09:04:00.000-07:00

Oh my god, I am so ready for moving to be done and over with. We spent the past week packing slowly and this past weekend doing nothing but moving, cleaning, and crying. At this very moment, a nice Irish man is in my kitchen, packing my dishes. And I am at a FedEx Kinko's typing this because @#$@^! AT&T can't keep their network running. I can't wait to be done moving!

How to pack (with cats) (without packing the cats)

2006-09-22T23:06:00.000-07:00

Step 1: Gather materials: flattened box; packing tape; tape cutter.
Step 2: Unfold box and set it on ground in open position, upside down.
Step 3: Fold in bottom flaps; tape in place.
Step 4: Flip box over so open end faces up.
Step 5: Gather up items that should go into box.
Step 6: Curse upon discovering cat inside box.
Step 7: Set down gathered items; fish cat out of box. (Cat may yowl about indignity of it all. Ignore cat.)
Step 8: Dump items in box.
Step 9: Gather more items to go in box.
Step 10: Shout obscenities upon finding cat in box. Again.
Step 11: Put down gathered items; fish cat out of box. Again.
Step 12: Once box is filled, fold down top flaps and prepare to tape in place.
Step 13: Threaten to kill cat as cat jumps up on box and gets self tangled in tape.
Step 14: Laugh hysterically as cat flips out because cat cannot escape scary tape stuck to cat's back.
Step 15: Tape cat(s) to floor to get cat(s) out of way.
Step 16: Proceed with above, leaving out steps 6, 7, 10, 11, 13, and 14.

KEYS!

2006-09-20T21:47:00.000-07:00

We have keys! We have keys!

I'm trapped in a box!

2006-09-17T23:08:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to post about right now. But I have to make the following public service announcement:

Please head over to LiveJournal to read Rita's hat entry. Even if you don't know Rita. It is seriously one of the funniest things I have ever read--in my life. It's the August 24, 2006 entry entitled "Exhibits A through M: A Very Big Hat." I couldn't figure out how to permalink it. (Yes, I am dumb.)

Newly poor

2006-09-14T15:37:00.000-07:00

So! We signed our loan documents today and the process wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined (based on what other people have said about it). The bad part was writing the check for the balance on the down payment: OUCH. I could barely fit the spelled-out amount on the check. Afterward, Chris and I went out for lunch to celebrate. In keeping with our newly depleted checking account, we shared a fine meal of pizza slices from Escape from N.Y. Pizza. I think I'm still in shock over how much cash we just put down. It's...yeah. Good thing we both like PB&J and ramen.

And now we wait for the checks to clear. I think we get the keys on Wednesday!

Self-inflicted

2006-09-11T22:45:00.000-07:00

I think I've written about it before, but I'm a little clumsy. I trip over my own feet as I walk, crash into doorjambs, and sometimes, just fall down. And that's just me by myself. Throw an object into the mix, and it's a recipe for disaster. A few weeks ago, I was puttering around the house and was just absently walking around, holding a plastic hanger. For some reason, I was holding it about chest height, with one of its ends pointed straight at my sternum. Which would be okay, except for the fact that I walked too close to the bedroom door and basically rammed the end of the hanger straight into my chest.

Two days later, I was vacuuming and went to unplug the vacuum. I grabbed the cord about a foot from the plug and as I was pulling it out of the wall, I realized the plug bit was going to splash into the cats' water bowl below, so I did some sort of flippy thing with my wrist and managed to swing the plug up and away from the water...straight into my nose. Hard.

And then there was this morning. I did some laundry last night and hung up a jacket to dry. Chris moved it from the doorway and hung it against a high piece of molding on the wall. As I tried to get it down this morning, I couldn't reach the hanger itself, so I grabbed the bottom of the jacket and sort of pushed up to dislodge the hanger. And of course, the hooky end of the hanger flipped down and bonked me right on the forehead.

It hurts to be me.

A non-conversation

2006-09-05T09:16:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that my mom drives me crazy. She doesn't so much talk to you as talks at you. I called her over the weekend just to say hi* and we ended up talking about our impending move. She wanted to know when we're moving. The following non-conversation ensued:

fel: We don't know exactly when we're moving yet, because we're still waiting to get quotes from movers.
Mom: Oh, so you don't have movers yet? You should get Chinese movers. They're a lot cheaper.
f: That's a great idea, but I don't know how to find Chinese movers.
M: Oh, they advertise all the time in the Chinese newspaper.
f: Ma, I don't know how to read Chinese.
M: But seriously! They're so much cheaper!
f: I didn't say they weren't. I just don't know how to go about finding them!
M: Like, for example, a Chinese mover might charge you $800, while an "American" [i.e., non-Chinese] mover might charge you $2,000.
f: What? Where did you get those numbers? How do you know that?
M: Oh, I don't know how much they really charge. It's just an example!
f: An example? Of what? Based on what?! [blood pressure builds]
M: Oh, stop it. It's just an example. Anyway, you should really get Chinese movers.
f: ... Fine, Ma. But I still don't know how to find them. Anyway, if they're so cheap, are they good?
M: Well, I don't know. I mean, you pack your own stuff and they move it, so it depends on how well you pack it.
f: Okay, but what about the furniture? Are they going to be careful or bang everything up?
M: Well, it's not like you have any nice furniture anyway.
f: Still! I want the furniture I DO HAVE to NOT BE BROKEN!
M: Geez, calm down. Anyway, you should look into Chinese movers.
f: GAH! I KNOW! BUT I DON'T READ CHINESE AND CAN'T LOOK THEM UP IN CHINESE NEWSPAPERS!
M: [all huffy] Well, fine. You don't HAVE to. I just thought it was a good idea.
f: GAAAAAH! [contemplates lying down in traffic]

*She complains that I never call her, even though I do. I just don't call as often as she'd like. But here's the thing: she never calls me. Because she's the mom and it's my job to call her. But see above: why would I?

Egads

2006-08-20T22:46:00.000-07:00

As of noon today, we are officially in contract to buy a condo.

[long pause here]

I am scared shitless.

Nothing's set in stone yet. We still have to secure financing and go through inspections. And we are still in the 72 hour "aw crap what have I done?!" window where we can back out for no reason at all. Including, you know, being scared shitless.

Aw shit.

Sssssnakes!

2006-08-19T11:31:00.000-07:00

We went to see "Snakes on a Plane" yesterday! It was, well, as one of my co-workers put it, it was "awfsome." So bad, and yet, so great. Mostly, it was great because of the audience. Make no mistake, this is a BAD BAD movie. Awful. If you find yourself saying, "That makes NO sense," just stop. Stop thinking and go with it.

Irvin had the brilliant idea to print 100 sheets of paper with images of snakes and instructions for folding paper airplanes. As we sat in line, we started, and soon, the pages spread (snaked?) down the line and in the theater, paper airlines and tortillas (?) were zinging around the room. And I heard not a word of the previews for all the "SNAKES!!!" and "ssssss" going around the room. For that matter, I think I only heard about half of the movie's dialogue because of the laughing and catcalling. But honestly, I don't think I missed anything.

The movie was FAR gorier than I expected: seriously gross. I spent a lot of the attack sequences hiding behind my jacket, as the sound effects provided enough clue as to what was happening onscreen (very squishy). But the big surprise was seeing one of Chris's college buddies on the screen! He had a small, but pivotal role. Though he only spoke two or three words, he was one of the guys who helped get the snakes ON the plane! He's been acting professionally since before Chris met him, but we had no idea he was part of this phenomenon. And I don't know why. In his shoes, I'd be telling EVERYONE I know. "I'm in 'Snakes on a Plane!' I PUT the snakes on the plane!"

Stay tuned...

2006-08-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

Things are a-brewin' on the house hunt front (rhyme!). More later...

Home sweet home

2006-08-14T20:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been so quiet. On the one hand, nothing's been happening. On the other, we've been doing a lot. Namely, a lot of house-hunting. Yes, we are diving into the pool of insanity known as San Francisco real estate.

This kind of thing is always fun in theory. You find out how much house you can afford, then you ease that number down into the realm of sanity and the occasional green vegetable to go with your ramen and PBJ. You meet an agent, the person who will show you the ropes and keep you in check. And then, you start looking at houses. In theory, this is all good. Fun even, because you get to re-imagine yourselves in different settings. It's like staging your life.

(Somehow, in these imaginary scenarios, I am far more tidy and organized than I am in real life. And color coordinated. And I read the Great Books. And have vases upon vases of fresh-cut flowers that the cats don't eat. Even more amazing: the cats don't shed. I'm sure some kind of magic switch will flip when I become a home owner. I'm sure of it!)

Anyway. Then you actually find a place you like and realize you could probably love it. You start thinking about the fact that buying this lovely house/condo/hovel means paying out $X each month (when your current rent is approximately [X - 1 kajillion]). And then you read the disclosures, and realize: if you buy this house, you are responsible for it. There's no running to the landlord when problems arise, and just picking up and moving when you get fed up with the neighbors is a lot more difficult. There are minor cracks in the foundaton, leaks in the window sills, electrical wiring that needs to be upgraded...and you! get to pay for all of it.

And suddenly, renting seems like the greatest thing ever. EVER.

But then again, it would be nice to have a little patch of land to call your own. Where you can paint the walls and store too much stuff in the basement, fire hazards be damned. And you know that every time you send out a check for the place you live in, it's just a little bit more yours.

Aw, crap

2006-07-31T20:16:00.000-07:00

Damn. It. All. To. Hell.

Carlo suddenly discovered last weekend that he can jump up on the kitchen counters again. Before his surgery, he was in too much pain to jump that far; he couldn't even jump onto the bed. After the surgery, I think he still associated jumping with pain, so he never tried. So what finally prompted this self-discovery? Stupid vacuum cleaner. I started vacuuming the kitchen floor while Carlo was in the pantry and he flipped out. Wide-eyed desperation, mad scrambling, and next thing I know, he's hurtling up and over the kitchen counter/bar.

I thought he might not remember (no really, he's that dumb), but no dice. He knows. And now, I have TWO cats prowling the countertops. I am so screwed.

Vacation 2006 recap

2006-07-23T19:38:00.000-07:00

We finally have our vacation photos uploaded and captioned: London/Cambridge and Barcelona/Sitges.

We met up in London with Mae, Tina, and Mark, and spent about 3 days there, taking the Tube to various sites: Hyde Park, London Bridge, Westminster Abbey, the Eye of London, The Tower of London, St. Paul's Cathedral, Covent Garden, Harrod's, and Piccadilly Circus. London reminds me of New York City: dense, crowded, busy, and fun. I love visiting, but I wouldn't want to live there. For one thing, it's incredibly expensive, especially since the dollar is so weak against the pound. We had to stop doing the mental conversions because they were killing us. We'd packed some cooler weather clothing for this portion of the trip, but woe to us, it was HOT. France played its way into the finals of the World Cup while we were there and we got to see the French fans swarm Piccadilly Circus to celebrate. I'm sure the English loved that. We also got to meet up with some friends who had just moved from NYC to London, which was cool. After 3 1/2 days in London, we retreated to the relative calm of Cambridge. Mae took us punting on the River Cam, which is more difficult than it looks. Chris had a hard time with it, I got a foot cramp from trying to grip the boat with my toes (I was convinced I was going to fall right into the not-so-clean Cam), and Mark finally got the hang of it, once he started thinking (thoughtful advice, courtesy of Mae). No one fell into the river (at least not from our boat), but I did step into a small stand of stinging nettles. Ouch.

The next day, Chris and I proceeded to Barcelona/Sitges. (Mae joined us a few days later.) We actually flew into Girona and picked up a rental car to drive to Sitges. We didn't have a map, just two sets of somewhat conflicting directions. What we learned on that drive: when given choices in a roundabout, don't just go with the exit that's just the most like your directions. You should stop and figure out exactly which exit to take. Otherwise, you might get your stupid asses lost. Also, Americans are not the only people who think speaking loudly and gesturing wildly will convey meaning when speaking a foreign language. The Sitges garbage collectors also subscribe to this theory. The Spain leg of our vacation was meant to be relaxing, and it was. I am a fan of any country that practices siesta. We spent two days seeing the sights in Barcelona: mostly Gaudi stuff, but also taking a walk down La Rambla, exploring Montjuic, and enjoying tapas at sidewalk cafes.

