Nutty Tales

Someone who shall remain nameless told me I'm losing all my readers and I better write in my blog.

2009-10-27T12:58:00.000-07:00

So here I am.

I find it very difficult these days to sit down and be able to write much of anything. That's my reason. As silly as it may sound. As made up as it may sound. I've got a crazy 2-year-old who is soon approaching 3, a bigger house, less time in general during the day, and tons of things I'm still trying to catch up from the move (let me just mention that closing one stinking bank account has turned into the biggest nightmare of my life at the moment, soon followed by insufficient funds fees and a big ol' fat bounced check - but that's another story), and I find I'm either exhausted by the time I can just stop for a few minutes, and then I'd much rather play Bejeweled blitz on Facebook over and over and over until I can't even discern the color differences between the jewels, or I'd rather read one of the three or four books I'm reading at once because I sort of sold my book-loving soul to the devil and have to read books really fast and write reviews about them or I just might miss out on a fantastic pre-pub that I've been wanting for for-like-ever, or I just want to go to sleep.

But guess what I did? I bought a Wii. And a Wii Fit Plus.

I bought the Wii because it gets rather cold and snowy or rainy (more rainy than snowy, really) around these parts, and sometimes there just is nothing to do, so I thought this might be something fun for the family. I've heard that video games are great for kids’ hand-eye coordination. Of course, my kid is only 2, so he's perfectly happy just sitting in my lap and I steer Lightening McQueen around Radiator Springs, and I gladly appease him of his need to crash Lightening McQueen into rocks and other cars and buildings and trees. I mean, that's fun, right? That's what I thought. We laugh and scream and drive the cat nuts. So maybe I really bought it for myself as I do have a tendency to get hooked on video games (um, Bejeweled Blitz - need I say more?) and want to play them until I can do everything with my eyes closed.

It took me a bit of time to decide to buy the Wii Fit Plus, which is just a board and a "game," because I wasn't really sure I would get anything out of it (also known as exercise). But I thought, it'll be fun, I guess, and when Mateo gets older, he can certainly use it for other games.

After a few days, I decided to unpack it and do whatever it is you do to get the "game" going (I really don't know what else to call these things; I'm of the Zelda and Mario Brothers generation, and Pong before that). This is what you do, in a nutshell, in case you're so inclined: You get on the board and it tells you you’re obese. At least that's what it did to me. And it was nice about it, which was one of the major complaints about the first Wii Fit (Wii Fit Plus is new, I guess, that's what I gathered when I was trying to figure out what to buy) - apparently the old Wii Fit yells at you or something. After being told your Wii Fit age (I've gone as high as 54), you can then proceed to "train."

Psshaw, you might think. Train? Board? Game? Righto.

Let me tell you. I ran. I hula hooped. I stepped. I rode bikes and skateboards. I tried to float down a river in a bubble but kept dying (much to the glee of my son). I even got my husband doing some of these things, albeit the more "manly" ones that don't make you stand in one place while you circle your hips. It's fun. And it's HARD. It really is.

And here is the sad part, the part where I will leave you until I decide to complain about my banking fiasco: I had the worst sore calf I've had in YEARS because of the stupid step training portion. And no, you don't do anything fancy like twirl off of it and then hop on and then bounce back. It's up down up down side to side to side up and down and that's pretty much it. My calf still hurts. Then I got sick and didn't move for a few days, and on Sunday when I walked up and down the aisles of Costco (and we all know how huge Costco is, so I was really working it, I tell you), I thought my leg was going to collapse from being so weak and in pain.

Yes. From the Wii Fit. That's right. The Wii Fit kicked my calf good.

Until then, my faithful readers.

So I've moved.

2009-09-11T17:33:00.000-07:00

I am now officially a Mid-Westerner, a Minnesotan, and living in paradise that could easily be the next "Real Housewives of...." Apparently we live in the rich suburbs of Minneapolis. And since we moved here with the same pay we made in California, that allowed us to pretty much pick where we wanted to live. Yes, yes, I know, that certainly makes me sound all fancy-like, but in reality, we're a statistic and we've ran away from our condo and our mortgage and are just waiting for the whole process to finish so we can begin rebuilding our credit and not feeling like big losers.

