UH...SURPRISE!!

I have been supremely busy this week planning a surprise birthday party for The Steady. Note to self: Never plan a surprise birthday party ever again. Although I do not regret doing it this time, they are far too much stress/work. How does one explain away the strange behavior? "What do you mean, 'Why am I cleaning?' What kind of question is that?" And, "No! Don't go out the back door! Your-uh...present is in the back yard!"

A pal was supposed to pick him up and keep him away from the house for two hours while I went to the airport to pick up another friend flying in from far away, as well as the keg, and the food, and the cake. This friend, the one who was supposed to spirit him away, was late. So I came strolling through the back door with far-away-friend, and keg, and cake, and food only to find The Steady sitting on the couch. And I'm like, "Oh, hi sweetie! Hi bunny cakes! What the fuck are you still doing here!?" Luckily, he didn't see all the stuff I brought in, just some of it, but not the most important things. Are you getting a sense of this? It was madness.

Then there was a misunderstanding about which door The Steady should arrive in. I thought we agreed to have him enter through the back. So I quickly herded the guests into the living room where they were drinking beer and chatting noisily while I peeked through the curtains of the back door searching for some sign of my man stumbling up the pathway. And then suddenly I heard an impromptu "Surprise!" behind me.

He came in through the front door.

He came in through the front door! But truly, at that point, I no longer cared. All I wanted to do was drink my ginger ale and laugh my ass off.

YOU SWEET TALKER

Yesterday I went to Aveda for a trim. I like my hair long so I asked them to please just cut off the scraggly bits. She did a great job. It was totally worth fifteen dollars. As the hairdresser lady blow dried my mop, her supervisor came over and complimented me on my hair. I mean she really gushed about the "rich color" and "copper tones." Not knowing how to react, I blushed and shrugged. I mean, it's just brown. But no, she insisted on calling it milk chocolate brown. Ha, flattery!

I guess I'm not above that.

FACEBOOK

I just joined this crazy little thing called "Facebook."
Have you heard of it? Facebook?

I don't know what the fuck it is, but if you say the word over and over again, it loses all meaning. Try it!

INSURANCE AGONY

After the automobile accident I went to the hospital. Again, I probably would not have bothered had I not been five months pregnant, but the paramedics guy insisted I go. Now I have this hilarious $965.40 bill.

While at the hospital I gave up my health insurance information. Like a fool I thought medical bills should be covered by health insurance. But since it was an automobile accident, apparently, it is the auto insurance that eats the tab. So whatever. I call the hospital and give them The Steady's automobile insurance information. Within an hour, they call me back and ask if I own a car and if I have auto insurance. Yes and yes. Then they tell me it is my auto insurance's responsibility to cover the medical bills, even though I was just a passenger in somebody else’s car.

Isn't this terribly fun??

ABOUT THAT

The Steady and I plan to be wed on the 6th of March. That's 03-06-09 for those of you who harbor OCD number peculiarities like me. Three is an auspicious number so, all numbers divisible by three are similarly divine.

The ceremony will take place on the 17th floor of the county courthouse. Two mutual friends will serve as witnesses. After the ceremony, we will head to the local Jewish deli to feast on hot Ruben sandwiches and cake. I know our special day would never be the subject of a Martha Stewart Wedding magazine, but when you have been through both wedding and divorce you get a sense of what's important (committing yourself to the love of your life) and what's not (coordinating bridesmaid shoes with the groomsmen ties).

Besides, it's a helluvalot cheaper. Did you know the average American couple drops $30,000 on a wedding? What better way to start your life together than to throw yourselves into debt? Our wedding will cost $210 which is the price of the judge's service and the marriage license.

PALLADIUM

Atomic Number: 46
Melting Point: 1828 Kelvins
Density: 12.023 gram . cm

Palladium is used to make catalytic converters. It also has applications in electronics and dentistry. But we plan to use the metal for wedding bands.

MISS MANNERS' MOVIE ETIQUETTE

I went to an Academy Awards party tonight, not because I cared who won or lost or cared that Sarah Jessica Parker resembled a very scary version Glinda the Good Witch of the North. No, I only went because I wanted to catch up with friends, delight in our collective cattiness, and indulge in sugar cookies.

Of all the movies nominated this year, the only one I saw was Slumdog Millionaire. And I'd have to say, the one thing that I would change about the movie was the hype. There was way too much. Other than that, it was enjoyable in that incredible-circumstances-of-Forrest-Gump sort of way.