Before we came to Barcelona, people raved to me about Gaudi's work. I was mildly interested but didn't really have any idea what it was about. Seeing La Sagrada Familia changed that right quick: he was a genius. If you ever get to go to Barcelona, don't miss this half-completed cathedral or the on-site museum. He was heavily inspired by naturally occurring structures (spatial orientation of leaves, the spiral of a nautilus) and it's so cool to see his renditions of nature. We also saw some of his other work: Park Guell, Casa Batllo (just the exterior), and Casa Mila--all amazing and totally different.

The rest of the time in Spain was spent relaxing at the beach in Sitges, taking leisurely walks in the old town, enjoying relaxed meals on our private terrace, and just forgetting about real life. We shared an apartment with a couple from Sweden: Par (Chris's badminton buddy from his days in Gothenburg) and Lisa. They had their one-year-old daughter, Elsa, with them. I was a little wary of vacationing with an infant, but in the end, it was great. One of the benefits is that being with Elsa forced us to slow down our pace. Instead of rushing from site to site, we had to sit down occasionally so Elsa could eat or nap, and I think we enjoyed our time in Spain more because of the relaxed pace.

We found Barcelona to be a gorgeous city and the people were very warm and welcoming. In fact, given the chance, I would absolutely move there. It's more relaxed than London, with broader avenues, wide sidewalks and numerous cafes, and beautiful architecture. And: siesta!

So that's about it. This was a really broad sketch of our time there. We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly and came home revived and refreshed ... and to two yowling beasties who seemed happy enough to have us home.

Too close for comfort

2006-07-20T18:06:00.000-07:00

I'm lucky at work, in that I have a cubicle next to a window. I revel in the natural light, because in my old cube, I had to live by the pallid glow from the overhead fluorescent tubes. The odd part, though, is that I can look directly into the windows of the high-end condo building next door. For the longest time, I was waiting to see something untoward through those windows (floor to ceiling!), but over time, I realized that it was a show unit. But while we were away on vacation, someone moved in! Now, instead of seeing the sterile perfection of the show bedroom, I can look over and see a pile of laundry on the floor and the rumpled sheets on the bed. Seriously, the gap is narrow enough that I can see the stack of games they keep on the top shelf of the den closet: Life, Yahtzee, Operation, and some others whose names I can't make out. The buildings are close enough and the windows line up so well that if I had any skill with throwing a baseball, I could probably lob one right through the window. What boggles the mind is how they haven't put up curtains! I mean, their bed is eye-level for me! Floor to ceiling windows! It's...weird. I think I made eye-contact with one of the residents today, too. And now that I have the opportunity to see something titillating, I really don't want to. Please, neighbors, buy some curtains! I really don't want to close my blinds and sacrifice my natural light! And yes, I just saw you scratch your ass!

Ha!

2006-07-19T17:11:00.000-07:00

Oh yay, the results for the 2006 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest are out. (If you're unfamiliar with the contest, click that link and scroll down for the history.) I actually like the runner-up entry better than the grand prize winner, but my absolute favorite category is the vile pun category. I am a sucker for puns. This one cracked me up:

Herr Professor Doktor Weiss' reputation was made when he conclusively proved the fraudulency of the Mayan codex that claimed to show that that ancient people knew the ration of a circle's circumference to its diameter to an exactitude unknown until modern times, in his article, "Bye, Bye, Mesoamerican Pi."

Hee!

Tagged: Five by five

2006-07-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

I was a little bored at work today, so I did the 5x5 meme that Irvin tagged me for. Unfortunately, my answers are not nearly as exciting as his. (And speaking of 5x5, Faith on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" used the phrase, "I'm five by five" and I never understood it. Can anyone clarify for me?)

Five items in my freezer
- Homemade frozen foods (I went on a bender one weekend and made tons of food): meatballs, lasagnes, wontons, Chinese dumplings. I also had some frozen chicken stock in an ice cube tray until just this past Sunday. Chris has been asking me for months now about my plans for the chicken cubes (as they were occupying one of only two ice cube trays we own) and I kept blithely saying, "I'll get 'em outta there" but not doing it. I walked into the kitchen on sunday to find Chris standing at the sink and rinsing out an ice cube tray...as all the frozen chicken stock cubes swirled down the drain. "What...are...why?!" I stuttered. Chris looked at me, all innocence (truly), and said, "I finally decided to take care of them like you said you would but never did!" Poor guy. He looked crushed when I explained that I meant to transfer them to a Ziploc freezer bag. I couldn't even be upset because he looked so sorry and. And he really did think that I meant to just throw them away.
- Frozen veggies of all kinds: shelled edamame, unshelled edamame, corn, peas
- A wee bottle of Skyy vodka
- Convenience foods: Trader Joe's stuff, Hot Pockets, uncooked seafood and meat
- Ice cream!

Five items in the closet (my closet)
- My sewing kit: scissors, thread, needles, buttons, etc.
- Tons of fabric and scraps
- My knitting supplies: needles, rulers, stitch markers, crochet hooks, and tons of yarn
- Boxes of stuff I can't bear to throw away, but that I have no real use for either: knick-knacks, trinkets, little toys
- Most of my purses

Five items in the car (I haven't seen/been in our car in over 2 weeks now, so this is what I can pull from memory)
- A mix tape from Hannah
- A brake/clutch lock (like the Club)
- The box and user manual for the digital camera my parents gave us
- A pair of too-big Teva-type sandals from a rafting trip we went on last summer
- A bunch of trash in the trunk

Five items in my purse
- My green Creative Zen Vision:M portable audio player
- White Teeth by Zadie Smith
- A three-compartment pill case containing Excedrin, aspirin, and Wal-profen
- Two slim notebooks for jotting down, well, notes
- All the standard stuff: keys, sunglasses, wallet, phone

Five people I tag
- Stella
- Julie
- Hannah
- Dan
- Chris

Ah, nuts!

2006-07-17T21:38:00.000-07:00

We're back from vacation (waaahhh!) and there's so much to tell, but you'll have to wait, because jet lag has me in a head lock. But I will tell you this: I had to call Southwest Airlines' customer service today, and instead of hold music, they play a series of peppy commercials and messages. I was on hold for about 5 minutes, and about 20 seconds in, I started tuning it out and checking my email. Suddenly, I was jolted out of my reverie when I heard a cheery woman chant, "Penis, penis, penis!!" What the...? It took me a few seconds, but I finally realized she had said, "Peanuts, peanuts, peanuts!" and I have to admit, I was a little disappointed. I like the idea of them throwing in random dirty words, just to see if anyone is actually listening.

Dreams fulfilled

2006-06-13T23:21:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty good at distinguishing between needs and wants when it comes to spending money. Naturally, I'd love all the top-of-the-line cookware and kitchen gadgets, but I'm practical about my purchases. For the things I decide I really need, I generally buy the best that I can reasonably afford, which is not necessarily the thing I desire. (For example, a few years ago, I bought a used 6-quart KitchenAid stand mixer for $100 from a bakery that was going out of business, instead of dropping $300+ on a shiny new red one. My beat-up mixer works fine, of course. It's just not as pretty.) This, of course, leads to a lot of coveting and longing looks when I walk by a Crate and Barrel or Williams-Sonoma store. And that's where birthdays come in handy. When Stella asked what I wanted for my 31st birthday this year, I knew my answer: a Le Creuset 5.5-quart enameled Dutch oven.* It fills that niche between my 4-quart pot from the Martha Stewart set we bought in New Haven (too thin to maintain consistent temperatures) and the large stockpot we got as a wedding gift (often too big and definitely too tall for certain recipes).

It finally came on Thursday and it's everything I dreamed it would be: a beautiful orange-y red that gets darker towards the bottom; heavy; heats evenly; and a cinch to clean (nothing sticks to the enamel!). I made a stew-y soup in it on Sunday and was inordinately pleased when the onions sizzled in it just like on TV. I have big plans for this piece of cookware, including fried chicken, paella, and maybe even a peach cobbler, once I get a chance to hit the farmers' market. Anyone want to come over for dinner?

*Chris, being the 13-year-old boy he is, can't not snicker every time I mention my new Dutch oven. Especially because the color is called "flame."

Vinny, vidi, vici

2006-06-06T08:06:00.000-07:00

Last night, as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, I could see Vin in the mirror. He was on top of the hallway bookshelf, clearly enthralled by something that was moving around in the hallway. I didn't give it much thought because the cats are easily amused and can spend an hour staring at a bit of cobweb that's flapping in the corner. But then I saw that Carlo was staring at the same thing, so I finally went to investigate. Oooh! Better than a cobweb: it was a mosquito hawk, fluttering around a 2' x 2' section of wall. Fascinating!

I asked Chris to come move it outside* because I will be the first to admit that I am a big baby when it comes to touching most insects. I was never the kid who dug up earthworms and the only time I've ever been asked to hook a worm for fishing, I almost threw up (though more from the idea of stabbing a hook through a live worm than from the mere contact). If spiders get in the house, I go through this elaborate rigamarole of fetching a glass to upend over the spider, finding a piece of paper that's sturdy enough to slide under the glass and not bend when I lift it, and taking the spider outside. For some reason, ants don't bother me that much (they're industrious!) and when I was little, I enjoyed finding pill bugs, getting them to curl up, and shooting them like marbles. Also, I like butterflies and ladybugs, so clearly I am prejudiced toward the pretty insects.

Anyways, the idea of touching most insects gives me the heebies. So I defer to Chris on this matter (and anyway, the hawk was too high for me to reach--I wanted to shoo it outside without killing it, but the only thing I could've done at that point was smack it with a magazine). But I gave Chris too much credit, because he came out with a badminton racquet in hand and his gameplan? To use the racquet to gently guide the bug out the open door (while my job was to keep other insects out and our indoors beasties in). He is not too big on touching insects either, it turns out.

As you can probably guess, it didn't go too well. We failed to communicate to the mosquito hawk how the plan would go down. It kept trying to escape the racquet and Chris ended up driving it further into the apartment, where it found another small segment of wall against which to flutter ineffectively. Unfortunately, it sealed its own fate when it chose that particular wall, because in a flash of grey, Vin was up on the bookshelf and as a drawn-out "Nooooo!!" was coming out of my mouth, he jumped out and smacked an outstretched white paw against the wall. Bulls-eye. The worst (and funniest part) was how he dragged his paw down the wall (with his claws going "screeeee!!" the whole way), as if making sure the hawk was dead. It was dead. It's delicate little carcass fluttered to the ground, and not wanting to forego the spoils of victory, Vin hopped down after it and two chomps later, the mosquito hawk was no more.

This last series of events? From the hawk finding a new wall to finding itself in Vin's belly? Five seconds. Maybe. It never had a chance when faced with Vin the Destroyer. Luckily for us, he is also polite enough to clean up all evidence of his killing sprees.

*I was under the mistaken impression that mosquito hawks eat mosquitoes. Sadly, this is not true. This makes me less inclined to do the ushering-them-out-the-door dance and more inclined to just let Killer Kat take care of them.

Rub-a-dub-dub

2006-05-24T18:40:00.000-07:00

So I was watching the Tyra Banks show last night (hey, don’t judge! I know the kind of crap you watch)(and besides, all the shows I watch have already aired their season/series finales, so I don't have a lot to choose from)(not that I'm defensive)(anyway), and they were covering fact/fiction about germs and how to deal with germiness. One of the things that the bathroom health expert mentioned is that you should spend about 20 seconds washing your hands after using the bathroom. I just tried that and god, 20 seconds is a really long time! I was standing there counting "one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi" (silently) to myself and I started to feel a little self-conscious, because women were coming in, peeing, washing their hands, and leaving—all in the time I spent just rubbing my hands together. So now, I'm not only worried about picking up icky germs in the bathroom, but I also have to worry about the other women at work making Howard Hughes references about me!