I do like it here, though. I like it like I like my memories of growing up in California when things still made sense and were safe. I like that it's so green here and there are bugs all over the place, and those bugs are LOUD at night. I like that we have a variety of ants, really huge ones and those regular small ones one would find in California. I like that I can open the door and not fear someone will break in and steal something or rape or murder me (although, I must admit, I am still a tad paranoid and like keeping the door open more when my husband is home than when I'm alone). I like that I can order things online that are being shipped via UPS and those boxes end up by our door instead of missing. I like that I can buy a crap load of stuff at Costco and not have to worry how I'm going to get all that stuff inside because now I can simply drive into our GARAGE and take my time bringing it into the house, which is just STEPS away instead of MILES away like at our condo. I like that where we live there are a bazillion really lovely parks with playgrounds and they are all less than 10 minutes away from where we live.

And if you're a fan of the grasshopper, then this is definitely a place for you. Those suckers are everywhere and can jump darn high.

But the best thing that I like about living here is that my husband swears he saw a wild turkey that was about 4-feet tall. And no, he wasn't drinking.

And yes, maybe turkeys are 4-feet tall, I really don't know, but I still think it's funny as all get-go.

How to confuse someone trying to sell you something on the streets.

2009-08-12T20:49:00.000-07:00

There I was, merrily walking along the street in San Francisco, listening to a Moth podcast (awesome podcast by the way), when some guy passed me up, stopped, and then said something to me.

"......live here?" he asked.

I took out my ear buds and said, "What?"

".....live here?" he asked again.

Since this is not the first time I've been asked such things while in San Francisco, I assumed he was a tourist and that he was lost. Pretty fair assumption.

"I work here," I told him.

He looked confused.

"Huh? What'd you say?" he asked me.

"I work here. What'd you say?" I asked.

"Do you wear perfume," he said.

"OH. I thought you asked if I lived here!" I said. I quickly followed up with, "No, I don't."

"Do you want a free sample?" he asked.

"No, I don't wear perfume," I said.

"Okay, have a good day," he said.

Now he knows I don't wear perfume, I don't live in San Francisco but I work there, and you could easily attack me because most of the time I'm not paying close attention to my surroundings.

Things you should never participate in if you want to get any work done. At work, that is.

2009-08-01T22:12:00.001-07:00

1. Bringing a human into the world. I think we all know why*.

How far along are you?
What's the sex of the baby?
Are you going to work after the baby is born?
Then WHO will take care of him? Your family?
What is the baby's name?
Are you going to call him Matt?
Oh, so you're not going to call him Matt?
Are you having a baby shower?
When are you due?
When is your last day at work?
Do you have a preference in sex? (male or female, come on, you dirty-minded people)
How do you feel?
Have you gotten the baby room together?
(at, like, 7 months along) You look almost like you did before being pregnant. Are you sure you're pregnant?

Etc.

2. Having bunion surgery.

What happened???
Can you walk?
Does it hurt?
How long do you have to wear that thing?
Was it painful?
How long before you're better?

My surgical boot became rather offensive to many after wearing it for a month.

3. Moving to Minnesota.

Do you know how cold it is there?
Do you know it snows there?
When are you moving?
Have you been there?
When are you going?
Where are you living?
What's it like?
Do you still have a job?
What about your condo?
How does your family feel about you leaving?
Do they have Target there? (Target's headquarters are IN Minnesota -- shows how much people know about things.)
How far is where you're living to Minneapolis?
Do you know it gets COLD there???

I should have made shirts for each thing that pretty much sums up my pregnancy, bunion surgery, and moving to Minnesota experiences. Like some crazy run-on sentence.