Actually, come to think of it, the truly remarkable thing about that flick was my movie going experience. I saw it in a little neighborhood theater about a month ago. The place was pretty full so I wasn't surprised when two women sat down right next to me. I was surprised, however, when the woman closest to me decided to remove her shoes from a pair of sneakers right after the lights dimmed. They were sweaty old plastic sneakers and she wasn't wearing any socks. That shit was noisome!!! Since I'm such a good passive-aggressive mid-westerner, I decided to simply cover my nose and fan my face as a subtle way of telling her to, please, for the love of God, return her motherfucking shoes to her petri dish feet.

She didn't take the hint. Instead, she crossed her legs pretzel style in the movie seat until her wet, sweaty tootsies, more specifically, her Frito Lay toe nails came into contact with my winter hat. Noooooooooo! I grabbed my bag of Skittles and hissed, "You stink!" and moved away.

OH NO

I'm starting to resemble a Kewpie doll.

TODAY

The women's restroom smells like a tapir cage.

ESTRANGED BELLY BUTTON

I hardly recognize my own belly button anymore. The oldest scar on my body is now a stranger to me. It used to be deep, hollow, and unending. Now it looks like a commuter on a crowded train, pressed up against a hard pane of glass.

MY NEW FAVORITE WEBSITE

This is why you're fat.

LIFE IS A COLD, HARD BITCH

Boy howdy, I have some real doorknobs this quarter.

One student missed over twenty days of class. So I was not surprised when he scored 45% on the most recent test. I was surprised however, when he asked me (after submitting his test) to give him extra time to study for it and then let him retake it.

My reply? No. That wouldn't be fair to your classmates who have been here every day.

Another student arrived one hour late to a three hour math class. When he rolled in, we were all reviewing for a test I was about to give. He sat down for about five minutes before he got up to leave. When I asked him where he was bound, he said very simply, "work" and then casually asked if he could just take the test tomorrow.

My reply? No. Work schedules must accommodate classes, not the other way around.

I was in the mood to punctuate each reply with a low level insult like "doof-wad," but that would not be very professional of me. And I really need to be a model o' professionalism for these here childr'n.

HOSPITALS ARE SMELLY PLACES

A veritable potpourri of antiseptic and piss.

MORE BAD NEWS

My mom had her appendix out on the 31st of January. It was supposed to be a simple procedure but the surgeon found so many adhesions in her belly, he had to open her up completely to get the job done right. A strange side coincidence is that she suffered this acute appendicitis on my birthday, and I am a cesarean baby, which means she was opened up exactly 31 years ago to the day. Poor thing.

She fought a pretty serious post-op infection but as far as I knew she was on the mend. Until I got a call from my father yesterday telling me she had to go under the knife once more because the doctors found a major obstruction that was hindering her digestion. He removed about ten inches of her small intestines. That marks six belly surgeries for ma. They should have just given her a zipper from the start.

So we drove up north to visit mom in the hospital. She was sleeping when we arrived, pale and puffy from the IV. I wanted to be strong and supportive around her but I ended up just weeping like a little kid.

YOU BIG BABY

During yesterday's ultrasound we were told the child, according to all the measurements taken, is approximately one pound five ounces, which is about ten days heavier than one would expect at this point in time. I am about fifteen pounds heavier than my normal weight, so I'm thinking the rest is just placenta, right? And boobs.

What a strange post this is turning into. I had better stop here.

ZERO BEDSIDE MANNER

Last Thursday I had an ultrasound (and I know I already said this) it was totally incredible. For the duration of the procedure we were completely spellbound. When it was over we were made to sit in a little room and wait for the doctor to arrive. Thirty plus minutes later she came in and sat down and said in this I've-had-a-long-day-tone-of-voice: Blah blah blah blah blah and your baby might had a heart defect.

What? I mean, What!?

Our mouths dropped open. How can you tell us this thing, that looked so perfect just moments ago, be damaged? How can you deliver this news with such careless nonchalance? I couldn't speak without stuttering. She asked us if we had any questions. I stared at my hands in my lap tried my damnedest not to erupt in sobs and mumbled something incoherent about having millions of questions.