Smelling the bus funktastic

2006-05-23T22:52:00.000-07:00

My sense of smell is all wonky today. I didn't realize it until I was on the bus going home. Granted, the bus often stinks, but there was an extra-special stink on the bus today--not your standard booze-oozing-out-the-pores body odor, but a funky, almost earthy stink. The really weird part is that it kind of smelled like food, like someone on the bus had spent the day leaning over an industrial Fry Daddy, dunking basket after basket of fries into the hot oil, and then rolled in a pile of dirty laundry before boarding the bus. But when I looked around, no one looked particularly grungy, so then I got all worried that it was me. Which is totally unlikely, because, you know, I shower and stuff (and unless I had a walking blackout, I didn't deep fry anything or roll in dirty laundry).

When I finally escaped the bus at my stop, I was surprised to find that the open-air bus stop smelled funky, too. Like mushrooms and musty soil. That's when I realized that I thought my floor at work smelledvaguely like Chinese food all day, but when I mentioned it to a coworker, she just looked at me quizzically.

What the hell?! If I have to smell odd things all day, I wish it could be something I like, such as lemons or fresh latex paint or even gasoline. Yeah, I'm one of those people: I can't really walk into a Lush store, because I find the smell overwhelming and noxious, but we pull into a gas station, and I roll down the window to take a deep breath.

(And don't bother suggesting that I might be pregnant, because I am totally not.)

Bouncing

2006-05-13T22:34:00.000-07:00

As in: back
The car, that is. We have it back. Chris got a call from SFPD on Thursday morning--they'd found the car just a couple of miles from our house, parked in a metered spot, and adorned with three parking tickets. For some stupid reason, DPT isn't hooked into SFPD's hot sheet, so they just kept issuing tickets on this car that had clearly been abandoned there. Stupid. But we have Rudy (the car) back, again without a stereo. We're debating whether to replace the stereo at all at this point, since it's the most appealing feature of the car now.

As in: off the walls
Some friends of ours just announced that they're pregnant, which is incredibly exciting news. It sparked another installment of an ongoing conversation Chris and I have been having for years: when should we have kids, where should we raise our kids, and wait! should we have kids?! Last Saturday, we went to a matinee at the ballet and I got stuck sitting next to a bored four-year-old for part of the performance. He was literally turning somersaults in his chair, kicking the railing in front of us, and headbutting my hip under the armrest between us. His mom finally noticed his antsiness during the intermission and swept him away while muttering profuse apologies. After they left, and in response to my eyerolling, Chris said, "That was me as a kid." I slowly turned to him and said, "If you actually want me to bear your children, you should never say that to me."

Thing is, Chris was a hyperactive child and to some extent, he's a hyperactive adult. When he's not being ground down by his job and actually gets to sleep 8 hours a night, he's like a superbouncyball. His mom tells stories about him as a child that have taken on nightmare-ish proportions in my mind. (For example? His grandpa, in an effort to keep Chris occupied and out from underfoot, told Chris he'd give him a penny for every lap he ran around a pair of trees in the front yard. Five-year-old Chris earned himself a sweet $2 in a few short hours.) I'm exactly the opposite. I am governed by the law of inertia and always have been. My mom says that I was pretty much a dream child: quiet, cheerful,and happy to entertain myself. As long as I had a stack of books, I was content. So you can understand why I'd be more than a little nervous to have kids with Chris--it's a total crapshoot. What if we have a Chris 2.0? I'm not sure how I feel about chasing a tiny dervish around the house all the damn time. I can only hope that the "you'll feel different when it's your kid" rule kicks in. In the meantime, I will keep my fingers crossed and practice saying, "Your child...."

For the last time

2006-05-10T07:55:00.000-07:00

Shut UP, David Blaine!

I've got good news...

2006-05-09T09:12:00.000-07:00

and I've got bad news. Which would you like first? Good news? Okay, then.

The shiny.
It's gadget-central around here these days. My birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and Chris got me this pretty new toy. It's so cute and shiny, I can't decide whether to snuggle it or lick it. I'm still in the process of ripping hundreds of CDs, so I haven't put anything on my as-yet unnamed player, but soon, I will be rocking out on the bus and/or pretending not to hear the people trying to talk to me. We started the process of ripping CDs back in September when I got Chris an iPod for his birthday, but we didn't get very far because our ghetto laptop is so damn slow. So! We also got a new laptop over the weekend! Okay, so we didn't get it just to rip CDs faster. I wasn't kidding when I called it ghetto. Carlo has popped off a good four or five keys, it shuts down for no apparent reason sometimes (hello scary blue screen!), and the track pad driver is all wonky so the cursor sometimes just floats around the screen, regardless of my threats. Oh, and there was also that incident, on the eve of our wedding, when I tripped over its power cord and knocked it to the ground--face down. It hasn't been the same since. (My sister is good in bad situations though: seeing the look of impending insanity on my face, she quickly scooped up the computer and whisked it away to fix it, while shooing me off to bed.) In short, we've been needing a new computer for awhile now and yay for CompUSA sales.

(Pictures of shiny, lickable electronics to come. The new laptop has a 6-in-1 digital media reader, but naturally, it doesn't take compact flash cards. Naturally.)

Okay, ready for the bad?

The shitty.
Our car was stolen, some time between 2:30 p.m. on Sunday and 7:45 a.m. today. Wait, you say, wasn't it stolen just last Thanksgiving? Why yes! It was! Making that twice in six months. Motherfuckers! Hopefully, we'll get it back again this time, preferably sans used hypodermic needles, please. The upside is that we didn't have anything of value in the car, aside from the new stereo we had installed after we got it back the last time. Oh, and a 25-lb. bag of the World's Best Cat Litter. Come to think of it, I am a little pissed about the kitty litter. That shit's not cheap!

This part may seem totally stupid (frankly, because it is), but I feel like this keeps happening to me. Both times the car was nicked, I was the last person to drive it. Both times, I parked it in seemingly safe spots (within a block from our house in our family-friendly neighborhood) and locked the doors. Chris, on the other hand, can lock his keys in the car--in the freakin' ignition, no less!--walk away from the car blissfully unaware, leave it sitting there ALL DAMN DAY, blocks away from his office, and come back to it in the evening to find it sitting there unmolested. The worst he suffered was having to meekly call me to say, "Hi, I'm stupid," and my eye-rolling derision. Why??

Drive by blogging

2006-05-02T08:19:00.000-07:00

Let's see...

I'm 31 now.
Carlo is still half-naked.
I'm out there looking and keeping my fingers and toes crossed.
I'm ridiculously excited about "Stick It."
We're going to London and Barcelona in July!
(Anyone want to cat-sit for two weeks?)

Uh...that's it.

More later.

Post-op recap

2006-04-08T22:26:00.000-07:00

I picked up Carlo from the vet this morning. His procedure went well yesterday and the vet kept him overnight. Poor guy...most of the first hour, he growled and hissed, especially when he tried to stand or walk. A couple of times, he tried to get into the litter box, only to collapse in the litter. He finally got the hang of propping himself up in the box. Now, he's resting quietly, nibbling on kibble occasionally, and reveling in the scratches and pats. His white skin is so soft and fuzzy. My mom thinks it looks like he forgot to put on pants. I think it looks like he's wearing white pants. He's a good boy.

Before (note the teeth and claws!):

And after (awww...):

On anniversaries and ostectomies

2006-04-06T22:40:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, but I've been busy. The last weekend of March was our first wedding anniversary and we celebrated by revisiting the scene of the crime: the Queen Mary. Friday afternoon, we flew down and Chris had a big surprise for me: tickets to the Lakers v. Bucks game! We had his firm's tickets, so they were great seats--right where the Lakers come out of their locker room. It was my first pro game and I think I've been spoiled for non-firm tickets. People right on the end of our row were high-fiving the players as they entered and exited the court. We weren't close enough to do that, but when Kobe was going back to the locker room at the end of the game (they won), I said, out loud, "Kobe! Try not to be a rapist!" No one heard me except for Chris, and he was horrified. I say it's damn good advice for everyone. It's universal!

We spent that night on the Queen Mary and finally took a walking tour of the ship. At midnight. Which is obviously not a good idea for someone with an overactive imagination. Like me. Clearly, I wasn't thinking straight. We happened upon this ... life-sized diorama ... thing. It was a representation of soldiers? During World War II? Or something? I don't even know, because the moment I layed eyes on the life-sized dummies in military uniform holding weapons? I froze. It was just wrong. So what did I do? I turned tail and ran, abandoning Chris to certain, uh, molestation by the dummies. Gah. So scary. The rest of the weekend was pretty laid back. We took the ferry to Catalina on Saturday and saw dolphins! No, even better than that, we were within arm's reach of dolphins! I could've leaned out of our little boat to touch their backs as they cruised alongside. So. Awesome.

This past week was not so good. It's been a flurry of vet visits and worry and tears. About a month ago, we noticed that Carlo, the ugly one (okay, not really), wasn't jumping so much anymore. He doesn't know that he's not the best jumper, so he goes for crazy jumps and doesn't always make it. The fact that he wasn't jumping was worrisome, but he didn't have a limp or seem to be in pain, so we figured he must've fallen and strained something or just scared some sense into himself. We waited to see if it'd get better, but it didn't. He stopped jumping on the bed, instead hauling himself up by digging his claws into the bedspread and scrambling up. Finally, last Friday, he yowled in pain as I was messing with his left hind leg and on Saturday morning, he had a small, but noticeable limp. By Monday afternoon, we got the news that the heads of his femurs (the ball that fits into the hip sockets) were deteriorating for some unknown reason and that the condition is irreversible. On Wednesday, a visit to the veterinary orthopedic surgeon confirmed the diagnosis. The only real solution is a drastic sounding surgery: femoral head ostectomy (FHO). They're going to cut away the entire ball and some of the neck of Carlo's femurs (on both sides) ... and that's it. No joint replacement, no pins, nothing. Apparently, cats are muscular enough in that area that his muscles, tendons, and ligaments will just hold his leg in place! It sounds totally insane, but all my research (thanks, Dr. Google) shows that cats recover incredibly well from this procedure. The surgery is tomorrow, so as of tomorrow night, little Carlo's skeleton will be in three separate sections. Bizarre! I feel terrible that he's going to suffer for a while after the surgery, but I think it's the best thing for him in the long run. He should be able to run and jump normally after a few weeks. It's going to be a long weekend caring for him, so I'll be tethered to the apartment. Call me! Bring movies! Let's hang out and clean my poor cat's stitches! I know my offer is irresistible.

One month later...

2006-03-15T22:18:00.000-08:00

(Psst...I was too tired to post last night, so let's just pretend the date up there says "Tuesday, March 14, 2006," okay? Thanks.)

Wow, it's like I fell off the face of the earth, huh? A whole month without posting, but I come bearing pie. Well, pictures of pie, at least. A few people reminded me it was Pi(e) Day, so I baked pie after work. Since it's just me and Chris at home, I decided to make a few mini pies instead of one big one. Behold! A tin of 6 mini pies, all filled with peaches and blueberries.

Making all these mini pies was actually way easier than I expected. But they were just as tasty as I'd hoped. Here's a peek at their juicy insides:

And here's a happy Chris, urging me to hurry up and take the picture. There is pie to be devoured!

Happy Pi(e) Day!

I keep falling for Chris

2006-02-14T23:02:00.000-08:00

In a very literal sense.

In my mind's eye, I am very graceful, like a cat, or a gazelle even. Clearly, I am delusional. Chris surprised me by taking me out to a fancy dinner tonight to celebrate Valentine's Day. I got all dolled up--low-cut dress and high, high heels--and we sashayed into the restaurant. We had a great table with a lovely view of the Ferry Building and the Bay Bridge. We ordered fancy foods and wines and the whole night was amazing. Sated and giddy, we left the restaurant and hurried to the car (it's cold tonight!) and it would've been an absolutely flawless evening, except for the spectacular tumble I took off the curb. It happened so quickly, I don't even know what happened. One minute, I'm standing on the curb, my hand hooked into the crook of Chris's elbow. The next, the asphalt is rushing up to meet my knees and hand. The only thing that kept me from a full-on splat on the street was Chris's arm. It must've looked hilarious to anyone lucky enough to watch, as I think I kind of just pitched forward like a felled oak. Once I swept up the shards of my ego that were strewn all over the intersection, I couldn't stop laughing. It's not the first time I've totally wiped out for absolutely no reason.