When I am work, which is three out of five days, I seem to be the most popular gal in town - even with people I hardly talk to. Everyone wants to know what's going on, and since I'm still recovering from my bunion surgery (for you bunion surgery searches - when the doctor says it'll take 6 to 12 months to heal and to no longer feel pain, he's correct), so I get lots of questions like the above, all day long, and I keep repeating the same answers, all day long, while my task list gets longer and longer.

Yes, I'm actually annoyed because I can't get work done. And that we can't get on Facebook anymore, which means I can't play Bejeweled during lunch to improve my productivity or make fun of people's status updates.

My life is very complicated right now.

*I am in no way pregnant. Just to clarify. It was just the first time I experienced the 20 questions from 100 people each day known as the "being pregnant and open to any and all questions"experience.

Moving.

2009-07-07T05:33:00.000-07:00

So as I stated before, we are moving to Minnesota in a month or two. I've decided that moving, at least moving under our circumstances, pretty much equates the same level of inappropriate questioning as does being obviously pregnant. Also? It's COLD in Minnesota. Gee, thanks, like I didn't know that.

While I understand that most people know what's going on with my husband's group at work, what I don't understand is why people think we're all in the same boat together and it's a sinking ship. We're all able to make our own choices and decisions, and, well, we decided to leave our condo behind in California, where it's worth absolutely nada, face foreclosure, and move to a state that's cheaper (albeit it colder, yes, I know this) and will be better in many ways for our family.

The number one question we face once people realize a little bit of "displacement" wasn't going to bring us down is, "Oh, so you're going to buy a place there, then?" To which we answer, simply, no. For whatever reason, people don't get that renting is an option. And to get into why we aren't going to buy just opens up a can of worms which then opens up another can of worms and it all goes so horribly and annoyingly wrong, and usually someone comes out of the conversation really annoyed (me).

On a lighter note, Mateo loves bubble wrap, and it's because of bubble wrap that I'm allowed at least a good 30 minutes of solid packing time. Mateo also loves boxes, and often I find him sitting in an empty one. He doesn't seem to get what's going on at all, which is to be expected for his age, but when we drag him on an airplane - one of his most favorite of all moving machines - and then drag him around looking at empty places, maybe he'll get an inkling of something. Okay, maybe not. I'm sure he'll just run about like the little loon that he is.

Our progress hasn't been the greatest so far in the packing area, but we have gotten rid of a lot of clothes and jackets and odds and ends. I've packed most of our pictures and art, my books that are in the condo (there are boxes in the storage unit as well), sold almost all our CDs, and some random things that aren't needed for day-t0-day life. I've found a home for Mateo's fish Water (you're off the hook, mom), have contacted Mayflower to get a shipping quote (they don't seem to think contacting me quickly is important, a fact which is putting them on my list), researched costs for car transportation, researched how to get to cats to Minnesota (vets bills, cat carriers, holding while walking through security gates not to mention their plane tickets), asked how to get my and Mateo's medical records (costs 20 bucks each if I just want copies, otherwise free when another doctor requests them), researched whether we should keep paying our outrageously expensive HOA dues until the bank takes back ownership on record (yes), researched apartments and town homes and locations and cities and public transportation and daycare locations and cost, and, and and and...

Now I'm just waiting for things to fall into place, one thing at a time, because each accomplished item gives the next item on the list the green light.

Oh, and did you realize it's cold in Minnesota? You betcha. Yes, I've researched how Minnesotans talk as well.

Another bunion surgery update.

2009-07-03T05:26:00.000-07:00

I had my last doctor appointment this week, saw my x-ray, admired my two little screws that are helping my cut toe heal, and was told I can get out of the surgical boot. I decided I'm quite fond of my surgical boot, and since I don't really have any shoes I can wear right no because of the healing incision mark (yes, it's still healing) and the soreness and tenderness on the side of my foot, I decided I would keep my fun fashion statement on my foot a bit longer.

My doc told me I would have pain for six months up to a year, and the more I walk on my foot with normal shoes, the more my foot will swell and throb by the end of the day.

I'm canceling my gym membership. Needless to say.

