Well, I thwarted Ann Coulter and Tucker Carlson by getting involved in something as stupid as politics and voting. Assholes.

Ok, before I forget (and this is really because I'm too lazy to write the link down) a really interesting article on doulas.

Now, on with the actual post. Lil' Puddin' Tater had to go to the hospital last night. She was coughing and snotting all over the place all day Sunday, and by that evening she was in pretty bad shape. She couldn't breathe, and none of the emergency medicine we have for that sort of thing seemed to be working. And then, to make things really scary, she went all lethargic on us, not talking moving or anything. Oh, and did I mention that she had a fever? She did. 101.5 degrees. And she does not get fevers. Ever. So we get to the hospital, and they take her to the pediatric emergency wing (bright colors and extra-nice nurses) where the first thign they do is give her an IV. I know she needed it, and with all the medicine she had that night, it was a better that way. But it was absolute torture watching them put it in her little hand, then watching her try really hard not to cry, then just letting go and crying so hard that she threw up. After the IV was in and she had calmed down, they wrapped it up with gauze so that she couldn't see it, and the most sweet/pathetic picture I now have is of LPT attempting to suck her thumb with a mass of tubes and gauze around her hand. But she was a trooper. She had to have a chest X-Ray, and I was unable to go with her (pregnancy and radiation don't mix - who knew?). But she was fine with D, and got a real kick out of being able to see her heart and ribs. She had to have three breathing treatments while in the ER, plus drink a dose of Motrin and she took them all without a fight. Turns out, she has bronchiolitis, and has to be on antibiotics for 10 days.

When we got home, we got her into her comfy pajamas (skiing bunnies) and gave her some cough medicine and then we went to bed. An hour later, she threw up again. But we were prepared! We took some spiffy blue barf bags from the ER, and not a drop got on our bed. And LPT just finished her business and went back to sleep, contentedly sucking her thumb.

What a night.

Well, I have good news and bad news.

The Bad News:
Apparently, contrary to all logic, contraception is "not related" to pregnancy. Thank you, Kansas.(Kansas City Star)

Robert Goulet died. Am I a terrible person because this is the first thing that comes to mind when I hear his name?

The Good News:
The Good Samaritain is alive and well! After driving by a crime scene where a woman was being raped, the people in the car tackled (and subsequently beat the crap out of) the rapist as he was running away. And now, not only is the asshole is being charged with rape and assault, but with strangulation, too. So these folks pretty much saved the victim's life. (ABC News)

I'm not sure if you've heard of the Westboro Baptist Church (and your browser may not open the link) or not. Basically, it's a church in Topeka, Kansas, that believes everything bad in the world is due to homosexuality. Your son killed in Iraq? Because god hates gay people. Six children burned to death in a house fire? Because of those evil homosexuals! So this church, in an effort to spread the word, uses funerals as their platform. They routinely picket the funerals of soldiers with lovely signs, in order to follow their religious belief that they need to save people from certain damnation by letting them know just how offensive the U.S. is to god. Well, they protested at the wrong funeral. In March 2006, the funeral was held for one Lance Corporal Matthew Snyder, a marine killed in Iraq. Matthew's father, Albert Snyder, was so appalled at the protest that he sued the church for invasion of privacy and intentional infliction of emotional distress. And guess what! He won. To the tune of around 11 million dollars. The church will most likely appeal the verdict, and the leader of the church claims that this will only further his cause by drawing more publicity. And there is the sticky issue of the First Amendment; Congress has outlawed funeral protests at federal cemetaries, but Snyder's funeral was in a public one. And the protesters were 1,000 feet away, and could not be seen or heard by the funeral party. But Albert Snyder stands firm that the group ruined the memory of the funeral, and claims that he is still haunted by the images he saw that day.

I know I listed this under "good news," but maybe it's just okay news. I think everyone can agree that Westboro Baptist Church is horrendously misguided, offensive, and wretchedly inappropriate, but they do have a right to say what they say. And the problem here is that even though nobody likes them, by taking away their right to free speech, it creates a standard. I'm sure there are plenty of people offended by my opinion that abortion should be legal, free, and a private matter for the woman alone, but no one can tell me not to shout it from the rooftops. I think a viable solution to the dilemma is the one posed by a local disc jockey when the horrible fire in Bardstown, KY killed 6 children and 4 adults: when he found out that Westboro had the funeral on their list of events to protest, he contacted one of the leaders and offered an hour on his radio show for them to "spread the message" if they would completely stay away from the funeral. The show, part 1 & part 2. And I have to say, the church kept their word. Maybe we could give them a satellite radio channel or something.

Have I ever blogged about MSCL before? What? What do you mean, what is MSCL? Jesus, man! It's only the MOST IMPORTANT television series ever. Seriously.

My So-Called Life ran for only 9 months in 1994-5. It was on opposite Mad About You, which was its ultimate downfall, but while it lasted, it was amazing. It perfectly captured the teenage angst/indifference/cluelessness that came with the territory of being an early teenager. Angela Chase was my idol.* And Jordan Catalano? Well, I'll just let the New York Times tell it. A Teenager in Love (so-called)

In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, here are some visuals to get you going:

*And this character has caused me to adore Claire Danes, but not always her behavior. She's with Billy Cudrup, who is the baby daddy of Mary-Louise Parker's kiddo. The thing is, Cudrup left Parker mid-pregnancy to get with Claire Danes. I'm sorry, but that is just not cool. Claire, the girl I knew would not get with a guy who was still with his expecting girlfriend. I'm just sayin'.

**And a special note to Z: I have the series on DVD. I've been meaning to burn them forever so I can give you your own copy (because you MUST watch) but I think I'll just bring the discs to the next gathering and let you borrow them for as long as necessary.

Hoo boy! D and I have been discussing my previous post (the guy punches his girlfriend inthe face 3 times, the judge refuses to convict because she may have "wanted" it) and frankly, he has made me a bit peeved. Why? Because he sided with the flippin' judge! I won't even do dignity to his arguments by reprinting them here, but rest assured, they were not cool.

