Archive | June, 2009

Here’s How to Order

So, let me just take a moment to talk about a recent passing that has severely affected me.

No, not Michael Jackson.  I mean, sure, icon and legend and all of that jazz.  But, really, to me he is always going to be that WEIRD guy.  This may make me callous and you may violently disagree with me, but in my mind, his fame and sphere of influence has been gone since the raid at Neverland.

Or even Farrah Fawcett.  As little as I cared about Jackson’s passing, I cared even less about Farrah’s.  I know this also makes me evil, but I was in that generation that knew nothing of her other than her hair came back into fashion a few years back.  And she had famous nipples.  But, can I say, that if you’re going to go, that ANAL CANCER may just be the more horrible way to die?  Yes, I do believe that having some parasitic amoeba eat away the inner intestines of your bowels might just be the one way I don’t want to die.  So my condolences and all that.

But yesterday?  FUCKING BILLY MAYS DIED.

I’m sorry; that was incredibly rude.

The LATE FUCKING BILLY MAYS DIED.

I have had a long running obsession with infomercials.  That doesn’t make sense, nor is it healthy for my bank accounts, but there you have it.  I love them.  LOVE THEM.  Maternity leave was like a godsend to me because I could spend sleepless days in front of court tv and sleepless nights in front of infomercials. 

Billy Mays was sort of a hero of mine.

I mean, think about it.  The guy had one talent: he could yell persuasively.  And he turned that into a multi-million dollar empire.  And he did it all with one shirt, my friends.  That?  That is talent.

Then, Discovery Channel FINALLY picked up on what I already knew: that Billy was a star.  He was featured in the new show, “Pitchmen”, alongside fellow infomercial genius Anthony Sullivan.  It showed how they picked their products to sell, and how genuine they really were.  They LOVED what they did, and they were good at it.  They were our modern day carnival barkers, and I loved it.

And now?  There is no more Billy Mays.  My heart is broken.  Our Everyman has fallen.

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Live Juicy

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.. you started training in April and ran a 5k in May?!”

I nodded, beaming.  It even astounded me. 

There was no good reason for me to pick up running.  I just decided that I wanted to do it.  So I did.

I get that from my mom.

My mom was constantly discovering new amazing talents that surprised even her.  One day, she got tired of spending good money on hair accessories for us.  She just hated that they never quite matched, and LAWD, they were expensive.  We didn’t always have that kind of money.  But she wanted her girls to look like we did.

So she started making hairbows.

And she was GOOD at it.  And not just good, but good enough that she started doing trade shows and church sales and made the rounds as “BowJangles”, and people LOVED her stuff.  My personal fave was a bow she made out of comic strips.  She was savvy enough to grab a dated comic strip (say, a birthday or an anniversary) and make a precious bow out of it.  She was Etsy before Etsy was invented.

Then we got older and she decided that she wanted to stay involved in other ways through our lives.  We were heavily involved in local theatre, and Mom didn’t sew or act or sing, so she sat out for a season or so until she found something she COULD do. 

So she decided to be a graphic designer.

And she was GOOD at it.  I mean, really good.  She designed most of the posters for the shows we performed in, as well as the programs and often the tickets.  She had an uncanny knack for unusual color combinations, and made stock clip art look hand-drawn and unique.  She educated herself at home, through books and online courses, and now she’s in high demand for her artistry in graphic design.

My mother has this amazing skill for just deciding she wants to do something and becoming insanely proficient at it.  Sure, this may apply itself in odd forms .. growing up, Zelda was a source of disdain because the tv was off-limits until Mom had solved the damn game .. but for the most part, it resulted in beautiful and ethereal creations that, to this day, I am grateful and amazed to have witnessed.  And incredibly jealous that I cannot replicate.

But the zest for succeeding?

I get that from my mom.

Happy Birthday, Mommy Dearest.  You are everything an Italian mother should be, with a dose of southern grace for good measure.  Thank you for everything you’ve given me and my family.  I hope this birthday is the best yet, but overshadowed by the ones to come.  I love you.