So all is well in the foot department. I can't tell you if the surgery is worth it or not just yet, but still, if you suffer through pain because of a bunion, this is a piece of cake PLUS you get to wear the fantastic surgical boot!

Want to see my Frankenstein foot?

2009-06-25T14:04:00.000-07:00

For all you bunion surgery recovery pictures how do I survive google searchers, I thought I should go ahead and post pictures of my foot. These were from about a week after my surgery.

Granted, these were taken in the bathroom and the lighting was horrible, but you get the gist of it all. You have an incision, it's fairly long, and the side of your foot will be swollen and bruised. It is still is bruised, but not so much swollen. And lucky me, my incision split open (not pictured) and so my scar is going to look really lovely, but since I don't care about the looks of my feet like most ladies do, I'm not worried about it.

It's been almost a month since my surgery, and in fact, I have an x-ray and a foot exam scheduled for next week where I find out if I'm stuck in the surgical shoe for two more weeks or if I can walk around in normal shoes. I'm actually hoping I don't have to wear a normal shoe although being treated like I'm missing a leg by random strangers (yes, this has happened, not often, but enough) or being told I forgot to wear my other sock (I wear a sock on the Frankenstein foot so my toes don't get all black and gross from walking around - brilliant, don't you think?) is starting to lose its thrill. I've been told my surgical shoe matches my bag, and my other shoe matches my pants, and so on and so forth. Lots of good jokes floating about because of my gimpiness.

So here's the scoop now that a month has gone by: It's not that bad. The recovery, that is. I would say the first two weeks one should defintely stay at home, eating bon-bons and watching those crazy Housewives of ____ (fill in your favorite). I was lucky enough to work at home the second week, so I didn't do much walking, but the little I did didn't feel too great. I was back at work by the third week, and yes, you will walk very slow and limp, and if you happen to wear a shoe on your normal foot that has a higher heel than the surgical shoe, then you're going to be really limping, which is something I did the first day back to work, and I've never worn that shoe again. Going down stairs is no fun. People don't care about you and your foot on public transportation. And if you get around toddlers with water, you will get your foot wet, so suck it up and hope you don't get an infection.

After the third week, if your incision hasn't split open and is in the process of healing and closing back up, your foot will start to feel almost...normal. Like you could walk on it barefoot. But I don't suggest it at all. In fact, I only take my surgical shoe off when I'm asleep or I know I'll be seated for some time. It's weirdly comforting. The tighter, the better!

Everyone asks me if it's painful, and honestly, it's not that bad. It's sorta like having a bunion! So, if you have a bunion, which I'm assuming you do since you're one of them google searchers (or my mom, or sis), then you can handle this. And I might be worth it. I can't tell you that yet. So go ahead and get it done and watch your TV shows and eat those bon-bons and relish in the fact that you won't have a big bone protruding out of the side of your foot anymore!

We've turned into statistics.

2009-06-21T07:27:00.000-07:00

When I was recovering from my bunion surgery, I started to read Do Not Deny Me by Jean Thompson, and one of the short stories in the collection was about a couple whose house was upside down in its value vs. what they paid and the husband got laid off from his job. The upside down part read so familiar to me, was so scary because we're in the same situation with our condo, but I had the relief of knowing that my husband and I were never going to lose our jobs. At least we had that. Because the couple in the story didn't have kids, but we have one, so the prospect of losing a job is really terrifying for me.

But the way the story is written, it's pretty realistic, which is why I'm loving Jean Thompson right now (still reading her book). It left me with a creepy, haunting feeling.

Fast-forward a week, Monday to be exact. On this day we all found out that jobs were being cut. My job, luckily, was not; however, my husband's job was being cut. Well, not so much cut as being moved. To another state. A state halfway across the country. Minnesota, to be exact.

So after having some people do some stuff and because my husband is so well-thought of in his job, it looks like we're moving to Minnesota in the next few months.

My job (my job outside of a job-job) is figuring out how to sell our condo, and my sister is setting me up with a realtor she knows to talk about short sales and how that's all going to work. We plan to go to MN in July to check out places that we've been checking out online, and figuring out where the best place to live will be. Other than that, we have a ton of packing to do and things to schedule and worries to worry.