So clearly, I'm not part cat. But I've got lots of "fall down, go boom" in me.

A kick in the pants

2006-02-08T17:34:00.000-08:00

I've been lax about posting here. Obviously. I keep starting entries and then trashing them because I'm not happy with how I'm writing or what I'm writing about. Just as I was beginning to really stress about it, Julie tagged me for a Four Things About Myself entry, so thanks!

Four jobs I've had: writer/editor; baker/prep cook; waitress; telephone fundraiser for my university (now there's a thankless job).

Four movies I can watch over and over: Let me start by saying that there are certain movies that I am unable to turn away from if I catch them on TV. I wouldn't actively seek them out, but if they're on, I'm toast. "Bring It On" (actually, I own this movie—I am unashamed of my love for it); "Legally Blonde"; "Lilo & Stitch" (I own this one too, and I cry every time. I am a sap like that.); "Miss Congeniality." And I swear, I am smarter than this list makes me out to be.

Four places I've lived: Cerritos, CA; Houston, TX; New Haven, CT; San Francisco, CA.

Four TV shows I love(d): Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Project Runway; Veronica Mars; Gilmore Girls. (And there are so many more!)

Four places I've vacationed: Hawaii (Big Island and Maui); Sweden and Amsterdam (same trip); China and Hong Kong; Taiwan.

Four of my favorite dishes: pho; linguine con vongole; my cioppino; chicken enchiladas. (Ask me this question tomorrow, and I'll give you an entirely different list. Except for the pho. I love pho. I will bear pho's children.)

Four sites I visit daily: TelevisionWithoutPity.com; StuffOnMyCat.com; NYTimes.com; SFGate.com.

Four places I'd rather be right now: at home (more specifically, in bed); on the beach in Maui; visiting Mae in England; snorkeling in warm, fish-laden waters.

Four people I'm tagging: Shannon; Chris; Hannah; and Rita (yes, that's a hint).

Post-Vegas wrap-up

2006-01-08T21:21:00.000-08:00

I'm back from Vegas and so happy for it--it feels like I've been gone forever. The work part of it was fine--better than I expected, actually--but still exhausting. I don't think Chris realized the scale of CES until I walked him through the show floor on Saturday. Vast is an understatement. The highlight of my work week was this:

Yep, that's me and Hello Kitty, rocking out on her pink Fender. See? I hang with the celebrities. Speaking of celebrities, they were all over CES, mostly in the Yahoo tent. Yahoo's tent was near our work trailer and co-workers reported citings of celebrities like Britney and K-Fed, TomKat, and Nicole Richie. Apparently, they're all fan of Yahoo, or at the very least, fans of the money Yahoo gives them. As for personal celebrity sightings, Chris and I saw (MC) Hammer on the show floor in a sad display of former celebritiness, and then we got an eyeful of Mike Tyson at the Wynn. We covered our ears as he walked by.

The social part of the trip was fun, especially after Chris arrived. This was his first time in Vegas and he got his share of boobs:

Saturday night, we watched Avenue Q at the Wynn and loved it. It's the dirtier side of Sesame Street--puppet sex, one-night stands, racism--but clever and hysterically funny. The song "It Sucks to be Me" has been stuck in my head since the show. Today, I took Chris on a whirlwind tour of the theme hotels on the Strip: MGM Grand, New York New York, Caesar's Palace, and Mandalay Bay (site of the groping documented above).

Now, I'm finally back. I have a pile of laundry to do, I have to go back to work tomorrow (and do a self-evaluation: bleh), and Chris leaves first thing in the morning for Atlanta. The cats showed their joy at our return by vomiting and taking turns whapping each other on the head. And I couldn't be more thrilled to be home and get to sleep in my own bed. It's good to be home.

Vegas, baby!

2006-01-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

I'm leaving for Las Vegas today. Unfortunately, it's not all fun and games--I'm going for work, to cover the Consumer Electronics Show, the biggest CE tradeshow in the country? World? Who knows. All I know is it's about back-to-back meetings with marketing types, recycled air in a convention hall the size of a small city, and the gaudiness of Vegas with little of the fun. Although, the Adult Entertainment Expo is also going on at the same time (different convention hall, alas), which provides the potential for amusing stories, especially where the attendees from CES and AEE could overlap.

Christmas and New Year's Eve were fun, relaxing, and relatively uneventful. We spent NYE at a friend's house, having a low-key party. The highlight of the festivities was watching the fireworks over the Bay from the roof of her apartment in the Mission. The frustrating part was trying to explain to a very drunk man that no, the day does not start in Greenwich, England but most likely somewhere in eastern Russia or Asia and that the "mean" in Greenwich Mean Time is the same "mean" that means middle. Never try to have a logical conversation with someone who's drunk--it's an exercise in frustration.

My fabulous Christmas plans

2005-12-22T20:56:00.000-08:00

We're off tonight to the frozen tundra known as Ohio. Chris and I are spending Christmas with his family. This is the first Christmas I've ever spent away from my family--I feel weirdly guilty about it. They live in a tiny town, so I suspect it will be four days of movies and Scrabble, which is definitely not a bad vacation. If I'm lucky, we'll get to go to the Mennonite/Amish store where I can gawk at composting toilets and those crazy Amish coming-of-age novels. If I hit the jackpot, I might encounter some Amish kids on rumspringa! Don't be jealous of my fabulous life, though. It's not becoming.

Happy holidays!

Discerning thieves

2005-12-18T20:49:00.000-08:00

So our car is back! The San Bruno police found it parked in a residential neighborhood. The good news is that the engine and body are totally fine. The bad news is that the thieves took our after-market stereo/CD changer. In the grand scheme of things, we came out on top. Still, it feels weird to sit in the car, like it's been...violated. I know, dramatic, huh? But it feels dirty. And with good reason: it is. The thief smoked in our car, so it smells slightly of stale smoke (Marlboro Reds) and the footwell is littered with tobacco and cigarette ash. And we know the thief has a penchant for Hostess Cupcakes, as s/he left a crumpled empty package in the back seat. The worst, though, was finding an unused (we assume) needle in the glove compartment and an empty needle package in the back. So we're going with the theory that the thief traded our stereo for some smack. Is that too judgmental? I mean, it's possible that he's a diabetic who was short on cash and traded the stereo for some black market insulin. It's possible.

The really insulting part, though, is that our dear thief is a judgmental fuck. He actually went through the CDs in our CD changer, picked out the ones he wanted, and left the rest in the tape compartment between the seats. Green Day, U2, and Fur Squirrels? Why yes, please! L.A. Riots or Sunny Day Real Estate? No thanks. Like, dude, you're stealing our stereo. If I were stealing a stereo, I'm guessing I'd just grab the unit and make a run for it. Sort the details out later. But our discerning klepto actually sat there in the car, decided against three particular CDs, and neatly put them back in the car. Is he incredibly polite? Or is he just judging us and making sure we know just what he thinks of our musical tastes?

In which I veer from "la-la pretty things" to "self flagellation"

2005-12-05T08:51:00.000-08:00

I've been sewing lately, taking these great classes at Muse Workshops. (Alas, her group classes are no more, but Shannon Hird is making patterns!) Homemade bags/purses are the theme of this year's Christmas presents, so I've been shopping for fabrics a lot lately. I'm not a "collector"--no stamps, no bottle caps, no expensive crystal objects. Actually, that's not entirely true. When I was a kid, I collected stickers, and by collected, I mean hoarding anything that had a cute picture on the front and sticky stuff on the back (bonus points for anything you could scratch'n'sniff)--I was not the most discriminating sticker connoisseur. But as I organized my fabrics last night, I realized that I had the beginnings of a minor obsession. I love pretty fabric! I also love shopping for fabric (I could easily spend a day in a single store)--wandering through the shop, eyeing all the colors, running my hands over velvets and slubby silks, pairing swatches in my mind, imagining all the things I could make from these materials. Because at its core, fabric is potential. It's not good for much just sitting there in bolts. You have unwind it, cut it, press it, and stitch it together for it to be truly useful. The same goes for yarn. I adore browsing yarn stores to look at colors and feel the textures (and then wishing, once I find the skeins of cashmere, that I could fill a bathtub with the soft yarns and dive right in). Each bundle, while pretty to look at, is just a little blob of potential, waiting for someone to come along with a picture in her head and a set of needles and able hands. (My yarn box is a testament to how much vision and time I seem to think I have. In actuality, I have little of either, so my yarn sits, sadly.)

Come to think of it, this is why I enjoy grocery shopping, especially at places like the Farmer's Market. When I see great piles of exotic vegetables, my mind races to figure out what I can do with them, how to mix them up for the greatest impact of flavors, colors, and textures. I race around, buying way too much, fretting that if I don't get this now, I'll never see it again, and that, is wasted potential.

The idea of wasted potential has been rolling around in my head lately. I sort of blew off the concept of grades in college and didn't give too much thought to my future career--I considered myself an academic rebel, but really, I was lazy. (And in retrospect? How much self-delusional spin doctoring is that? I'm lazy because I'm barely passing classes? Oh no, my friend. I am an academic rebel!) I fell into a career, in part by default, but also because I knew that my job prospects out of college were limited because of my major and grades. I mean, I love my general field, but I'm at a job I don't love (but that others might kill for), just biding my time. When it's time to move on, do I continue in a similar vein? I feel like I'm getting too old to break left and make a major change (much as this entry has gone). Sometimes, I wish I could go back and slap some sense into my 19-year-old self and tell her to give that decision more consideration and time. But I can't, so here I am, two months from a potential crossroad, not knowing what I should do. What do you think I should do?

Less than daily, more than never

2005-12-02T17:52:00.000-08:00

I thought about signing up for Holidailies again this year, but I don't think I'm going to do it. Chris and I will be in Ohio for Christmas and I'm not guaranteed daily Internet access there (at least not whenever I want it). And I'll be in Las Vegas for the first week of January for CES, so that's time lost there, too. But I am going to try to pull myself out of this cycle of "not posting-feeling guilty-being frozen by guilt and therefore not posting even more" and get back to writing something here at least a couple times a week. And look! Three times this week alone!
Last week, we went to Southern California to spend Thanksgiving with my family. It was one of the best visits ever, but was preceded by one of the worst nights ever. I was going to visit Shannon on Tuesday night and I needed to move the car for street cleaning anyway, so I figured I'd drive. Walked out to where I had parked the car on Sunday and ... no car. Yep, our car was thieved by thieving bitches. Naturally, I walked around for about 15 minutes, running over the past two days' events in my head and checking that Chris hadn't moved the car and forgotten to tell me. Sadly, the car is really gone. We're in limbo right now, waiting to see if SFPD will find it, and hoping we don't have to buy a new used car. On the onr hand, a four-door, automatic would be nice. On the other, this car was totally paid off and had been since before Chris and I met. It was basically a free car: 10 years old, no engine problems, needed nothing more than regular maintenance and gas. And it was little (easy to park) and a Saturn (dings? what dings?). That is to say, it was the perfect San Francisco car. Luckily, we had nothing of value in the car, other than a few CDs.

Once we wrapped our minds around that and got a rental car, we had a great four-day weekend. My sister, Stella, and I were in charge of the big dinner and if I do say so myself, we rocked it. Instead of turkey, we grilled (and by we, I mean, we ordered our dad and Chris to grill) a dozen Cornish game hens, but everything else was fairly traditional. The rest of the weekend was filled with old friends, Karaoke Revolution, drinking, and all-'round fun. Even the cats seemed to enjoy the trip, because it turns out, good suspension makes for a smoother, more comfortable ride! Who knew (aside from everybody)?!

Inappropriate!

2005-12-01T11:26:00.000-08:00

I’m so dumb. I think it’s the weather. The gray, rainy weather makes my brain sleepy. I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning and in fact, went back to bed after being up for 5 minutes. Anyway, the brain fog made me forget to bring my sweater to work today. I have this old, black, button-down sweater that is neither stylish nor in great condition. In fact, I think it was my mom’s. I found it in my luggage after a trip to my parents’ house and just haven’t given it back. Despite its raggedy looks, I love this sweater because it’s the perfect layering piece for the office. I can wear a tank top or a short-sleeved shirt and throw on the sweater if it gets too chilly in the office. It’s like the perfect sweatshirt you wear around the house all winter, only a little nicer.