Anyway. For the record: I hate that my office is right across the hall from the men's bathroom. I'm sorry, but there are some funky aromas coming from that room.

Activities! Check out Learning to Love You More - it's from author/artist Miranda July and artist Harrell Fletcher. They have issued 65 (or so) assignments to the public for completion and submission, and they'll post the results on the website. Numbers 52, 51, 42, 32 and 26 are on my list.

And here's my complaint (rant?) for the week: since when does Halloween mean you have to tart yourself up? I guess for awhile, because I can recall (all those many years ago...) showing up at school dressed as a (gasp) French Maid (hey, I at least had a floor-length cape I wrapped around myself!). But looking at some costume websites (this one in particular) it would appear that the entire goal of the holiday is to make yourself over into a complete slut. For examples, see the Corrections Officer, the Referee, the Taxi Driver, and the really spiffy one, Texas Hold 'Em. But what's really worrisome is that this sexy-costume thing isn't limited to women. No, here are some wonderful options for teens (Army Brat, Classic Vixen, and Not Guilty Prisoner) and little girls! (Major Flirt, Mega Star, and Pink Bunny) Now, I'm not a total prude (though D would probably tell you differently). There's one costume I find hilarious, and would definitely wear it to a party. Feel free to disagree with me.

And out of curiosity, what's your opinion on using nooses as Halloween decorations? Is it completely inappropiate, especially considering the recent events in Jena, LA? Or are they just wholesome Halloween fun?

Wow. There are occasions when you can just sit back in utter shock after reading the paper. In Maryland, a policewoman pulling into an Exxon station saw a man hit his girlfriend three times in the face. The cop had the guy arrested (and rightfully so.) But when the girlfriend neglected to show up for the trial (reasons unknown - maybe she was, I dunno, scared?) the judge, in all his infinite wisdom, decided to acquit the boyfriend because the girlfriend may have wanted to be hit. He cited some crap about sadomasochism, and said that in order to convict the boyfriend of second-degree assault, he had to be certain that "the defendant's actions were not consented to by the victim. How do you determine that without the victim?"

An excellent response to this query was given by Byron L. Warnken, a professor at the University of Baltimore School of Law: "What do we do in a murder case?"

Indeed. Because some people like that kind of stuff, and they may have consented to being killed. (The Nation)

I know I've been posting lost of video clips lately, and I apologize. But allow me just one more day, please? I saw the best movie EVER last night and I'm all giddy and wanting to watch all that I can of it today. It's called Across the Universe. It's a story told entirely through Beatles songs - I know, it sounds a little weird. But it's awesome. And it certainly doesn't hurt that the lead guy is mighty easy on the eyes and can sing. It was a little awkward after the film though (which I saw with D) when he mentioned that he probably didn't get about half of the jokes and allusions in the movie because he doesn't like the Beatles. Who is this man that I married? I'm kidding, of course. Ok, watch. The first clip is my favorite scene, the bowling alley and "I've Just Seen A Face." (and Jude is looking F-I-N-E.)



Eddie Izzard!



The other male lead, Max.

In a real-life version of Harold and Maude, a 24 year old man in Argentina has become a widower after the death of his new bride (aged 82) from heart problems shortly after returning from their honeymoon.

Why Stephen Colbert should be president

(or at least Favorite Son) (and he has his own ice cream!)
I love Bush's slow realization that Colbert is actually making fun of him.

part 1



part 2



part 3

I have to state for the record that I am in complete awe of anyone who actually acomplishes anything while working from home. I had to do it this past week, and lawdy! LPT would not stop talking (screaming) for anything, especially something as trivial as a telephone call. Sheesh. And I couldn't get my work email set up to where I could read it at home, so we had to make these sporadic jaunts into the office with me looking like something the cat dragged in and LPT runniing up and down the halls and ignoring me. Add to that a complete lack of faith from the management and you have a very grouchy mama.

On the bright side, we do have a WONDERFUL friend who helped us out SO MUCH this week; see, our ceiling was falling down. And T came right in and FIXED IT. Apparently, the geniuses who built our house decided to put up the drywall for the ceiling with smallish nails, instead of the typical honking drywall screws. So teh nails had worked loose, and we were all set to have our heads bonked by falling ceiling-stuff. I know that T felt bad for leaving a column in the living room for a ocuple of days, but he's being a saint about cost, and he put up with LPT watching him the entire time they happened to be in the house at the same time and offering such comments as, "This is my doll." T was such a trooper.

And I know this is probably a great indication of what our relationship is like, but I'll go ahead and relay it anyway. The other night, after she spent the day coughing and snotting all over everything, D was trying to get LPT into bed with little success. So I walked in while she was on his lap crying, and suddenly she puked EVERYWHERE. As in ALL OVER HIM. D doesn't like vomit. (Ok, who does? But he gets really grossed out by it, going so far as to attempt to throw out instead of washing anything with vomit on it.) So as I was washing LPT off in the tub, he was cringing and removing his clothes after his "Vomit Bath." Maybe it's because LPT has blown chunks all over me so many times, but seeing him completely covered in the stuff made me smile and get fuzzy inside. Is that wrong?

On a totally unrealted (and wretchedly shallow) note, I found out that a guy I dated ages ago likes his girls to be...on the larger side. So what does that say for me?

Why does J.Crew suck, you ask? Well, allow me to show you:

The Kerin Dress - $450

Crocodile Ballet Flats - $495

Printed Calf-Hair Sofia Clutch - $350

Distressed-Leather Jacket (for the under 10 set) - $350

Ski-Print Merino Cardigan (again, for those aged 2 to 10) - $78

Who buys a $350 coat for a toddler? Or a frigging merino wool sweater (hand wash only, folks) for someone who makes a habit of getting messy and wadding things up? Does anyone remember the days of J.Crew when things were only slightly out of our price range? For instance, if you saw a spiffy chunky turtleneck sweater, you hoped it would be $50, but it turned out to be $78? Where is all this luxury coming from? And why? I used to look forward to J.Crew's winter catalogue, but now, I find myself disgusted. The impracticality of almost everything they sell is astonishing. I used to be able to get really substantial sweaters and shoes for twenty bucks when their clearance catalogues would come out. (an old boyfrind and I used to have matching rubber boots! how cool is that?) I guess those days are long gone.