And since I'm the biggest dork on the face of the earth, I lost sleep this morning thinking about how there won't be a litter box at our new place for when we show up with our two very unhappy cats. No, no...I don't worry about actually having them on a plane for 3.5 hours and how they will react. I worry about the poop box. And, if I know my kitties, the last thing they will want to do when they get to the new place and are let out of the cat carriers is poop or pee. But yet I'm still worried about it.

Now this, I tell you, this whole situation is great book fodder.

The bunion surgery post!

2009-06-07T15:44:00.000-07:00

My dear mother has been harassing me left and right about not writing in my blog or posting new pictures in Mateo's blog, so I finally decided some thoughts about my lovely bunion surgery are in order.

I've had many surgeries, all planned except one (Mateo's arrival into the world), and so I know how the ambulatory surgery works (they force you to go home with some pain meds and a phone call the next day). This go around I was forced to drive all over the place during the pre-op appointments, something I still don't quite understand, and I was given a "goodie" bag filled with a DVD or CD about preparing for the surgery (from that statement alone you can guess it was just thrown away) and a lovely sponge full of that organgey soap you see fake doctors use when scrubbing up for surgeries. While the doctors might be fake, the orangey soap is real. I had to get an EKG (I did better on it than my last one, which happened when I was pregnant and feeling faint a lot in the mornings), and the nurse practitioner had to make a point to tell me about how last time my results landed me in some zone I knew nothing about because my OBGYN at the time didn't seem to find it too concerning. My answer to her was "Oh."

On the day of the surgery, you go to the waiting room until a nurse calls you in and forces you to strip down to nothing, shove all your worldly possessions into some plastic bags, which are then taken from you and shoved into a locker, and the locker key is then pinned to your lovely open-backed gown. Then they take you into the reclining area to get all your info AGAIN (I don't know how many times I had to say the same thing over and over and over during all this), put your IV in, don't give you anything except liquids that make you have to pee after sitting there for an hour, and then bring in your visitor to keep you company until it's time to go get cut open.

Even though you're put in your own curtained-off room, you're really not alone when there are other patients waiting for their surgeries as well. I don't know why anyone would think having a curtain warrants talking really loudly about all one's issues, but apparently that makes it all okay. And that's exactly what some lady did in my waiting area. Every time someone asked her why she was there (it's a sneaky test, I tell you), she would go on and on about how she wanted the procedure done when she was 27 and the doctor wouldn't do it, and so now she's doing it and thank god and blah blah blah, and she's on 50 pills and her husband and step-father can decide everything for her if it comes down to it, her therapist knows this, and no, she never said she lived with my husband's family, oh, but wait, they do live right next door, hahaha, and she has a nice tie-dye dress to wear when going home, and when her husband asked if that was what she was wearing, she scoffed and said, what? you except me to put on PANTS after having this done? Oh, heck no. I need to AIR OUT.

She was having a hysterectomy.

And no, thankfully, she never did have kids.

She was also the lady in the waiting room (the waiting room before getting your wordily possessions taken away) in a robe whose husband cracked the funniest joke about someone having indigestion because the pipes in that part of the hospital were making horrible noises.

In essence, she was a winner.

I spent my waiting time in the back either listening to her crazy talk or looking at magazines (before and after articles are the best, thank you very much).

So then I had my surgery, which I was put into "twilight" sleep for, and I could feel the numbing shots, the sawing of bone and the stitching of stitches...but I didn't care one bit. I was sad when it was time to wake up. My foot didn't hurt and basically felt like a giant lump at the end of my leg. It was bandaged up and eventually I was given a shoe to put on it and some crutches and sent on my merry way. The shoe, which I have to wear for weeks, is nice and clunky, and at this point, the crutches are a nice decoration in our living room. When I take a shower, I use a lovely plastic cover thingy my mom lent me from her bunion surgery, and the first time I used it, I swear the bag was full of water by the time I was finished with my shower, and I was going to have to go to the ER and get my bandage re-bandaged, but it turns out I'm just delusional and all was okay.