This morning, I put on a sleeveless shirt, with the intention of putting on the sweater at work. I have this Mr. Rogers-like routine where I get to my desk, peel off my jacket, and pull on the sweater (I generally don’t change my shoes, though). I got to work today, shrugged out of the jacket…and realized that I’d forgotten to shove the sweater in my bag. (I don’t wear it to work because the combination of the puffy jacket plus the sweater plus the humid, stuffy bus is just too much to bear. I am a little princess-y when it comes to comfort.) So do I sit here without sleeves while it’s 50 degrees outside? Clearly, it’s not 50 degrees inside, but I feel silly because this shirt is definitely not weather appropriate and I love to laugh at girls who wear skimpy outfits in freezing conditions in order to look hot, not realizing they actually look stupid. And it really is too cold inside for sleeveless tops. Or do I go ahead and wear my puffy jacket all day at my desk, which also looks dumb and like I’m waiting for my chance to escape out the door (which, duh, I totally am, but I don’t need for everyone to know that). Bah, I think I lose either way.

Edited to add: I...did something...to my problem, but I think saying that I solved the problem is giving me too much credit. During lunch, I ran down to Jeremy's, the little used/overstock store down the street. Jeremy's is not "used" as in Salvation Army or Goodwill. It is "used" as in Ralph Lauren, Ferragamo, and Kate Spade. So a lot of their stuff is very, very expensive, despite having been both pre-owned and pre-worn. I just wanted a little sweater-thingy that wasn't too expensive or too ugly. Heh. Um...I'm now wearing a mustard yellow, long-sleeved cardigan sweater with snap buttons down the front and ribbed cuffs on the sleeve, a ribbed collar, and ribbed hip area. It's a little too big and it's totally unflattering...but! it was only $20. Yes, I paid $20 for ugly, but when I had those twenty dollars, I also had a choice between freezing or broiling at my desk. Now, I'm am down $20 but I am also down sweatiness and up warm arms. Still, I think I will stash this in my desk drawer at the end of the day and it will be my official "I forgot my regular, decent-looking sweater and now I must wear this $20 knit monstrosity like a hairshirt to punish myself" sweater.

Smile, bitches!

2005-11-30T18:36:00.000-08:00

Anyone who says that animals don't feel a range of emotions has obviously never had one. They get petulant and angry when I don't let them chew on plastic bags, they get irritated when I mess with their paws too much, and when we've been gone too long, they're extra lovey-dovey. We try, I think, to respect them as individuals by leaving them alone when they're feeling anti-social or indulging them in extra scritches when they need attention. That said, we are not above laughing our asses off at them either, even if it means they run away in embarassment. People, we are only human! And neither are we above doing things to them that cause us to laugh our asses off. Exhibits A and B: Operation Cat Grimace. Note: no cats were harmed in the production of these photos.* Egos aside, I mean.

Vinny:

Carlo:

*You too can do this! Just lightly grasp the whiskers on either side of their little snouts and...not tug, exactly, but just pull ever so gently, like you're straightening out or grooming their whiskers. They can't help but bare their teeth. Also, please note Vinny's extreme overbite. His fangs don't normally fit in his closed mouth. He's my little vampire.

Spam begone!

2005-11-28T21:24:00.000-08:00

I am stupid. When I set up this blog, I made it so anyone can comment. And if you hadn't noticed, I haven't really looked at it lately. I was a little surprised today to see how much comment spam I had, so I've changed the settings: you have to sign in to comment now. I just can't spend another hour deleting comment spam.

More soon, I promise!

It just burns me up

2005-10-17T17:46:00.000-07:00

What the fuck, man? I mean seriously: WHAT. THE. FUCK. It’s a sad day when toaster ovens get the best of you. Our dependable little toaster oven died quietly a couple of weeks ago. It wasn’t entirely a surprise, I suppose: for the past couple of months, it exhaled a thin wisp of gray smoke every time we used it to do anything besides lightly toast bread. Then there was the burn-y smell. Also, the fire a few months back (the food itself caught fire, not the appliance). Finally, it just stopped working. Poor little toaster oven.

We’ve been making do with my adorable Hello Kitty pop-up toaster since then. While it’s nothing short of delightful to have your toasty bread pop up with Hello Kitty’s adorable face charred on, you can’t exactly shove a slice of leftover pizza or a cheese quesadilla into its slots. (Well, you can, but if you expect that to turn out well, we need to talk.) And sure, I could do all those things in the regular oven, but that takes too long to heat it up for a snack, hence the whole point of toaster ovens. So we started looking for a new toaster oven.

Well, as it turns out, in the four years since we last shopped for toaster ovens, things have changed. They’ve gotten bigger for one thing--SUVized if you will. They’re all bulky and weirdly curved, like they’ve been partaking of that nice Balco skin cream. We were hard-pressed to toast 3 slices of bread with our old toaster oven, but these new ones have double racks that hold six slices! You can bake a 9-inch pie in it! Or roast a goddamned chicken! Whole! With room to spare for a nice side of savory root vegetables! And where toaster ovens were once the definition of simplicity, they now do everything: toast, bake, roast, CONVECTION BAKE? There’s even a combo unit that has a coffeemaker attached! It’s the ultimate in breakfast multitasking! Until the coffeemaker starts shooting boiling water all over the toaster! In which case, Aroma has a nice little lawsuit on its hands.

No. No no no no NOOO! I just want a small, simple, unassuming little toaster oven. Something that will toast my bread, heat leftover pizza, melt the cheese on my tortilla, maybe cook the odd dinner of Trader Joe’s taquitos and mini quiches (shut up). And I don’t want to pay more than $35 for it. These new, fancy machines? They’re all over $100! But look, you say, there are toasters for under $50! And I say, “Read the @%*&@#%) user opinions!” Because the one thing the cheapies can't do: freakin' toast bread, the ONE thing they're supposed to do well.

GAH.

I can't find a word that rhymes with "jubblies"

2005-10-07T12:28:00.000-07:00

My work environment is very, very casual. My usual work uniform is jeans, a t-shirt, and flip-flops—and yes, I work in an office. Chris’s office, on the other hand, is more formal. The normal uniform for men is a long-sleeve button-down shirt, tucked into dress slacks, with suitable shoes. So this morning, I was surprised to see that he had paired a more casual button-down with jeans. He reminded me that on the occasional Friday, they can pay $5 for the privilege of wearing jeans to work and all the money goes to charity—this week it’s to support breast cancer research. Sadly, they have no catchy slogan to promote this fundraiser, so I proposed “Dungarees for Double-Ds.” After snickering, he countered with “Dockers for Knockers,” which naturally spawned a whole conversation during our morning commute. How about “Pajammies for Mammies”? Or “Vests for Breasts”? Or “Tube Socks Cuz Boobs Rock”? "Mittens for Kittens, You Know, the Ones You're Smuggling"?

I tried to think of something involving hats and racks, but that fell flatter than Lara Flynn Boyle’s chest.

Katrina

2005-09-02T20:23:00.000-07:00

Like everyone else, I am locked to my computer at work, and all I can do all day is hit refresh over and over on my browser. Between the newspapers, blogs, and videos/photos, I am inundated with information. I still can't wrap my mind around the sheer extent of damage to people and the city itself and I can't comprehend how one begins to rebuild an entire city. I feel helpless sitting here, half a country away, and editing product reviews seems stupid and pointless when I know that people are dying preventable deaths as I sit in my comfortable office. And then the politicians...I just...no. Don't get me started. Suffice to say--HATE.

But one obvious thing we can do is give: time, money, supplies. Whatever you can afford will help someone get food, water, clothing, or shelter. This blog, that my friend, Erin, forwarded to me, explains that the Red Cross is already over-funded and how donating to them--good cause though they are--may not be the most effective use of your money. There are plenty of local organizations who have people in place and need money to buy much needed supplies:

Northwest Medical Teams

The Baton Rouge Area Foundation working with the IRC

America's Second Harvest (food)

Operation USA (med aid, directed to the poorest victims)

There are others that are easily found with just a little Googling, too. One idea that I liked, and will be organizing for my extended family, is for us to forego Christmas gifts this year and to donate the money that we'd otherwise use on gifts. We all have homes, our families are relatively healthy and safe, and we don't worry about putting food on the table. Clearly, we have more than enough and can afford to give. Please consider doing the same and talk to your friends and families about what they can do to help the truly needy people affected by Hurricane Katrina.

If a picture is worth a thousand words...

2005-08-15T21:38:00.000-07:00

this one must be worth at least the OED.

I mean, what the fuck? He doesn't look like a cat. He looks...French. Chris is officially banned from choosing future pets.

To be fair, he can look rather cute, too. But we all know that's a flimsy disguise. He's evil in fur suit.

Sometimes, I am d-u-m DUM!

2005-08-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

I generally consider myself a pretty intelligent person. I don’t always make the smartest choices and I certainly have my dumb moments, but overall, I’m pretty with it, brain-wise. But today, I remembered a conversation I had with my dad a long time ago, and my airheadedness just made me blush and laugh out loud. I was a junior in high school and trying to figure out which colleges to apply to. My dad tried to help me out by sitting me down and talking to me about different career possibilities, hoping to clear up any questions and misconceptions I might’ve had.

He ran over the usual laundry list of “acceptable” careers (manager of the Bunny Ranch was not on the list): doctor, lawyer, accountant, research scientist, marketing/PR, and engineer. At engineer, I stopped him and said, in all seriousness, “You mean, like, a train conductor?”

[Pause]

My poor dad (a mechanical engineer by training) nearly passed out from laughing so hard, though he tried so valiantly not to. I don’t blame him for it. What else are you gonna do when your oldest daughter—the “smart one”—flies her idiot flag so high and proud?

Child groom

2005-07-15T15:07:00.000-07:00

This morning, as I was puttering around the bathroom getting ready for work, I heard Chris giggle from the shower. A second later, a peal of hysterical laughter escaped from behind the shower curtain. “What’s so funny?” I asked. He only giggled in response. “Hey! What’s going on in there? What are you laughing at?” After I pestered him some more, he pulled aside the shower curtain to show me, laughing all the while. He had altered the text on the bottle of shampoo, so that instead of “fortifying shampoo,” it said “fortifying poo.”

My husband? Is 13.

We always hurt the ones we love

2005-07-14T09:52:00.000-07:00

I just remembered that I clocked Chris in the face last night. We were sleeping back-to-back and both decided to turn over at the same time. Somewhere in my attempt to heave myself around, I smacked him right in the nose. Hard enough that his hand flew to his face and he groaned the groans of a man whose wife just punched him for no good reason while they were both asleep. I remember stroking his ear (?) and making concerned noises, but really, I was thinking to myself—I was still mostly asleep!—“Shhh…I’m trying to sleep.” I felt guilty for not being more awake and concerned, but hey, there was no blood and he wasn’t crying.

The funny thing is, I feel more guilty about this than about the time I woke up and “accidentally” elbowed Chris in the head—kinda hard—because I’d dreamt that he pissed me off and I was still mad when I woke up.

All of my eggs just committed suicide.

Photographic evidence

2005-06-27T19:07:00.000-07:00

I'm back! We finally went to L.A. to pick up the proofs of our wedding pictures. I just finished going through our photographer's favorites, and I'm a total mess. Every picture either made me laugh or cry (or both at the same time), and as self-absorbed as it sounds, I totally fell in love with our wedding all over again. My favorite pictures are the ones where people are just grinning like idiots and dancing like fools. While the people in the foreground are fun to look at, what I love is getting real close to the picture to see what's going on the in the background--the people who have no idea they're being photographed. Love it. Our photographer, by the way, is fucking brilliant. We have these awesome shots of us and all our guests right after the ceremony. I can't pick a favorite out of that bunch--it's a toss-up between the one where everyone is cheering and the one where she told all the couples in the bunch to kiss. I feel like a voyeur (but not the gross kind) going, "Look! There's so-and-so kissing! And they're kissing too! Awww!" Better, though, are the reactions of the people not part of a couple. It ranges from genuine put-out looks, to mock grimaces, to people lunging at their friends, trying to lay one on 'em. Hee!