The other day in our local paper there was a reader letter (3rd one down, "Make abortion illegal") addressing the legality of abortion. After reading it, I immediately was incensed at the oversimplification of the issue and pretty much every single one of her arguments. So on Wednesday, I wrote a letter to my editor. I tried to keep it under 200 words as they instruct, but I was a little too fired up - it would up being a little over double that length. But when I opened the paper yesterday, there it was! I know it's just an editorial, but I have never seen my name in anything that is available to the masses (besides this blog? whatever), so I was pretty stoked. Anyway, for your reading pleasure, here you go. (2nd one down, "Women need 'choice'")

And Mr. Gore won the Nobel Prize. That makes me happy.

As though women don't feel guilty enough about leaving their children at daycare: A 16-month old girl was left asleep in a high chair for two hours after her daycare center had closed and locked up for the night. He mother was able to see her through a window and would up calling 911. Firefighters had to break the door down. The kid was ultimately ok, but JEEZ. I guess that will teach mom not to be late again! The really sad part of this is that, despite the ridiculous lack of responsibility on the part of the daycare, at least one mother is still going to take her child there. Does she enjoy playing roulette with what neglect her kid will endure from day to day? Nope - she just doesn't have anywhere alse to go for childcare. (don't even get me started on what crap that is.)

So I have a friend. (woo hoo! go me!) And this particular friend is a huge fan of home birth; she's a licensed doula, and has tried valiantly to give birth in a kiddy pool in her living room. (there were complications and the midwife made her go to the hospital - c-section) And having a discussion with her about home birth can definitely highlight the perks of participating in such an event. Hey, there have even been nights when I threw my reasoning out the window and actually considered where in my house would be the best place. (fyi: I don't want to clean that shit up anywhere in my house.)

But I read a post today over at Strollerderby. It references an article at Daily Mail about the pros and cons of home births. And I think I have to count myself among the women who will never EVER give birth anywhere but in a hospital. To quote the Strollerderby author (which pretty much sums up my opinion on the whole thing): "I did not have a beautiful, comfortable, meaningful labor. Was that because I was at the hospital? No, it was because my labor hurt like an unholy motherf*cker." Amen to that.

I have found a chair that is truly me. Granted, I would have added some cushion, perhaps, but overall, the design is perfect. I present to you: Bookinist. It works like a pushcart, and can store around 80 paperbacks in the sides and back, along with all sorts of reading accessories in the arm. The only real problem I can see is the HEINOUS price: 2127.00 euros. Which is about 4254 dollars, give or take. DAMN.

And I think I can safely say that it's finally fall here. We had a chilly morning, the first in months, and instead of putting a light jacket on her, I let LPT leave the house without shoes and only her "bridal" dress on. I am an awesome mother.

D and I watched Superbad last night. It was wonderful to laugh at truly adolescent humor. And my, the film was rife with it. And I completely cracked up just now watching the trailer again.

Good times.

Oh, what an eventful past few days we've had. LPT has discovered the joys of glitter, and now our house had officially been glamourised. She glittered D's XBox, our TV, the credenza upon which all the entertainment technology rests, my office chair, the bathroom rug, and of course, me and D over and over. She also spilled it on her dress she was wearing at the time (more on that later) so that when you pick the item of clothing up, it acts as a huge glitter-dispersal unit. LPT also discovered the slightly evil side of glitter since she had it all over hands, and thus her thumb, and decided that glitter may be pretty, but it sure tastes like poo.

The dress of which I speak was no average dress, mind you. My mother went to T.J. Maxx and found a bridal costume for small children. It almost looks like a communion dress, but you can tell it's a costume. It white (duh) and the floor-length skirt has a giant hoop in it. LPT refuses to wear it unless she can have her "heels and lipstick," because really, who wants to be all gussied up and short with pale lips? And of course, since we had to run errands yesterday, and D foolishly told her she could wear a dress, she chose to go out and about as a princess bride, calling everyone "her buddy." (Seriously. First it was the Silver Surfer display at Circuit City, then it was a random african american man in the parking lot, then it was a lady in the car next to us at the stop light.)

Then there was the moment in the tub when she responded loudly to an persnickety toy: "I mean SERIOUSLY!"

And my favorite story of all this weekend, and D will probably hold it against me forever that I told, but here goes. Ok, D sleeps (as I am sure many do) in boxer shorts and a t-shirt. And being a guy, when he wakes up...you know what I mean. He usually goes straight to the bathroom without interruptions, but on Friday morning LPT stopped him in the living room. She gave him a once-over, and then asked, "Hey Daddy, what's that inyour pocket?" I was drinking some water at that moment and nearly choked. D turned red and tried (in vain) to get to the bathroom without further comment, but LPT, ever persistent, followed him until he shut the door in her face, asking "C'mon Daddy! Tell me what's in your pocket!" It took a lot of self-control on my part not to let loose with a string of uncouth jokes, but I had to tell myself again and again that she is three and wouldn't get them anyway. I hope.

Well, I rescind my last post a little bit. HAPPY FALL MY ASS. The high today is 85, and the high this weekend is 90. The leaves are dying, but this ain't fall.

Lil' Puddin' Tater has decided that she wants to be a witch for Halloween. With a green face! And a long nose! And a pointy hat! So, I got her a broom and face paint and a nose from Target, along with a pointy hat with silver stars on it. My mother is firmly in the mindset that she should probably be a princess or something "nicer." She keeps showing LPT all these frilly dresses, but (yay for my daughter!) she's standing firm for dressing up as something not quite so prim.