The doctor, at this points I thought, a possible cyborg, sensed our anxiety. She tried to reassure us by telling us about another patient, almost full term, who has a baby with the same heart deformation and the baby's cardiologists aren't even planning to be present during the delivery. Like that was supposed to cheer us up. Oh, so you're saying our child might not have to endure heart surgery right after it's born? That's fucking great news! That's the best fucking news I've heard all fucking day! Isn't that great news, honey? What I wanted to say was: I don't want my newborn to have a cardiologist!

Of course, I didn't say any of those things. But the words must have been etched on my face because her next question was, "Are you going to be okay?"

Hmmh? Who me? Oh, I'm going to be fine. I returned to school because I had to teach one more math class. I delivered the world's most manic and irate lectured about cylinders and then I told them to hush up and do their homework. And for Christ sakes, don't bug me.

That was last Thursday. And then on Saturday we were involved in the car accident. Bad luck, it seemed, was raining down all around us.

And so. After many nail biting minutes spent on the telephone earlier this week, I was able to arrange a level two ultrasound at a nearby hospital, as their ultrasound equipment is far more sophisticated than the shit at my clinic. They checked everything. And? The baby's heart is perfectly normal. The child is perfectly normal. And I am the Happiest Person on the planet.

THE CAT IS EXONERATED

On my birthday, The Steady asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I had always wanted to check out the Art Shanty Project. It's like Burning Man, only less acid and more snow. So we went into the ice houses and took part in the various interactive pieces. For example, our picture is somewhere in the archives of the Snap Shot Shanty. But you will never find us among thousands! We also went to the Art Shanty Confessional to confess our sins. Below you will find mine.

What a relief it is to get that off my chest.

RE: VAMPIRE WEEKEND

I know this album has been around for a while.
But I just bought it and loves it, loves it, loves it!

RE: MICHAEL PHELPS SUCKS A BONG

Who cares? Marijuana is not a 'performance enhancing' drug, unless you are somehow trying to compete in convoluted streams of consciousness, boisterous giggling, and/or Little Debbie snack food consumption. I mean if anything, smoking grass should be considered a handicap.

For this reason, I think the public should go easy on Mike.

RE: OCTUPLET MOTHER

Whew, that shit is disgusting.

Nadya Suleman's decision to have 14 children is morally reprehensible. I'm told the average American parent spends roughly $269,520 to raise one child from birth to age seventeen which means Suleman's bill will exceed $2.1 million by 2026! And that doesn't even include the six kids she had before the octuplets were born. How is a single, unemployed mother supposed to pay for that? What a selfish, irresponsible woman.

She's obviously mentally ill. Her fertilization clinic should be sued for malpractice.

YOU MUST BE JOKING

Yesterday I was shocked. Today I'm just pissed.

There were three people in the other car and since none of us came to any serious bodily harm, there was only one ambulance. I am a clumsy girl. I've had many bruises and bumps in the past from mountain biking or just walking around in the dark. Normally, I wouldn't take the time to go to the ER, but the paramedics insisted I go just to make sure the kid is okay.

So I'm sitting in the ambulance with the driver and the two passengers from the other car. The Steady is outside waiting for the AAA guy to show up with a tow truck. As I am sitting there, I can't help but notice one of the passengers from the other car holding an ice pack up to his knee and grimacing as though in great pain. Now, I'm sure he was in a lot of pain and I don't mean to dismiss his discomfort. It's just that he was making a huge fucking show about it (writhing and groaning like an injured soccer player in front of the referee) and all the while he was staring directly at me. As though I was the source of his injury.

The three people from the other car hardly spoke English, so I did not feel like I could express myself to this wounded man. I didn't feel like I could say, "Look, if you are upset, perhaps you should complain to the 22 year old driver of your car who ran the fucking red light at over 25 miles per hour!"

But all I could do was glower at him.

RED LIGHT GREEN LIGHT

We were in a car accident today. The Steady and I were in his Honda Pilot driving through an intersection when a smaller car ran a red light and crashed into us, driver's side. I can't say for sure how fast the other car was travelling, but it was enough to push our larger vehicle through three lanes of traffic and into the sidewalk. The other car was totaled with four windows smashed and an accordion nose while ours sustained significant damage.

The police/fire department/paramedics were on the scene in a matter of minutes. I was scared because I had never been in an accident before. And when I told the paramedics I was five months pregnant, I turned a whole new shade of scared; for baby. We were both wearing seatbelts, but when mine cinched across my bulging belly it left a bruise. I had to go to the emergency room and get another ultrasound, this time to make sure the kid was still alive. And then they hooked me up to a machine to make sure I was not having contractions. I saw the little tadpole kicking its legs and all at once I felt so sad.