So I never really blogged about the wedding, partly because I didn't know what to say. For a few weeks after, I felt overwhelmed and at a loss for words over the whole thing. I think I was afraid that whatever I said couldn't really express how I felt about that day. But seeing the pictures 3 months after the fact reminded me of how much I loved our wedding, so here I am.

In short, our wedding rocked and there was no way I could've predicted it. Because in all our careful planning and orchestrating, the one thing that never occurred to me was that there would be people there. I mean, duh, clearly I knew there'd be people--we invited them. But I forgot that these weren't just butts in seats and steaks vs. salmon vs. vegetarian meals. These were people who love us and were genuinely happy for us to be getting married. All of them had set aside six-plus hours of their lives specifically for us and many of them had TRAVELED from DISTANCES to help us celebrate. These people drank and laughed and danced (and danced and danced) and ultimately, that was what made our night. I mean, the ceremony was beautiful and I was really happy with how we'd planned the whole night, but in the end, that was all just icing, because now, looking at the pictures, what's captured isn't the table settings or the flower arrangements or the programs (though I loved all that). The thing that stands out in all the pictures is the joy and fun and excitement and love that was emanating from everyone there. I think the one picture that made me both cry and laugh the most is the one of everyone in my extended family on my dad's side: they're all cracking up--like, doubled-over, slapping their legs laughing--at a joke I made during my vow. It reminds me of our best moments together and it epitomizes what we wanted our wedding to be. And it was.

MIA

2005-05-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

If you've e-mailed me in the past two weeks and I haven't responded, I don't hate you, I'm not ignoring you, and I haven't died. I've just been kind of busy at work and either busy at home or tired and not wanting to sit in front of the computer. To everyone who sent birthday cards, THANK YOU! You will all get e-mails from me shortly. Just...yeah. I"m sorry and I'll talk to you soon!

Oh happy day

2005-04-27T14:40:00.000-07:00

Happy 30^th birthday to me! I’m ringing in the new year of me…in pain! Awesome! I finished the course of corticosteroids on Monday morning, and since Monday night, my face, neck, shoulders, and upper back have been sore and tender, to the touch, even. Are there any doctors in the house? Could this be a side effect of coming off a short course (one week) of prednisone? Because: fucking OW.

But my face seems to be working again, for the most part. I still get the twitchies, but my left dimple has reappeared and I can smile almost normally again. Most importantly, though, my left nostril is in fine flaring form again.

I had a most excellent birthday weekend. Stella came up from L.A. to hang out and we spent two days eating amazing food and trying to pass time between meals (favorite between-meal activity: napping). Saturday night, a whole posse of friends joined us for tapas and drinks in the Mission. My big 30^th birthday revelation of the night was that I need sparkly red walls in my apartment, much like the ones in Beauty Bar. That and I have lots of shiny, sparkly people in my life who make me laugh till I pee my pants and for that I am grateful. We spent part of Sunday driving down Rte. 1 to Pescadero for the incomparable cream of artichoke/cream of green chile soup and ollalieberry pie at Duarte’s Tavern. The day was perfect: slight breeze, sunshine, tons of people out at a plane/car show in Half Moon Bay…we opened the sunroof and soaked up the heat. Heaven.

And now, I am knocking off work early to go lie on Mae’s couch, watch cheesy romantic comedies, and eat cupcakes. Bliss.

ow, ow, ow! and yum!

2005-04-19T19:19:00.000-07:00

As if to tease me, my under-functioning muscles keep spazzing out, randomly. In particular, the one behind my left eyelid keeps twitchtwitchtwitching, and it's making me psypsypsycho! For the last hour, I've been fantasizing about gouging my eyeball out with a spork and punching the offending muscle. I might also be suffering from 'roid rage.

But then I had some of the delicious Humboldt Fog blue cheese that I bought from Cowgirl Creamery and things are looking up again.

So there's always something funny

2005-04-18T15:33:00.000-07:00

Mae and I discovered over lunch today that when I try to flare my nostrils, only one nostril goes! And I drool a little out of the left corner of my mouth. Fun!

Hell's Bell's

2005-04-17T22:01:00.000-07:00

It's weird how things can change so quickly in life. Today, an ER doctor diagnosed me with Bell's palsy, a facial paralysis condition caused by damage to the facial nerve. About four days ago, I noticed that the front of my tongue felt ever-so-slightly numb--as if I'd burned it drinking something just a tiny bit too hot. But I couldn't remember doing that. Then there was the chronic ache that started in my neck and the back of my skull, then wrapped around to my left ear. On top of that was the weird sensitivity to sounds. Everything sounded just a tiny bit too loud in my left ear. Then this morning, I woke up to find that the left side of my face felt slack and the muscles were all stiff and difficult to move (except for when they were freaking out and twitching like heroin junkie in withdrawal).

Chris took me to the ER in the mid-afternoon, and pretty soon, I was hearing the words "Bell's palsy," "corticosteroids and anti-virals," and "partial paralysis." It's a little scary. Of course, there's no definitive cause of Bell's palsy, just as there's no sure-fire cure. And if you're like me, you will Google the hell out of Bell's palsy and freak yourself out by reading phrases like "80% cured within 3 months" next to phrases like "facial nerve repair" and "muscle transposition" for the other 20%. And there's a theory that it's something that runs in families, which makes the fact that my dad was diagnosed with the same thing less than 2 years ago less weird.

The things to be most worried about in the short term, apparently, is my left eye. Since the lid is suffering from partial paralysis, there's the possibility that my eye could get dried out and the cornea damaged. So I have a regimen of artificial tears to go along with the corticosteroids and the anti-virals. At night, I even have to tape the lid shut to make sure it doesn't dry out. One Web site even mentioned the possibility of an eye patch, which makes the whole deal more pirate-y. Which is good, I suppose, but any funny is effectively cancelled by the potential for drooling. Well, maybe drooling makes it funnier for everyone else.

2005-04-13T23:19:00.000-07:00

And so we are pronounced... (photo courtesy of Michael Huang)

Story the third

2005-04-09T13:53:00.000-07:00

Remember how I said the wedding knocked my socks off? It really did! Well, one sock. See, I'm generally opposed to pantyhose, especially the full length ones, because they're difficult to get on straight so you end up feeling all twisted up and out of sorts. And then if you make the mistake of getting the hideous control-top ones, you feel like a sausage, stuffed and encased, and, weirdly enough, bulgy, which seems to defeat the whole control-top point. And then they make you all hot and sweaty in places where you'd prefer not to be (though don't buy into the Summer's Eve commercials that try to convince you that you should smell like roses down there). Point being, panythose? Suck.

But I wore closed-toe shoes at my wedding and I just knew my feet would be unhappy and blistery and the end of the night if I passed on nylons. So, my options: full-length pantyhose, knee-highs, or thigh-highs. You know how I feel about the full-length ones, I think. The knee-highs, while practical, make me feel too grandmotherly. Not that anyone would even KNOW I was wearing them, but I would know and that's enough for me. So thigh-highs, right? They sounds perfect: they don't bind your mid-section, they give your feet the necessary protection from your shoes, and hot damn, thigh highs are sexy. Heh.

So I got 'em. I checked out the band that's supposed to hug your thighs and noticed they had a nice wide elastic band that negates the need for garters. Awesome, right? Well, if you pay $18 for a single pair of thigh-high stockings, they'd better be awesome. And they were. I pulled them on and I felt like I was in one of those Hanes commercials, where every step is bouncy and I feel like I'm walking on clouds! Get dressed, get in the car with the girls, get to the Queen Mary for pictures. We're walking through the parking lot and suddenly...uh-oh. I feel this telltale...tug. "Um...hold on. One of my stockings is starting to slip." I discreetly hitched my skirt up a little, reached up and adjusted the stocking and kept walking. Thirty seconds later, I feel another slip, so the girls make a protective "barrier" around me so I can hike my skirt up over my knee and pull the stocking up. In the parking lot. Classy, no?

Not 10 seconds later, I feel it slip again but we're almost to the ship's entrance, so I figure I'll go inside to the bathroom to fix this. Five more steps and the entire stocking has tumbled down to my ankle, flapping with every step. Man, there is NOTHING sexier than having your pantyhose flopped around your ankle. Nothing. So I whipped it off and...handed it off to my sister, all wadded up. Yes, the pantyhose that my foot had been in. Nice, eh?* In the end, I had to go with the full length pantyhose I'd brought as back up. And guess what? I'd accidentally bought control tops! Gah!

*The girls were great about shit like that all night. I was chewing gum as we went to meet our photographer for pictures, but didn't have anywhere to spit my gum. So dear Mae, bless her heart, offered her hand and yes, sadly, I spit my chewed gum into it. I think we even did it a second time so we could get a picture of it. Friends like that make this life worthwhile.

And this is want I want to post today

2005-04-08T19:33:00.000-07:00

I'm still too tired and discombobulated from work and life to post anything coherent and meaningful about our wedding. But I wanted to tell these two stories:

Story #1: The Electric Slide, Really!
Our wedding reception turned out to be a big party, just like we wanted. No one was shy about dancing, which warmed the cockles of my heart. I had explicity forbade a money dance, the chicken dance, and a conga line (though a conga line formed spontaneously, which...okay!), but I was powerless in the face of a veritable phalanx of Chinese parents doing the Electric Slide! I don't even know what I was doing, but I remember turning around and seeing an ARMY of middle-aged Chinese people grimly and doggedly line dancing! It was so totally weird and so totally awesome. Someone pointed out that they didn't even look like they were enjoying themselves, like doing a 70s disco move was a CHORE, but by God, they were going to do it! And do it, they did...forEVER. I think it was the longest song in the history of weddings, and they kicked and hitched and scooted for every last beat. Apparently, even our otherwise cool DJ was powerless against the pull of the Electric Slide and started doing it on stage. That, my friends, is FREAKIN' AWESOME!

Story #2: Not really a story, but it's about cake, so yay!
I loved our cake. On Rita's recommendation, we eschewed the traditional, dense cake and went for a light chiffon number from King's Hawaiian (yes, that King's Hawaiian!): chocolate cake with a filling of fresh strawberries and dobash (basically, chocolate pudding). Yum! The bakers left it basically unadorned: the square tiers had clusters of Swiss dots, but that's it. Our florist, however, waved her magic flower wand and poof! Gorgeous! Roses and gardenias on each tier, rose petals scattered around it. So, we go to do our cake cutting, pick up the knife and server, and come face to face with the reality that: we don't know how to do this. It sounds stupid, right? I mean, how many birthday cakes and such have each of us cut in our lifetimes? Plenty! And yet, faced with this beautiful confection, both of us were like, "Uhh..." So we just dove in and kind of...mauled...a corner of the bottom tier. It was kind of sad...this beautiful creation and we're sort of grimly hacking away at it. Finally, we each gouged out a semi-respectable chunk and just kind of shoveled it in each other's mouths. Turns out, there was almost no cake in those bites: just a huge gob of icing. Sadly, neither of us thought to actually have a piece of cake, in the end. I heard it was tasty, though.

2005-04-08T19:30:00.000-07:00

I tried to post this last night, but Blogger was being bitchy:

9:14a.m.
Someone on the Internet thinks I am interested in tents. But they are also very sorry to have bothered me, in the case that I am not interested in tents. It’s the nicest, most apologetic spam, ever.

9:22a.m.
Huh. How sorry can they be? I just received my second tent spam in 10 minutes, from the same people. Best part? The subject line: “slaapzak franch.” The hell?

Do you have secret little things you take pleasures in? Not like that, I mean. Just little things. Like, two days ago, I was wearing my turtle underwear: blue, boy-cut underwear with cute little turtles printed all over.* And today, I’m wearing stripey underwear and what seem like boring black socks, but up near the elastic, they have penguins and igloos printed on them. Most of my socks have something on them: dogs, cats, frogs, giraffes, monkeys. No one knows but me, but I can’t help grinning every time I think about the fact that my ass is nestled in turtle underpants.