Have you had the opportunity to see these ads from Dove? There's a bit of controversy about right now regarding the first one (Onslaught), mostly having to do with corporate ties/ownership that has to do with Dove, but I think they're great. We can talk til the cows come home about how everything is airbrushed to death, or that models don't really look like that in real life. But the Evolution ad sums it up without having to say anything. Onslaught personally makes me feel terrible because I know that LPT will be exposed to all that (psh - who am I kidding? She already has) and no matter what I say or do, it will affect her. Hell, she's seen me try on 20 different articles of clothing (no jokes from those who know me well, please!) trying to find something that looks suitable, and she's also heard me and others feeling good when we're told that we look like we have lost weight. Fortunately, right now a big stomach is a novelty for LPT - we guess what "filled it up" (i.e. macaroni & cheese, milk, juice, etc.) and she struts proudly, letting her tummy pooch do just that. But I wonder how long all this will last - when will she start liking the clothes in Limited Too that put more focus on her body? And what reaction will she have if her body doesn't look "as it should?" Below, a selection of items from Limited Too.

Happy October, everyone! Happy Fall! I think the only time I really enjoy living in this allergy-laden valley is during the fall. Everything is SO pretty, and the air is crisp and somehow smells really good most, if not all of the time. To the left, you can see a very picturesque street in the HIghlands, (backing up my 'pretty' claim perfectly) which is hands-down the best place to live in Louisville. I know this because I left the Highlands when LPT was born (what a fool I was!) and settled in St. Matthews, which is very close to the Highlands, but far enough away from downtown that the yuppies feel safe. I live among yuppies.

We went to the zoo this weekend, and finally got to see Scotty (piss poor name), the baby elephant. Adorable. Although LPT was in a wretched mood - refusing to look at the animals, wanting to see THE ALLIGATOR AND SPIDERS NOW! and refusing to admit her hunger when we went to lunch. Then, horror of horrors, I THREW AWAY HER JUICE. Granted, there were bees all around it and possibly a dead bee physically in the bottle, but to throw it away?! In her words, Jeez, mom! That was MINE! We also got to see all sorts of people, and I discovered that going to the zoo on a beautiful day is kind of like going to the fair. You see exactly who makes up this city, warts and all. Not that I am being elitist here. I mean, we were the group with the squealing kind who would not sit in the stroller properly (feet firmly planted on the ground or on the wheels themselves) and the mother with the huge sweat stain on her chest from where her bag had been slung across her body. We were cute, let me tell you.

And I would like to take a moment to convey just how ridiculous things are: a coke at the zoo is currently $4.99. Yes, you read that correctly. It's about the size of a McDonald's medium, too. What about refills? They're $1.99. The soda and water machines cost $2.00, and there are little traps all around to make you spend more. For example, at the bottom of a very long (very long) hill, they conveniently place the kiosk to purchase Tram tickets. You can purchase these tickets at the entrance, but at that point everyone is happy and confident that they can make it through the tour of animals. Then, approximately every 30 feet or so, there is a Dippin' Dots stand where, for $2.50, you can get a thimble-full of dry ice cream. And all this is in addition to the numerous "DONATE TO THE ZOO OR YOU ARE A TERRIBLE PERSON" boxes scattered about the property.

And, adding to my joy, a large woman happened to be camped out on a bench in the Herpaquarium (I don't know if that is the right name or not - it's basically the building where they have the reptiles and spiders (!) and Vampire bats.) When I sat down next to her (this was after the heinously long hill) she asked me if I was pregnant. I said yes. She asked when I was due. I told her May, and she got all wide-eyed and asked me if I was sure I was having just one (ha. ha.) because I was SO big. I never know quite what to say to people when they ask questions like that. It happened when I was preggers with LPT, too. I guess I should have pointed to D and said, "We grow 'em big like their daddy!" in some backwoods manner. And yes, I am showing more with this midget than I did with LPT. But I was a lot smaller when I got pregnant the first time, and my muscles didn't know what to do or to what extent they were going to stretch, so I was pretty smallish (or at least average) until the bitter end (ugh...July and the attack of the cicaidas) Now, however, my body knows what's up and has decided to let it all hang out, so to speak, like everyone does at Thanksgiving after the meal. The muscles, knowing that they will soon be suffering, have decided to go ahead and throw in the towel and relax while they can. I'm cool with this. But not when it is pointed out to me, overtly and in public by someone with whom I am not on familiar terms. There, I said it.

The complaint(s)

Will this heinousness ever end? Not only am I queasy half of the time, but now it's my morning shower that contributes to the nausea. And I'm not EVEN going to go into how coffee (my beloved coffee! WHY?) makes the ol' stomach turn. As a result of my stomach's ongoing strike, I think I am actually losing weight (well, maybe not losing...but definitely not gaining either - we'll call it net). My pregnancy jeans that I purchased a few weeks ago are falling down. (oh yes - I look mighty cute. Saggy drawers are in!)

So I have been relegated to...soup. Specifically tomato, but any kind will do. And the soup has the added benefit of keeping me warm, since I have had the chills like crazy recently. (I know - chills? Moi? Poster child for perspiration?)

Ugh. At least I get to leave early today and nap with LPT. Sleep is my only refuge!

Finally, some retribution! In Virginia, it's a class C misdemeanor to annoy someone over the telephone. (maybe I should move to Virginia - Mom, are you listening?) Using this law, a man was convicted of sending annoying text messages to an ex-girlfriend. w00t.

LPT had picture day at her preschool today. When I asked her if she smiled, she shook her head no, and then made some silly face with her tongue sticking out. I can't wait for those pics to come back. Although, I don't see what the big deal about picture day is - I distinctly remember my mother painstakingly trying to run a brush through my hair and get it to lay "just so" before going to school on those extra-special days. I looked retarded most of the time. More importantly, I looked nothing like myself. I never wore my hair curled. Nor did I go to school in pretty dresses and tights - I was a t-shirt kind of kid. And really, shouldn't that be the goal with school pictures? To capture what you looked like at that moment in time? So I suppose I kind of hope she did stick out her tongue. That would definitely be an accurate reflection of her demeanor right now.

In Tennessee, if a guy gives an engagement ring and then the engagement is broken (no matter by whom) the ring is his. Apparently, it's a conditional gift. That's all fine and good, but I believe that there ought to be circumstantial exceptions to the rule. What if the buyer of the ring was...ahem...stepping out?

I want one of these.