(My mom reads this blog religiously.  It would be AWESOME if everyone could visit here .. even from the feed reader .. and wish her a happy birthday in the comments.  She would be ecstatic!)(Also, tell her how awesome her daughter is.)(No, ME, not the other daughter.)

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About Online Relationships

I owe you a post.  I do.  I know that.

And life is starting to come to a screeching halt now that my show is over, so hopefully there will be more time for that.

But today is not that day, because I’m still playing catch-up from half-assing life the last two weeks.

I did, however, want to say this:

My little online family, I love you more than my luggage.  I can’t tell you how much it means to read stories of motherhood, of stress, of marriage, of things that I think I’m the ONLY ONE IN THE WORLD only to find out that.. hey.. I’m not.  You went through it too.  And we can all laugh about it, because in the end, it’s all pretty damn funny.

There’s a slew of you out there that all have babies around the same age as Tony.  I feel like Tony has some extended, virtual family: Dylan, Maddie, Lyla, AndyZ, Penelope, Lexi, Nate, Noah are all part of his brethren that he’s only seen through video and pictures, but they all helped his mother remain sane.  I know it sounds silly, and maybe I’m overly emotional (WHAT?!), but I wanted to say that.  I love y’all muchly and you’re seriously the most stable and amazing and fabulous group of people that I (n)ever knew. And it’s not even just reading your stories and laughing/crying along with you, but the personal exchanges .. the emails, the messages, the Twitters.. all of that counts. It’s amazing to me that such a kinship can be formed between people who have never been in the same room.

But one day we shall all be in the same room. AND LAWD, THEN IT IS OVER.

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A Little Linky Love

My latest post is up at Bodies in Motivation.  I may or may not have taken a little liberty with this post.

My team heads off to NOLA tonight.. without me.  I am here, playing a scandalous wife in a local productionI love the show and all, but damn, I’d rather be in NOLA.  Even in June.

To make myself feel better, I am making shrimp and grits tonight, recipe courtesy of the Neelys by way of my mother.

I might have given in to some temptation at the store. I’m not admitting guilt yet, but when you see my fabulous hair, YOU’LL KNOW.

Y’all, for reals, KMart has really cute clothes on the cheap. Which makes me feel better since Real Simple did a piece this month about the best t-shirts and the cheaper end of their price range fell at $37. FOR A TSHIRT.

I honestly don’t remember if I’ve yet touted my intense love for this product, but it’s certainly deserving of two mentions. And most times, you can find a great deal online for it. Take it from me, so-pale-she-makes-Twilight-look-like-90210-girl, this stuff is subtle and effective. And the firming? OH, THE FIRMING.

Lastly, I want one of each. Thanks!

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Another Rush Job.

I feel like everything I write now is so scattered, like I can’t even pour enough of myself into one thing long enough to give you a complete picture of the insane nature that is my current state of being, but that’s the only way I can write.  My days are hectic, rigidly scheduled because that’s the ONLY chance I have at maintaining any sort of order or cohesion, and finding even a few minutes to spare seem amazingly hard.  But just as necessary.

My days.  Oh, my days.  My days are full.  I don’t know how I ever thought I was busy before a living being was dependent on me.  I don’t know how I ever held the back of my hand to my forehead and groaned, “Oh, I am just so busy!” and then went about sipping my latte and pondering just how much longer I could stay in my pajamas.  Because?  I’VE BEEN TOO BUSY TO WEAR PAJAMAS.  And a latte??  Are you kidding me?

I am at the gym at five. AY EM.  Five.  That is crazy early, and the people that show up that early are crazy.  There is one dude who yells.  At everyone.  From across the room.  Dude, I don’t NEED a personal cheerleader, hence my headphones.  Sure, they’re not plugged into anything.. SPECIFICALLY SO YOU WILL TAKE A FREAKIN HINT AND QUIT YELLING AT ME.  And then there are chatty people on the treadmill.  Seriously, I am sucking wind and sweating like a pig and you want to talk to me about the Dow?  And the worst.. The Grunter works out in the morning.  I don’t know what goes on with The Grunter, but he’s there, every morning at five.  He runs on his treadmill, making loud, bowel-moving noises as he .. runs?  I don’t know what spawns that noise.  I do know that if I have to listen to sounds of that nature, I’d feel entirely more comfortable if it ended with a tiny child being pushed through a nu-nu than I would be knowing it’s from The sweaty Grunter.