Bunion surgery recovery isn't so bad the first and second day, but when the numbness wears off, ohmyithurtslikeheck. But by the next day after the numbness wears off, the pain was tolerable, but it's not like I was running around doing stuff. I'm moving around more and more as the days progress, and soon will be a full-on hobbly gimp out in the world. And recovery can be ameliorated by not having a cat who darts in front of you when you're trying to move about on crutches, a cat who is just asking to have her back snapped by a crutch. Not that I would ever do that. Just saying.

I go back to the doctor on Friday to get unbandaged, unstitched, and re-bandaged, and if I remember, I just might bring my camera with me to take a few shots so I can post them and gross someone out in the world who is googling "bunion surgery," as I have been doing repeatedly, even AFTER I've had the surgery. Now there is something to look forward to!

Random stuff that doesn't warrant a full post.

2009-05-21T13:23:00.000-07:00

1. Our dentist is part of the dental mafia. My husband decided a while back that he hates her and how she runs her practice, has refused to go to her or any dentist, and she's been after him ever since. I still go because I just need to ensure my teeth don't fall out of my head, so however she runs her practice is fine by me as long as my insurance covers it.

I have an appointment today at 3pm, and they've already called to confirm, so when they called today, I figured it was to tell me they need to reschedule my appointment (this is one of the reasons my husband hates her, that and she tried to convince him he has wisdom teeth and he swears he doesn't). I answered the phone, and after confirming I was she ("she" being me), I was told my husband has an appointment at 5pm today.

Now, while my husband does make appointments and then does not tell me about them, I do generally have an idea when he does make them. And I was pretty sure he didn't make this one. So I told her no, no he does not, and he cannot come in at that time. She said okay.

Who does that? Dental Mafia! That's who. I'm scared to go in now.

2. Mateo somehow learned about Superman from the kids at his daycare. He didn't learn it from us, that's for sure. We aren't all gung ho on him learning about things that aren't appropriate for his age, so this whole Superman thing caught us by surprise. He's gone so far as wanting to put a towel on his head so he can run around and say "Superman!" And now he's the owner of a Batman figure, who he proudly calls "Superman." And so do we now. And some day I will call Batman "Superman" to another adult and that person will think I've lost it.

3. Mateo has added verbs to his vocabulary. So now instead of being bossy sans verbs, he's bossy with verbs, which is more fun in general, don't you think? "Come on, Mommy. Mommy, come!" "Don't touching me!" Stuff like that. I love hearing my own child telling me not to touch him when all I'm trying to do is put his clothes on him or clean his butt.

4. I've overloaded myself yet again with random responsiblities, one I don't think I'm allowed to talk about on my blog per some agreement I said "yes" to, so I can't get into it, but I can say this: It's a great thing for someone who likes to read, but since I seem to have less time to read these days (not sure how that happened, but I'm not sucking down books like I was before), it's putting some stress on my do gooder attitude who is always wanting to please. I'm also reading a friend's novel and editing for grammar and overall content and flow. This requires me to not just read but to think at the same time, so finding time to do that is a tad hard as well. AND I need to be at my computer, which Mateo has a tendency to hate and tells me, "No, Mommy, no! Put away!" But I will get it done, and I'm actually excited to do some editing on something of substance for once.

I have other fun things to write about that do warrant a full post - like our third trip to the ER and Mateo's hospital stay, but I'm saving it for later when I can find some humor in the whole thing, which, right now, I really can't.

How've you been?

I think I'm Jen Lancaster but without the fashion sense.