And I'm going to start trying my hand at sewing. In the past, I have had no patience for the task, but I think that I am up to the challenge now. I have lofty plans of hand-making all my holiday gifts (you can go ahead and laugh). But I did find this mega chouette pattern the other day - and the skirt would fit all of my (incredibly small-waisted) friends perfectly.

I think I can honestly say that I have never wanted a cupcake more than right now. While I was doing my usual cruise for news at the New York Times, I came across this article - Don't Even Think About Touching That Cupcake. It talks about how cupcakes are being banned from some schools due to their distinct lack of nutritional value. However, this cupcake ban has many up in arms - cupcakes are just wonderful! How could anyone say differently?

Well, I went to a website mentioned in the article called Cupcakes Take The Cake, which officially began my downward spiral into Flickr. But I did see some completely wonderful cupcakes, and now I am craving them something awful.
J and I tried to make something like the "Toffee Tumbler" cupcake, except bigger (and thus much messier) around Christmas, and the entire thing fell apart and we were left munching on sticky doughnuts for the rest of the evening.

And LPT is getting more and more upset when she sees me in the middle of the day. Sometimes my mom will stop by and bring lunch, or sometimes I'll go to her house. LPT freaks out whenever I have to leave, screaming "No, Mommy! Don't go!" And every time it reminds me of that horrible scene in Sophie's Choice where she decides to let the Nazis take her daughter. Guilt overload.

I'm beginning to think that my body is suddenly anti-pregnancy. I'm feeling okay today, but I was hella queasy all last week and the week before, and on Friday I had to leave work early because I had a fever. What is going on? I hope this is no indication of what the actual midget will be like, because I'm not sure I could handle that. AND I've been having some strange dreams. I know that pregnant women often have...(ahem) interesting dreams, but these are beginning to freak me out. They're very real, and they each night they involve someone I have dated in the past.

LPT is driving me berserk. She has morphed into teenage mode, complete with responses like an exasperated "No, mom! Gosh! Jeez!" and slamming of doors. This behavior makes me want to scream. That, and she's figured out that when I'm in the shower is the best time to climb to dangerous heights in the kitchen and scavenge for candy. Though perhaps I should be glad that she's sharing: the other morning, she came into the bathroom during my shower with one Dum-Dum sucker in her mouth and one for me, too.

I have a new theme in my cooking. RUSTICA. E made an onion tart the other day and it was fabulous. When I asked her about how she did it, she informed me it was completely easy, just throw a few things together and do the absolute minimal in terms of making it look "nice" and "neat" and bake the sucker. Less effort for super food? Sounds like my kind of thing.

Oh, and I would like to make a statement regarding the eternal messiness of my bedroom: those piles of clothes have meaning! I'm aspiring to be like Corriette Schoenaerts, who is the creator of this wonderful photo. Look closely at the overall shape of the clothes. Does it maybe resemble a continent?

I think I have finally found the hands-down UGLIEST article of clothing ever in the world. Allow me to present to you....bikini jeans!

Yeah. I don't think I need to say much more, except that if you go the link, you will see a picture of a very unfortunate woman wearing these in white.

While still reeling from those, I saw the most frivolous lawsuit ever: Nebraska state senator Ernie Chambers (D) is suing God. Now, I'm sure many of you are saying, "It's about damn time! Who does that God fellow think he is, anyway?" The rest may be wondering why Sen. Chambers, once called "the angriest black man in Nebraska," would undertake such a grand gesture. Well, he's sick of everything, that's why!

The lawsuit accuses God “of making and continuing to make terroristic threats of grave harm to innumerable persons, including constituents of Plaintiff who Plaintiff has the duty to represent.” It says God has caused “fearsome floods, egregious earthquakes, horrendous hurricanes, terrifying tornadoes, pestilential plagues, ferocious famines, devastating droughts, genocidal wars, birth defects and the like.” (It's a shame he had to stick in genocidal wars and birth defects. I was enjoying the alliteration!) The suit also claims God has caused “calamitous catastrophes resulting in the wide-spread death, destruction and terrorization of millions upon millions of the Earth’s inhabitants including innocent babes, infants, children, the aged and infirm without mercy or distinction.” Chambers also says that God “has manifested neither compassion nor remorse, proclaiming that [the] defendant will laugh” when catastrophe strikes.

And yesterday was a very long day, even though I didn't have to go to work. A's grandfather passed on Saturday, and the funeral was yesterday. I did not know her grandfather (affectionately called "Dandy") very well, but when I finally drove home alone after the actual service, graveside service, and obligatory (huge) meal at the church, I felt distinctly sad at the passing of someone so wonderful. [cliché alert] He meant so much to (seemingly) everyone he had cause to know, and almost every memory recounted that day involved him giving or doing for someone, no matter the situation. I know that I can be empathetic to a fault,* but Dandy's funeral was one of the saddest I have ever attended, and I was glad to have been there to discover more about a very good man. I love you, A.

*Empathetic to a fault: last night D and I went to dinner and a movie. He had been talking about how he loved the new Halloween movie because it gave a much more psychological view of Michael Myers and his descent into madness than the usual slasher flick. So I thought, why not? Well, I'm not sure if it's because I'm preggers or what, but that movie almost made me ralph. I made it to the gunshot scene (shortly after the fork scene) and then had to leave the theatre. I suppose that now I know that I cannot watch someone being bludgeoned to death without becoming horrified and tossing my cookies.

Want to shudder? Admit that you are from the same state as this girl. I know that MTV's My Super Sweet 16 is supposed to highlight the bitchiest teens / daddy's girls in the world, but hoo boy! This one takes the cake. I don't know if she makes me mad because she's so awful, or that she's from Campbellsville. Ugh. And you know that at least a handful of people are going to be in therapy later in life because of her. She's that one element of high school - the megabitch cheerleader dating the football player who dumps on everyone because she can.

Ok, I've spent enough time on her. On to brighter topics! I found this wall decal from Blik featured on Threadless - so cool. I love that it isn't that sappy-sweet soft-focus design of so much kids' stuff. And how wonderful to think that giraffes and elephants will save a burning building!