I’m back from the gym and in the shower by six.  The baby is up by six-thirty.  Baby has to eat; I take my pills.  Bryan is up.  The boys head out the door by 7:30, which is when I get ready.  I’m at work by 8:15.

Work.  Worthy of five posts in and of itself, but the law of Dooce prohibits me.  I will say, though, that I found out a coworker makes a GOOD amount more than I do, and it has severely decreased my give-a-damn level.

Leave work at 5:15.  Haul ass to daycare.  Pick-up baby.  Home by 5:30; snack for baby, feed the dogs.  Bryan is home by 5:45.  Trade off kid, kiss the husband, off to rehearsal.

Call is at 6:00.  We open on Saturday.  Pray for sun.

Home by 10:00.  Asleep by 11:15.  Up at least once with a crying baby.

Alarm goes off at 4:45.

I. am. dying.

***
Old Navy, did you change your sizing again?

Seriously, dude, WHO DO YOU MAKE CLOTHES FOR?  I went to Old Navy in April, all excited about spring skirts and sweater shrugs.  Size L was a bit snug.  Not horrible, but definitely snug.

I go in two weeks ago and the “Item of the Week” is a tank top that’s cute for undershirtie things. (It’s similar to that, but not quite.) The L?  WAAAY TOO BIG.  I pick up a M, knowing I’ll be making a return because it won’t fit. 

And I was kinda right.  It’s TOO BIG.

Another shirt was the same issue.  Too big.  Now, I can fawn over myself and say that, OBVSLY, I’ve lost so much weight that I’m down to a S/M, but that just simply isn’t real.  I believe Old Navy is screwing with my head.

Also because they had a $15 skirt/dress sale last week, and had not a damn skirt or dress in the entire store.

***

I believe my child is having hearing issues. 

We are trying not to freak out or agonize over something we can’t control, but we are well into 18 months, and we still have no solid words from the baby yet.  Nothing.  Sometimes, we get general vowel sounds, but who the hell can understand if it’s “dog”, “door”, “go”, or “no”?  He knows some signs and is quick to utilize those, but we can’t get any consonants or multisyllabic anything from him.  I know every child develops differently and yaddayaddayadda, but I really feel that he’s falling behind in this development.  And it frustrates HIM too; he so tries to tell us things and we can’t understand and his hands flail and we don’t know and neither does he and YES, this could be the Terrible Twos, but he’s never been THAT kid.  That’s not to say that he won’t make me regret childbirth eventually, but this seems to be more than that.

We go to the pediatrician early July.  So I only have another few weeks to come up with all sorts of horrid scenarios.

***

The Boy came to work with me last week.  I was dreading it like the plague, not because he’d be there, but because I remember going to my dad’s work and being bored to tears.  Of course, that was back before sliced bread, and the whole national movement was still Take Your Daughters to Work Day in an effort to get women in the workforce! and then deprive them of equal pay once they got there. (I kid! Sorta!)

But The Boy?  Ate. it. up.

Granted, we did some really cool stuff.  Cryo experiments (like dipping minimarshmellows in liquid nitrogen and then eating them), space “spin-off” knowledge (did you know NASA created disposable diapers?), very neat.  But we got back to my desk for me to do some real work, and a picture caught his eye from a press release regarding the Chandra telescope.  I opened the technical article, thinking that this was just a quick, “Oh, it’s a lot of words, so let’s do something else”, when he ended up sitting there and clicking through FOUR FREAKING ARTICLES.  I was bored to tears!  But he loved it, reciting all of the details afterwards and asking me questions about what I thought. 

We may have a rocket scientist among us.

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