*If you haven’t already guessed, I’m not a Victoria’s Secret girl. I don’t have the personality required to deal with butt floss.

2:11p.m.
Hate. Don’t need a tent. Don’t want a tent. Didn’t ask for a tent. But I do have these tent stakes. Wherever shall I shove them?

2:30p.m.
Fucking Gmail. Fuck fuck fuck!

11:15p.m.
One might go to a Pie Party and not eat any pie, because one might've decided to lie down for a bit and therefore missed all the pie. One might, then, decide to eat too much ice cream and experience an exhilarating sugar high. One might now be crashing. Zzzz...

In brief

2005-04-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

Wedding: Abso-fucking-lutely amazing.
Honeymoon: Awesome. (Sea turtles!)
Work: Insane
Connecticut's CT1040NR/PY Part-Year resident form: Kicking my ass nine ways to Sunday.

I've been meaning to post about the wedding, but we went on our honeymoon, drove our married selves and cats back to San Francisco this past Sunday, and went back to work. Oh, and Chris got a horrific case of food poisoning on Monday (if you've never heard Chris vomit, consider yourself--and your eardrums--lucky). Neither of us has unpacked our suitcases, the apartment is in shambles, our tax returns are in various states of doneness, Carlo's getting more manic by the second, and work has taken some interesting turns that will mean spending a goodly amount of non-work time reading and learning about work stuff. Oh, and my 30th birthday is coming up, as is Mae's, though she has promised to die of alcohol poisoning on her day, so I have to add "cart Mae's drunk ass to the E.R. on the 16th" to my to-do list. Hi Mae!

But, a post-wedding recap and pictures are forthcoming. Y'all, it rocked my socks off. Literally!

And so it begins

2005-03-21T12:29:00.000-08:00

It's the Monday before the wedding. Chris is working in Newport Beach (Mapquest's 1/2 hour drive? Took over an hour. Stupid L.A.), I'm working in my dad's study at home (it's weird working with 3 cats running around, harassing me, each other, and their reflections), and everything is starting to go nuts. Last week, someone sent us a news clipping about how the Queen Mary just declared bankruptcy. Awesome. Supposedly, hotel and catering services won't be affected. I'm just glad our wedding is this weekend and not, say, 3 months from now. I doubt anything can go catastrophically wrong in five days. *Knock on wood* But then I got a call today from the restaurant where we're having our rehearsal dinner and guess what? Big fire last night, so now we have to find a new restaurant for the rehearsal dinner and get the news and new directions out to people. Fun! I'm waiting for all my hair to fall out. Again, *knock on wood*.

Vacation from an angry cat

2005-03-19T19:12:00.000-08:00

Officially, we're at one week and counting. Chris and I spent the day cleaning the apartment and packing everything we need for one week in L.A. and one week in Hawaii. Eeee! I'm so excited about our honeymoon!

It's a little stressful trying to pack everything we need for the wedding. I'm paranoid that I'm going to forget something important. I'm glad the dress is down there. Since we're driving, I'm employing the 'pack everything that will fit in the car and sort it out later' tactic.

We're taking the cats with us to L.A., where my family will catsit them while we're on vacation. In light of that, I dropped the boys off at a groomer this morning, thinking I'd pick them up in the afternoon with their nails trimmed, fur fluffy, and little black clouds over their heads. Not 20 minutes later, I get a call: Carlo is a hellion and they can't handle him, so no bath or nail trim. Gah. I don't know what to do with this cat. When I picked them up in the afternoon, Carlo was still pissy, hissing and growling at anything that moved. He's...yeah.

The NRA's new anti-PETA slogan...

2005-03-11T22:38:00.000-08:00

Guns don't kill people; cats kill people.

A padded room would be nice right about now

2005-03-10T20:39:00.000-08:00

Is crying in option? Is there crying in wedding planning? Huh? Is there? How about wailing? Or tearing my clothes off and running wild through the streets? Damn this neighborhood and its distinct lack of easy-access liquor stores! Nah, I don't want the liquor, I want the ciggies. Wedding planning is making me want to smoke again. Oh wait! I have an old, stale pack in my nightstand. Ahoy! I'll take my miracles where I can find 'em.

Uprisings-R-Us!

2005-03-06T22:53:00.000-08:00

Chris and I were walking back to our car after dinner the other night, and passed by a plain storefront with lettering on its glass door. Out of the corner of my eye, I read "Insurgence Agency." Of course, I quickly realized that it was, in fact, an insurance agency, but it got me thinking (and laughing) about how an insurgence agency would advertise itself.

We are a one-stop-shop for all your insurgency needs! Need to overthrow a dictator? Stage a coup? Start a rebel uprising? We can do it all for you! Whether your operation is small-scale, like a Latin Club Rebellion, or larger, like a governmental overthrow, we have agents who specialize in helping you make your insurgency operation the best and most efficient it can be. Need weapons? Provisions? Able-bodied soldiers? We will get you top-of-the-line supplies and armies. The best part? Our price! We will NOT be undercut. If you find someone who offers the same services for less, we'll refund you the difference PLUS 10%! Call now and we'll put together a free quote for you. Let US help YOU with your POWER PLAY!!

So do you suppose I'll show up on FBI lists now?

Don't cry for me, Argentina. I've got my own tears.

2005-03-03T12:46:00.000-08:00

I am dumb in plenty of ways, not the least of which is my contacts. I’ve worn corrective lenses since the 4th grade and grade school/junior high was a veritable parade of unfortunate eyewear. You might say I made a spectacle of myself. Ba-da-bum. Shut up. Anyway, I had the big-ass plastic frames in all sorts of colors: pink, blue, lavender. Late in high school, I tried contacts, but since I have a bit of astigmatism, it was either shell out big bucks for the fancy soft contacts, or suffer with the rigid gas permeables. Guess which I had? I lasted about 6 months with the gas perms. It got to the point where I’d wake up every morning and want to cry when I thought about putting in my contacts. First, the putting-in dance was just a huge pain—when something is coming towards my eye, I tend to blink and/or back away from it, neither of which is exactly conducive to getting the contacts in. It sometimes took me a full 15 minutes to put them in. Then, all day, I’d be blinking furiously, as my eye tried to reject the foreign object that was hugging it so close. They were scratchy and uncomfortable and it hurt to open my eyes all the way. So then people started thinking I was a snob, because I’d tilt my head back and peer at people through squinty eyes.

Needless to say, I went back to glasses in a hurry and have been wearing them ever since. Luckily, I started choosing nicer frames that flattered my face and didn’t look so dorky (though, coming full circle, I now wear a pair of purple, plastic frames, but they’re cute!). But with the wedding coming up, the vanity monster reared its ugly head and there I was, in the optometrist’s office, getting fitted for contacts. As it’s now almost two decades since I last tried contacts and I earn my own money, soft contacts for astigmatism are affordable, so I went for it. It’s still not like my eyeballs are floating on puffy clouds or anything, but it’s doable. I think my eyes are naturally a little dry and sensitive, so I’m always putting in re-wetting drops, which is a comedy routine unto itself.

Watching friends who’ve worn contacts for 20 years, I’m astounded when they casually tilt their heads back, squeeze a single, perfect drop of liquid out of the little bottle, and it falls right into the target eye. Me? Well, I’ve got the head tilting down. Everything else is a crap shoot. I go through rewetting drops like a baby through diapers because over half of the drops miss my eye or I blink. I even got the drops in my ear once, which...yeah, don’t ask. I have no idea. Now I have this routine where if I get the drop anywhere near my eye, I roll my head around, trying to direct the course of the drop into my eye, never mind all the dust and dead skin cells the formerly sterile liquid picks up. But the process always ends with me toweling off my face and neck.

So if you see me with tears streaming down my face at my wedding (and yes, thank the heavens for waterproof makeup), I might be crying tears of joy and happiness, or I might’ve just put drops in my eyes.

Dancing in the dark

2005-02-25T17:41:00.000-08:00

I’ve been pretty quiet here lately because I’ve been so busy. Not just running around doing things busy, but busy in the head—lots of scattered thoughts and no mental lasso corralling them all together. If I had posted these past couple of weeks, it would’ve been a bunch of half-baked thoughts spilling over the pages all willy-nilly.

We’re 28 days from the wedding. On my way to work this morning, I was thinking about how great it is that we’re living together already, because with everything going on right now, moving in together would’ve been the last straw, the push over Crazy Cliff for me. We’d have to throw out furniture, buy new furniture, weed out duplicate CDs, figure out how to live with another person…as it is, we still haven’t weeded out all of our duplicate CDs, and in fact, we’ve MADE some duplicates for those times when both of us want to listen to “Pinkerton” at the gym. At least having our home and cats as constants is providing me a modicum of stability and sanity (though this may be the first time I’ve put the words “cats” and “sanity” in the same sentence without the word “losing” between). But then I got to thinking—what’s different after March 26? Our life will go on as it did before, albeit less hectic. We won’t suddenly be different people, either together or individually. We won’t act any differently. We’ll file our taxes differently, and should one of us lose our jobs, we’ll still have medical insurance (though in domestic-partner friendly California, this wasn’t really an issue anyway), but other than that, why are we getting married? Even if we never legally tie the knot, our commitment is no less than a married couple’s. I’m not thinking, “Egads, 28 days until I can easily bail.” For all intents and purposes, we are married, so why legalize it? Why now? I don’t really have an answer to that, other than it’s something we both felt like we wanted to do and this point in time makes sense. But maybe that’s a good enough answer.

Wedding planning has become simultaneously less interesting and more stressful. All the big decisions are behind us; now it’s just a matter of executing them, which is doing all the nitty-gritty boring stuff. We’ve been more-or-less on the same page for most of the planning process. Only two things have led to protracted discussions and vehement disagreements: our seating arrangement and our first-dance song. Random? Yes. Our initial song choice has a pretty fast tempo and it’s a waltz, and as we’ve spent the last four weeks learning how to foxtrot and swing, it seems silly not to use that to our advantage. We’re looking for a song that is upbeat, hopeful, and playful, not schmaltzy or shmoopy. Apparently, there’s a dearth of love songs that don’t involve the words “destiny” and “meant to be” and “fate” and “I’ve been waiting for you since I was but a mere zygote.” The best was when Chris suggested U2’s “With or Without You.” He started crooning, “I can’t liiiiiive, with or without yooou…hey! That song kind of sucks for a wedding!” Right now, it’s a toss-up between ABBA’s “Money, Money, Money” and Madonna’s version of “Fever.”

Kidding. Sort of.

Boobs and butts and guts, oh my!

2005-02-15T17:30:00.000-08:00

Man, my stomach hurts. It's like…gas, but not any that's moving. It's just sort of hanging out, hurting the hell out of me. I'm all hunched over and quietly groaning to myself. I know you don't come here to learn about the state of my gastro-intestinal system, but ow. A few years ago, I diagnosed myself with IBS, or irritable bowel syndrome. I never went to the doctor about it, because the pains and problems would come and go and never hang out long enough for me to get to a doctor. But I figured out my triggers, and for the past year or so, I've been mostly okay, but once in a while, the pains and discomforts come raging back. Today is one of those days. Ow.

Chris and I had an excellent Saturday (he had to work on Sunday, so no excellence there). Our wedding photographer was in the Bay Area for a workshop, so she suggested we do part of our engagement session up here. We got to take some pictures at our old place, a beautiful and grand Victorian house, as well as the coffeehouse where we had our first date and Baker Beach, with the Marin Headlands and the Golden Gate Bridge as our backdrop. Awesome.

Before the shoot, I was nervous about being in front of the camera. When someone points a camera at me, my first instinct is to dive under the nearest piece of furniture. But Arlene has a great demeanor and totally made us feel comfortable, even as we were doing cheesy things like touch noses or foreheads, gaze into each other's eyes, and run on the beach while holding hands. Yeah, stop laughing. We totally did that. And felt royally stupid the whole time. As we were running away from her, I kept thinking, "She's taking a picture of my ass! This is so wrong!" And then she had us turn around and run toward her, which was even worse, because I couldn't stop laughing even as I was thinking, "My face! It's bouncing! And oh god! My boobs! Are out! Of control!" Man, so unattractive. I don't think we'll be keeping those.