And does anyone remember that incident at McDonald's in Mount Washington a few years ago? The restaurant received a phone call from a man claiming to be a detective, accusing one of the employees of stealing. He instructed the assistant manager to strip-search her in the office, then things went to hell in a handbasket because the manager called her boyfriend in to stay on the phone while she tended to customers. The poor girl had to do all sorts of unsavory things, and then some random customer was instructed to come in and watch (via orders from the "detective"). Get the details here.

Anyway, in the Courier-Journal today, there was a huge article talking about how McDonald's (corporate) knew of 30 other similar incidents occurring at company-owned and franchise stores around the country and did not volunteer this information to anyone before or after the Mt. Washington incident occurred. Excuses ranged from "no one asked for the information" to "legally, we do not have an obligation to franchise employees" to "it was not our responsibility."

Southwest has a new ad campaign advertising its "Skimpy Fares." Classy.

And now you can buy a veritable Tommy Gun for your little mobster - has anyone seen the commercial for this thing? It makes NO SENSE. (I would definitely post it, but alas, I cannot find it.)

And Greenspan is releasing his memoirs. I love this guy. He routinely made all my economics professors in college have to rewrite their lectures because he continually dropped the interest rate. With every drop, the profs would decalre that it could not possibly go any lower, and then in the next class would scramble to explain why Greenspan had done it again. And really, how could you not love a guy who wrote the book in the bathtub? It's officially on my wishlist.

And to everyone who would like to read more books, but don't have the time to actually sit down and read one: I bring you Daily Lit, a site where you can sign up to receive books in parts via email or RSS. Personally, I'm reading The Beautiful and Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald in 160 increments, one delivered to my inbox daily. This may even give you a fighting chance of finishing War and Peace!

So my friend A has, in the past, had this habit of dating strange guys. They seemed nice at first, then they went all psycho on her, and did things like bang on the front doors of friends' apartments screaming "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" and woke up half the neighborhood in the process. But I now think that maybe A had it easy dealing with her guys. This crazy (lovesick?) imbecile injected a syringe of his blood into his longtime crush after she spurned his advances because, "He thought if he could not marry her, at least his blood can stay inside her body." What a looney.

But anyway, look at these spiffy shoes! They're available on Etsy, from Brooklyn Handmade. Usually kids are the sole recipients of such cool footwear, but these little babies are for grown-ups.

Below you can see some of the other offerings (sadly, only for the midgets) on Etsy. And the Rosie the Riveter shirt is officially on my wish list. (it's for those in the family way such as meself)

Two items in the news have me ON FIRE. Number one: Southwest found fault with another girl's outfit. This is bullshit. I had a shirt like that in my pre-baby years, and I never got a second glance. Maybe my chest just wasn't ample enough? Number two: If I tattoo DO NOT RESUSCITATE on my chest, I think that is a pretty clear indication of my wishes. Remind me not to have an accident in Iowa.

And finally, an invention I can really get behind: A voice-stress ice-cream dispenser. The machine asks you a series of questions, records your answers and analyzes them for how stressed out/sad you are. The worse you feel, the more ice cream you receive. Why didn't someone think of this sooner?

I had the ultrasound today. I'm not as far along as I thought - only 6-7 weeks. (I think now I can feel less guilty about at least one party I attended.) But as an indulgence to me, I'm posting the ultrasound picture. They labeled the little squiggle that is the baby, so it's not quite as confusing. Just look at the little dot in the middle of the black circle. Otherwise, I'd like to introduce you to my uterus!

D is out of town and living it up in the City of Sin - I told him that as long as he didn't bring home the clap, I would be cool. While he's gone, A and I had a pathetically short My So-Called Life "marathon" last night. Not to say that we didn't have fun, and I for one relish time spent laying back and talking. But marathon? We got through three episodes. Maybe we're just getting old.

Oy. I don't think I even have the energy to rant about this site. (not Feministing, the other one.) Just know that I am one of many people who are irritated and completely sick of all these utter lies masquerading as facts making their way to teenagers everywhere.

Ok, on a lighter note, I went to the OB-GYN today to see just what is going on with this "baby" business - how far along, when am I due, etc. It would appear that I am between 9 and 11 weeks, and that puts me having a baby in early April. Which means it will be an Aries (scroll down the link page for parent-child relationships). And just a little aside here, I hate peeing into cups. I suddenly become all thumbs, and frequently do what I did this morning: spill it all over myself in the attempt to sit it on the side of the sink.

And here's Modern Love. Read it.

Ah, Mo Rocca. You never fail to deliver.

Cuppa joe

I am astonished. Apparently, Southwest Airlines is dispensing fashion advice, and getting all pissy when people don't listen to them. Kyla Ebbert was escorted off her flight to Tucson (she was going for an appointment with a doctor) by a customer service supervisor named Keith because her whole outfit was offensive. Was she dressed in dominatrix gear? No. Perhaps an outfit Britney Spears would wear? No. She had the audacity to wear a white miniskirt, a tank top (with separate bra underneath), a cardigan, and heels. Now, personally, I don't approve of miniskirts with heels, but I'll give a bit of leeway on this one. When she protested to "Keith" that she was only going to be in Tucson for a few hours and thus did not have luggage carrying ostensibly more appropriate clothing, he told her that she should go home and change then take a later flight. It was only when she cited the appointment time that he reluctantly let her back on the plane, but she had to pull her skirt down and pull her tank top up.

On a lighter note, Philippine president Joseph Estrada will have mistresses "from 02 to 08" tesitfy against him in the impeachment trial to discover how he acquired his "unexplained wealth." He apparently was very free in his spending on the ladies, giving a mansion and other properties as cadeaux. And even better, one of the mistresses is named Peachy!

And I am officially a high-maintenance coffee drinker. I always made fun of people who had outrageously long coffee orders, but today as the barista at Starbucks (please don't hate me! it's fall and they have a marvelous drink) handed me my beverage, he jauntily said, "Ok, here's your grande nonfat no whip pumpkin spice latte. Have a great day!" That's 5 specifications, folks. Does that make me a yuppie?

And finally, I have a new goal for myself in the kitchen. I would like to take this opportunity to notify my friend B (spouse of P - yes, that means you) that she is fully expected to make these as well, since she's quite the Martha.