I'm so sorry this happened little baby.

AMAZED

The Steady and I went to the doctor yesterday and I had an ultrasound. It was probably one of the most incredible things I have ever seen. We saw it squirm around and grab its toes and open its mouth. We couldn't take our eyes off the monitor.



Today I keep pulling out the picture to gaze at it. I'm like a thirteen year old with the latest issue of Tiger Beat. Hmm. I sort of think it resembles one of the Whos from Whoville (Dr. Seuss).

NICKELS AND DIMES

A few months ago The Steady and I opened up a joint bank account. I stash my money at the Federal Credit Union because their interest rates are higher than any corporate bank (less bad bank furniture + fewer billboards + fewer promotional mailers = less overhead) but for the sake of convenience, we opened our joint account at Wells Fargo. Last week on my way home, I was wondering what our balance was so I decided to stop off at the bank ATM and print it out. As turns out, Wells Fargo charges its customers for this service. I didn't realize this until I had already printed out the balance so I walked into the bank to confirm the charge. The teller said yes, that's how it works, but if I would like him to wave the fee (since I'm a new customer and didn't know about it) I should just call him. He gave me his business card. I looked at it as I walked out the door. Thanks Jim. Thanks a pants load.

Of course I'm miffed. I guess I don't like it when rich people nickel and dime poor people. But it's not like I can't afford the dollar fee. And like fuck am I going to go back and use that ATM "service" again.

Now fast forward five hours. I'm watching the evening news and I hear a story about a Wells Fargo bank executive who made out with a multi-million dollar bonus. I go back to my wallet and pull out Jim's business card. I'm now determined to get my dollar back. Those executives are going to make their millions no matter what. But like hell are they going to do it wih my dollar.

BABY CALISTHENICS

Around Christmas. That was the first time I felt fetal shifting. It occurred only two or three times that week and it was small enough it could have easily gone unnoticed. By that I mean, it was not stronger than my own heartbeat. Since then the tumbling has become more frequent. Lately, I have been feeling some movement every day, especially after a bowl of ice cream or a rice krispies treat.

I wonder what that little squirrel is doing in there.

NO NAME CALLING

I have this friend who works in early childhood education. He was telling me the other day about a colleague of his who was recently reprimanded for name calling. Apparently, the mother of a 5 year old student had filed a complaint because said teacher called her child "silly-pants."

Silly-pants.

Oh this cruel and crazy world! I mean, silly-pants? That is so derogatory, right? To people who choose to wear pants...that are silly. I wonder what kind of action she-bear will take if she hears someone on the playground call her son a cry-baby. Where can we possibly go from here, hmmmm? Lawsuit? I mean, that's defamation, right?

Shoot. When my mom found out the kids at the bus stop were calling me and my brother chinks, we all sat down the three of us and came up with a list of incisive comebacks. She taught us when to react to provocation, when to pity people's ignorance, and when to just let things slide. Thanks mom. It's too bad little silly-pants isn't so fortunate.

ABOUT POOPING

One of the very unfortunate side-effects of pregnancy is constipation. To me, pooping is almost as enjoyable as eating. And you know, I'm a total hedonist so not being able to indulge in either would considerably lessen my quality of life.

I am not joking around here peeps. This is some serious stuff.

I eat a fair bit of roughage, certainly more than the average American, but this new condition has put a sleepy spell on my intestines. Lucky for me, I found a counter spell in a big container of orange flavored smooth texture Metamucil. It tasted like Tang which made it palatable, but when I looked at the ingredients I found it chocked full of sugar and yellow #5. On top of that, it cost over $10. So when I went to the Walgreens for a re-up I decided to try the generic brand which is original texture, non-flavored, and nearly half the price.

But whoa! That shit is so gross! In fact, it is so bad that in order to avoid taking it, I increased my daily fruits and vegetables. I cannot impress on you enough the lengths I will go to avoid taking this stuff. I would sooner eat tree bark. Now I ravage entire bags of raw carrots, frozen corn, and oranges and regard the Walgreens Metamucil as a sort of punishment for not fulfilling my daily fiber quota. Do you hear me? Punishment!

NOT TYPE A

I don't consider myself a Type A Personality.
But for reasons unknown, I walk as though I am.