But overall, we had a ton of fun at the shoot. We're doing the rest of it down in L.A. I'm going to have to put the kibosh on the running, and maybe dial it down on the shmoopy faces.

That night, Chris and I went to the ballet, which, yay! I love the ballet. We saw three pieces—two modern and one uber-classical piece, after which the ever-classy Chris turned to me and said, "WHY do the men's tights have to be SO FAR up their BUTTS?" Yep, that's my guy.

But does he want maple syrup?

2005-02-13T21:41:00.000-08:00

Last week, a co-worker asked me if we have nicknames for our cats. We do, I said: Sweetie and Asshole (or Bastard, Little Fucker, or Dipshit, as the mood strikes). We now have new ones that we came up with this weekend: Guapo and Loco (or Carloco). I think it's fitting.

Speaking of loco, Carlo doesn't seem to know that he's a carnivore. We always have to keep food covered up or put away, otherwise he's apt to steal and eat it. He's stolen lettuce, bread, and eggshells, and he's tried to drink orange juice out of my glass. This weekend, I was in the bathroom brushing my hair, when he trotted down the hallway, carrying a waffle in his mouth! Chris had toasted a couple of waffles and left the toaster oven open to let them cool for a bit. He turned his back, and Carlo struck again! I only regret that I didn't take that opportunity to yell, "Leggo my Eggo!" at him.

Sometimes I'm not nice, but this time, it's not my fault

2005-02-10T11:26:00.000-08:00

Chris and I are taking a ballroom dance class to get ready for the requisite first dance at our reception. I've been excited about this for a long time, because I love to dance (I get it from my dad). Chris, on the other hand, has always been reluctant to shake ass in public, but I pointed out that as we were going to dance in front of 200+ friends and family members, some pre-dance instruction would probably go a long way toward not embarrassing ourselves. Surprisingly, he's having fun, too. Everyone in the class is more or less at the same level, which is nice, especially since they're all doing it for the same reason.

The four-week series started last week, but this week, our instructor announced that a new couple would be joining us. When they walked in, I heard a collective, sharp intake of breath happen around the room, because man, this girl was just a walking sartorial disaster. You know how you see that girl with the out-there jeans or the crazy boots or cracked-out hair, and you think, wow, she's being edgy and cool? Yeah, well, that only works if you pick ONE outrageous item and tone the rest of it down. Then you get a sense of intentional quirkiness. But when you outfit yourself from head to toe in questionable items? You've crossed the line into fugly.

Please, allow me to illustrate. We'll begin at the top: hair. Hair should only look wet if it is, indeed, wet. And by wet, I mean water. Not gel, not shellac, not that jheri curl stuff. Her hair looked soaking wet, but it wasn't dripping, so I'm guessing, it was not water. Anyway, it was all piled on top of her head in an unfortunately massive topknot, with tendrils that curled off like so many jellyfish tentacles. Ick. Moving on. Her sweater was the least offensive piece: a knit, semi-sheer sparkly red turtleneck. Okay, not great, but not bad. But the jeans? Oh god, the jeans. The jeans were super-flared, for one thing. For another? BEDAZZLED. That's right, from knee to ankle: metal studs in a floral pattern. It looked like someone's great-aunt Maude got cranked up on a few too many Red Bulls and was left alone with denim and a Bedazzler—never a good combination. Oy. And finally, the piece de resistance: the shoes. Let me put it this way: if Dorothy (of the Wizard of Oz) were a hooker, she'd be wearing those shoes. Red, sparkly stilettos. What a crime against humanity. Now, again, ONE of these choices? Bearable. The sum total? Train Wreck. You know how all women's magazines have those Fashion Don'ts sections, with the black bars across the offenders' eyes to protect their identities? I wanted to put the black bar across my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at her anymore.

Pork: 1; Kid: 0

2005-02-08T14:30:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, as we were having dinner with my extended family, my aunt taught me my favorite new insult. It's an old Hong Kong saying (and you have to know that cha sao is a common and popular Chinese barbequed pork):

Giving birth to a piece of cha sao would've been better than giving birth to you; at least I could eat the cha sao.

Ha! She says this to her son when he's being particularly lazy and useless. I'm filing this away for later: I can't wait to have kids!

Carlo, busting out all over the place

2005-02-07T14:52:00.000-08:00

Carlo is making a liar out of me. After warning my parents and pre-apologizing for the fur-suited hellion we were inflicting on them, he turned on the charm to be the sweetest, cuddliest, not-onto-countertops-jumpingest kitty ever. Well, except for the part where he was a total ass to my sister's cat. He even hopped up onto my mom's lap, sealing his position as her favorite child/grandchild. He even edged Ginger out, because she doesn't pay Mom much attention anymore.

He also turned out to be a chill travel cat. He was happy to lounge on the back shelf-y thing (under the back windshield) for the majority of the trip, breaking that up with naps in the passenger's lap. We only had one incident with him and it totally wasn't even his fault (imagine!). On the drive back to SF, we stopped, as usual, in Kettleman City for food and public restrooms. When we went back to the car, we pondered letting the cats out for a stretch and pee session, but decided against it because 1) generally, cats can hold it (Vin held it for nearly 15 hours when we flew from Connecticut to California) and 2) neither of them peed on the way to L.A. You see where this is going, right? Yeah, it's actually much worse. About five minutes after getting back on I-5, Carlo started pacing around the car and yowling. Sure, it was a little odd, because he'd spent the previous 3 hours zonked out, but pacing and yowling are two of his favorite activities at home, so we figured he was bored and that it was the kitty equivalent of "are we theeeere yeeeeet."

So he's pacing, I'm trying to calm him down, and finally, he kind of hunkers down behind the driver's seat (Chris was driving), so I twist around in my seat to scritch his chin and speak to him in soothing tones. "Oh, what's wrong Carlito? Why are you crying, baby?" Keep in mind, he's all black and night had fallen--I only know he's back there by touch. "Oh, pobresito…are you bored? Why are you hiding down there? And…hello, what's…oh god…what's that smell?! Oh god! Stop the car! STOP THE CAR! THE CAT SHIT IN THE CAR!!" That's right. Carlo pooped. In the car. As I scritched his chin. The poor dear was desperately trying to find a suitable place to relieve himself and even warned us out loud, but the stupid humans didn't pick up on it. To his credit, he picked the best spot in the car on which to poop (if there is such a thing): Chris's nylon gym bag, which was easily washed off at a nearby gas station.* But he seemed embarrassed by the gaffe, and crept back into his carrier, where he spent the rest of the trip.

Of course, he's back to his old tricks already. He spent the hours between 4:30 a.m. and 7:30 a.m. ping-ponging all over the apartment, using our bed as a springboard. Every 5 minutes, the bed would shudder as he bounced off of it on his way back to the kitchen. Car-pooping bastard.

*I have to note here that we were closing in on a bunch of exits with gas stations as I yelled, "HE SHIT IN THE CAR! PULL OVER!!!" I was really concerned, because I-5 has those stretches of, like, 30 miles with no gas stations. And Chris's response was…just…baffling: "Really? Do we have to stop? Can't you just, like, grab it with a napkin?? Do we really have to get off the freeway?" DUDE. There is CAT SHIT. ROAMING FREE. IN THE CAR. Uncontained cat turd is upon us, and you don't want to stop? DO YOU NOT SMELL THE FOUL ODOR OF KITTY INTESTINAL DEATH??" I'm beginning to question Chris's sanity, y'all.

The most modest of mice

2005-02-04T16:56:00.000-08:00

Seven weeks. SEVEN WEEKS. GAH! At least I got my time off approved, and the bosses are being nice about me working remotely the week before the wedding, which is a huge help. Chris and I are leaving for L.A. tonight, driving this time, AND with both cats! Fun as a barrel of monkeys! That scream and have claws! Woo! It's gonna be awesome. No, really.

Chris and I went to see Modest Mouse in Berkeley last night. It was a good show (would've been better without the horrible opening bands), but after they finished their set, they took their sweet, sweet time coming back for an encore. So long that Chris and I walked out halfway through the first encore song (maybe the only) in order to catch BART back to the city. I can see the band needing a break and all, but I think some bands stretch it out to milk all the longing and cheering and stamping and screaming from the audience. Wouldn't it be awesome if just once, the audience cheered and clapped for a couple of minutes and then were like, "Eh, whatever," and LEFT? And the band was left standing there, all "Whaa?" Yeah, that'd be awesome. Hee.

Finally!

2005-01-29T18:47:00.000-08:00

Guess what we received today?? That's right! Our own wedding invitation...finally. It was postmarked January 11, so it's either been languishing in some dark corner of the post office or stuck under a postal truck seat. Though it didn't show up in our mailbox. I found it leaning against our front door, so I presume the mailman accidentally left it in our neighbor's box...but for how long?! Maybe the neighbors (which ones?!) have had it for a week now and have been trying to solve The Mystery of the Envelope with the Same To: and From: Address! It's the latest and greatest Nancy Drew novel.

On a serious note...

2005-01-28T16:08:00.000-08:00

I'm trying not to hyperventilate. Eight weeks until the wedding. Eight WEEKS. When it was months away, I was okay. Now it's WEEKS and after seven of those, we'll be at DAYS. And then HOURS. And then MINUTES. And then it will happen.

I am about to lose my shit over here and the only thing keeping me from doing that is my flimsy sense of decorum in the office. Well, that and the crazy-looking, windblown Angora bunny on my monitor. As I told Chris, I can't tell if I'm looking at the rabbit's face or ass. And that shit makes me laugh.

I feel like wedding planning has kicked into high gear. I've been making secret phone calls from work to set up appointments with the vendors, making JetBlue Airways very very happy with all my travel, buying fabric, scribbling down shedules and details, and obsessively opening and recording all the RSVPs as the come in. Oh, speaking of which, Anonymous Decliner Count: 2.

On a totally unrelated note: I might hate Carlo. I'm pretty sure I don't love him. I have moments where I feel tenderness towards him, but it evaporates pretty quickly as he starts getting into all kinds of shit he's not supposed to be in. He nearly reduced me to tears last night and this morning. I don't remember the last time Chris and I had a meal where neither of us had to get up and haul a Carlo off the kitchen counters. Oh wait, yes I do: the day before I brought Carlo home. Last night was particularly bad. I was home alone, trying to get my voicemail issues resolved by AT&T and eating dinner, and every two minutes, I had to squirt Carlo with the water gun or physically remove him from my dinner or the kitchen sink. I thought seriously about putting him outside and hoping someone who likes stupid, annoying cats would pick him up. But I don't think those people exist, so I kept him.

But I feel this blinding rage come on when Carlo starts up with the constant yowling and chewing and into-shit-getting. I'm afraid I'm going to become a kitten-shaker and that'll eventually translate into me being a baby-shaker. What if I’m a baby-shaker? I like sweet, quiet babies, but even the sweetest, quietest babies have not-so-sweet and dear-god-I've-gone-deaf moments. And what then? What if I turn out to be a raging baby-shaker? You all probably hate me now (all three of you), and believe me, there's no shortage of self-loathing going on over here, so get in line. And you've been forewarned: I might shake you if you start up.

Zit's terrifying!

2005-01-25T22:49:00.000-08:00

I have a zit on my chin. No big deal, you're thinking. It happens. Yeah, but you haven't seen this zit. A facialist told me that women tend to break out on their chins when they're stressed. The level of stress this zit indicates makes me a veritable medical miracle. I should be dead. No human can handle that level of stress.

This zit is the Krakatoa of zits. It's threatening to eat my entire face, starting with my chin. It feels like someone cut a fat grape in half and stuffed one half under my skin. Oh, and the grape is made of concrete. It's the zit that ate Manhattan. It's Godzilla. It's turning me into a lopsided Jay Leno. Seriously, it's a wonder I can even keep my head straight, seeing as my face is five pounds heavier on one side.

Excuse me. I have an appointment with the freak show folks. They're putting me on display as the human zit.

p.s. I got another check for $12.11 from Comcast of New Haven! Yeah!