Well, it's about damn time someone came to a conclusion on this: if a woman gets an abortion, she should go to jail for 15 years to life, taking into consideration her circumstances. And what would those circumstances be? If she is coerced into the deed by a husband, boyfriend, or parent. (Catholic Online)

All this is in response to an article by Anna Quindlen of Newsweek called How Much Jail Time? In it, she poses the very question: if abortion were to be outlawed, it would be a crime to have one. So what would the punishment be for these women having abortions? It's a question most people haven't pondered (I'll admit, it never crossed my mind until seeing a certain video - but more on that later) because everyone is caught up in the (admittedly slightly bigger) question of whether abortion should be legal or not. Is it murder? Is there ever an allowance for it?

There's a video on YouTube that attempts to answer that question of punishment. In it, a man approaches a pro-life protest in Libertyville and asks each of the people what they think the consequences should be for a woman who has an abortion. Their answers are swell - "It's between her and God." "Counseling." But these people think that abortion is murder! What if we sentenced all murderers to counseling? Maybe we should just sterilize all the women who have abortions, so that there's no chance of them doing it again. I mean, if they don't want kids, they don't need the parts, right? Or maybe we could just make them wear a big red A on their tummies, so that the rest of society can throw things at her and forever remind her that she didn't have a baby she could afford, didn't want, etc.

Ms. Quindlen ends her column with a tough ultimatum: "But there are only two logical choices: hold women accountable for a criminal act by sending them to prison, or refuse to criminalize the act in the first place. If you can't countenance the first, you have to accept the second. You can't have it both ways."

How true. But then, Catholic Online contributor Matt Abbott decided to come up with a real answer in his op/ed column titled The abortion-seeking woman: perpetrator or victim? In it, he proposes the sentence mentioned at the beginning of this post. Now, I give kudos to the author for presenting his argument in a rational, non-bible-thumping manner; he even acknowledges that many will probably not agree with him.

He does mention that even discussing the issue is somewhat an act of futility, since "sadly, abortion is still legal." I could not disagree more. The whole muddy debacle that is the pro-choice vs. pro-life argument needs to take into account all possible outcomes of their actions. Myself, being of the pro-choice persuasion, I don't think we should go throwing women in jail because they exercised a choice and decided that every child in their lives should be wanted. However, rallying like the dickens to get the procedure outlawed (South Dakota is almost there, folks) and then to simply shrug your shoulders when asked about the repercussions is just poor planning. In addition to the punishment question, I would also like to see real solutions to the cost of prenatal care for all these women who have to keep their pregnancies viable, as well as the cost of raising a child she may have been ill-prepared to have. And who will pay for counseling if the woman is a victim of rape? Or incest? What happens to these kids?

So the argument goes way beyond the initial moral question. Economics and the legal system have places, too.

Oy.

So let's just establish right now that giving birth is messy. It ain't pretty, and I don't think I would want to wear (and heinously stain) my own clothes during the process. Apparently, there are those who do not feel the same way.

I found this company, Binsi (via Jezebel) that makes skirts and tops to wear while in labor. They're cute, and I would definitely waer them before and after the deed. And the owners of the company have taken into account the sensitive (itchy as hell) skin that comes with pregnancy, the need for easy accessability concerning your hospital visit (IVs, epidurals, baby monitors, etc.) But precisely because these things are so cute, why the hell would I want to wear them during (arguably) one of the messiest times of my life? That's why hospital gowns are open in the back; I can't really see myself being "so thankful" for the mass of pleats in the back (while still looking chic and streamlined in the front! because that's exactly what is on my mind while having a baby - does my skirt look tailored?)

Then there's the idea that Jezebel brought up: you must be cute and look nice at all times. There is no room for just letting it all hang out, or just saying "Screw you guys, I'm having a baby without makeup or stylish clothes and I am comfortable with that. Now gimme a popsicle."

I have a new favorite photographer. His name is Matt Stuart, and his photos are quite witty. See all of his portfolio here.

And, in my (never-ending) quest for spiffy design stuff, I found this! It's a stone tile that you can incorporate into any paved area, allowing for a bit o' green to peek through. I think it's swell, and would like to have several to make a patio and border.

And then (can you possibly withstand any more?) I was cruising around the interweb, looking for cheap maternity clothing, and I found this website. And then I shuddered and began trying to figure out (a) how in the hell you are supposed to use the bathroom once in such a contraption, and (b) how in the hell a pregnant woman, out of breath, hot and cranky is supposed to squeeze herself into such a contraption. No me gusta. Although, if it did not cost $120, I would definitely give it to people as a joke at a baby shower. And I can just see the excitement on D's face if I owned one of these things. For this and a matching men's version, go here.

Yay for not working

Ok, once again - have you all read Modern Love this week? Get on it. And not to further worsen the neurosis of the author, but I tell LPT "I love you" all the time. It's probably because my dad and most certainly my mom told me all the time. Come to think of it, most of the people in all my family extensions have always been fairly frequent with verbal expressions of affection. But it takes all kinds - my friend A's family were never really big on hugs, so when she first started coming to see mine, she had to do some major adjusting, and quick. And LPT has inherited the affection-displaying gene. She will hug and kiss with the best of 'em.

And I was going to save this for post-doctor visit, but I'll just go ahead and put it in writing: there's a new midget on the way. And I'm guessing it'll arrive in about 7 months, but I'll know for sure on the 11th (my appointment).

And now that that's out of the way (thus explaining away my obvious tummy and cranky disposition), I have to go chase the midget (no work = no babysitter = a mom on the go)

movin' and groovin'

I hate change. Yeah, I may claim to enjoy a dramatic life change, or express a desire to just up and leave one day, bound for Tokyo, but it just isn't in me. I like my house too much, my comfy bed, and my books. However, all bets are off when it comes to changing the interior of my living space. D cannot stand how, around each season change, I suddenly have the desire to rearrange the furniture, "edit" the rooms, or add something spiffy. Well, this season change "makeover" was a doozie. Here is a poorly-drawn representation of the layout of our house. Now picture it with our bedroom where the dining room is. I picked up some old doors at a yard sale last year (two years ago?) and they are going on the two entrances to the old dining room.

Now, this may not look like much, but it involved a crapload of moving (large) furniture. Not only did the china cabinet have to make its way down the hallway and into the study, but our gi-normous bed frame, box spring, and unweilding matress had to come downstairs, with lots of tricky corners. We had our first night in the new room last night, and it was strange to have the ceiling so far away (upstairs the ceilings are vaulted).

But now, our room is so cool! It's orange! And bright! and there is room to move! In a word, awesome. It isn't cleaned up yet, but we're working on it. And last night, D and I installed a ceiling fan all by ourselves. I must admit, I thought I was going to have to slug him a few times (doing that whole macho-I can-do-it-because-I'm-a-man thing) but in the end, it turned out well. (He did, however, pull a butt muscle. Karma ain't pretty.)
And voilà: the photos. (Oh yeah, and I replaced two light fixtures ALONE yesterday, too. My stepmother gave me the confidence to go ahead and do it, regardless of knowing nothing about electricity.)

I loved mix tapes. They were a perfect medium through which to express all sorts of feelings, and there's nothing better for long car trips. Sadly, the mix tape has gone the way of the 8-track. Now, the big thing is mp3 players, which can be nice, but they usually take all your music and mix it up. There's no thought, no time put into selecting each and every song to describe whatever emotion you wanted to convey.

Well, have I got something for you! (of course I do - don't I always?) A mix tape USB from the (every-lovely) SUCK UK. Yes, one could argue that it's just a regular USB, but I love it. Call me a sucker for packaging. And can't you just see your friends' faces when they open their customized "mix tape?" Priceless. (and while at the site, check out the smoking mittens. Genius!)

Finally, a picture of Bush (no pun intended) that shows his true colors. The lovely work was created by British artist Jonathan Yeo, in retaliation for the actions of the Bush Library in backing out of a commission for Yeo to complete a "proper" portrait of the president. I think this one is plenty proper, myself. In case you can't make out what those images are that compose the president's face, let's just say that it's a portion of female anatomy. Yeo scoured hundreds of "top shelf" porn magazines to find the perfect images to create the likeness. Hehe. (Much more graphic image here.)

And on a completely unrelated note, let's all breathe a sigh of relief knowing that the Botox needs of the United States are being met. (I know I was worried.) Because nationwide, if you want Botox, you'll wait about 8 days to see a dermatologist. If you need a mole checked out (like to make sure it isn't CANCER or something) you'll wait 26 days, on average. Some waits were up to 35 days.

Did you realize that you can see the inside of lots of people's houses for free if you go to any of the many home-exchange websites? Seriously, sometimes I use them for design inspiration. But I feel a little guilty, like I'm intruding or something. Oh well.

It's Monday, folks! Has everyone read Modern Love? No? Ok, here's the link:

(why have you not already read this?) The Rubble of My Marriage, Hidden by Katrina's

Anywho, I get to go to the doctor today with LPT. (And you'll have to forgive me because I'm about to go into talk-lots-about my-kid-kind-of-mom mode) See, our Lil' Puddin' Tater has asthma. She has to use a nebulizer (she's nowhere near as happy as the little girl in the photo) twice a day and take a little chewable pill at night. Occasionally, she has to pop a Claritin if her allergies will be on high alert - bad ozone day, dust, mold, pollen, etc. Then, if things get really, bad and she is wheezy and can't really breathe, we have to bust out the nebulizer and in addition to her twice-daily medication, she gets to have a "treatment," which basically opens up her lungs.

Ok, there's the background. Now, to why we're going to see the "gockter," as LPT refers to it. Yesterday, LPT wasn't breathing so well. She was slightly lethargic (read: not enough oxygen) and over the course of the day, we administered three emergency treatments. None of these did quite as well as they should have. As a result, she was wheezing & raspy, and coughing her head off. So D and I spent a fairly restless night with LPT between us so that we could continue to make sure her wee chest was still going up & down.

So we have to see if it's the medication failing to do its job, or whether LPT is just reacting poorly.

Chillin'.

WE HAVE AIR. I always thought that I could probably just deal with a distinct lack of air conditioning - you know, suck it up and sweat it out. But I was wrong. So very wrong. It hit me yesterday, when the reality of having cool air pumping through our vents was so close; the repairman informed me that he would have to go get another part from some other guy who had kept it in his truck...long story short, what should have taken about an hour took three. And as I sat there, nearly biting the head off of anyone who dared to call me (ok, I'll be honest - just my mom), legs not just sticky but dripping and a distinct scant about me (eau de deodorant-stopped-working) it hit me: I can't deal with this shit. Yes, yesterday was a bit extreme. The inside temperature of our house was a steamy 94, and the heat index (something that has always pissed me off - oh, it feels like 107 outdoors, but really, it's only 98. Who gives a shit what the actual temperature is? If it feels like 107, then that's the number with which I have to contend. Dammit.) was something like 107. So if you combine those two numbers, throw in some irritation and some prickly heat, then you understand why I was slightly irritable.

But now, the house is in the 70s. And nothing is sweeter than waking up dry, and not having to hose yourself down before going to work. I even needed a sheet last night, because I got a bit chilled. CHILLED!

Wednesday was Y's birthday and she is now among the ranks of those in their mid-twenties. Tonight the ladies are going out for dinner at a restaurant that always makes me feel much cooler and more hip than I really am - Asiatique. Just my luck, I'll probably slip and fall or stick a straw up my nose or something.

And even though I cannot afford to get her one of these, I will post below what I believe would be the perfect gift for Y. And while we're dreaming, I'll pick one up for myself, too, and possibly all my friends.
It's a hottub. And it's portable. (!) And on top of those coils there? That would be a wok.(!) It's entirely plausible that you could make an entire meal (a spiffy one, not pb&j) and stay in the tub the whole time. And it comes in 7 colors, I think. The price tag: $6000. But you could easily spend that on a tub that is nowhere NEAR as cool as this one. Check out all the places this dutchtub can go here.