2009-05-07T16:48:00.000-07:00

I'm reading Jen Lancaster's Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie is not the Answer for my gym reading (I just finished Howard Dully's My Lobotomy and before that I was reading Esmeralda Santiago's Turkish Lover, with the former being, yes, about lobotomies, and the later being most definitely NOT a romance novel, but I tried to hide the covers of both when first placing them on the treadmill book holder platform thing because I was really afraid someone would think I was reading a romance novel or comment that I'm a weirdo because I was reading about lobotomies - and now with Such a Pretty Fat, I find myself doing the same thing because I fear anyone who looks at the cover as I first place it on the holder thingy will thing: Such a pretty fat? At the gym? What kind of book is that to be reading at a gym?? And why are those undergarments so HUGE? or something like that.) and I realized I have many of the same qualities that Ms. Lancaster has.

Case in point:

She too was told by her doctor that she needed to lose weight because her health was at stake (although, for my sake, I truly believe her physical condition was (is?) way worse than mine, and I've never been a size 24, which she admits to being in the book).
She too feels she is too immature to be a home owner and feels she is probably better as a renter because of all those pesky home maintenance things we home (condo) owners must deal with on a daily, weekly, monthly, or annual basis (like changing the heater filter, which I've failed at doing repeatedly, or changing light bulbs that go out, or even dusting...oh wait, that has nothing to do with home ownership, darn).
She too has an ego that rears its head at times, and if I had a dime for each time I was told I have an ego just this year alone, I'd probably have a dollar. There is nothing wrong with some self-confidence.
She too hates public transportation but has to take it.
She too indulges in libations, even though I don't indulge as much as I used to because I'm a MOM now and MOMS do not do such things (tee hee), I can relate to some of her stories where she starts saying really stupid things and then wakes up the next morning wondering what the heck happened and how did her clothes get off? (her husband, and that would be my husband as well).
She too obsesses over really random and strange things and thinks turning off the lights and remaining still is the best way to avoid answering a door.

The one big difference between she and I is that I have no interest in expensive labels, although I do admit to watching fashion podcasts that feature famous clothing designers, and maybe, just maybe, if I was a size 2 or 4 or even 6, and I had a bazillion dollars to spend on clothes, I would buy myself some nicer clothes other than those from ON (Old Navy to you, buddy). I also have no interest in designer shoes as I can't get them on my jacked up monkey feet. I don't think going to the salon to get various things done to myself is a great way to spend my free time or my spare money.

So yes, there are some differences.

I also would not wear Lacoste polos or pink clothes.

Nor am I tan or do I think getting a fake bake is a grand idea.

I guess it's how we decide to dress and adorn our fatty mcgoo bodies is the big difference between us, other than that, I feel a weird kinship to her.

Phooey to the flu, among other things.

2009-05-07T12:16:00.000-07:00

So you've heard how the "piggy" flu really didn't do much, and yes, while people have gotten sick from it, and yes two people have died, are the victims (alive and dead) of H1N1 virus any more than the average flu season? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Stupid media and its scare tactics.

I'm also glad the the CDC wised up about telling schools they should close for 7 to 10 days, an action that has caused tons of parents agony because they don't have back-up childcare plans for days upon days during the school year, not to mention the lack of education during that time period, and so I heard some parents were dropping their kids off at the public library and calling it a day. So now the CDC has decided that if a kid gets sick, then the sick kid should stay home while all the healthy kids go to school. Hmmm. Dontcha think?

So yes, that's all over and done with for now until the next scare comes up, which, since it's almost summer, will most likely be shark attacks since nothing else seems to be going on (oh, you know, besides Iraq and the economy falling to pieces and all that fun stuff....).

Enough of all that. Now let's talk about me.

Bunions. Not onions. BUNIONS. They are fun.

My mom has suffered from bunions for most of her life until she got them fixed (or one...can't remember now). I went to the doctor in my mid-20's about my feet because they hurt all the time, and I was told to wear better shoes and I had bunions and sorry, nothing can be done except wearing better shoes.

For almost 10 years I've been wearing what is considered "better shoes," and for almost 10 years I've had foot pain, mostly in my left foot. I have a moderate bunion on that foot, my big toe is slightly turned in, and it really doesn't matter what shoe I wear (or none), my foot will hurt when it wants to hurt and it hurts like the dickens.

I wore a pair of Easy Spirits, or some brand along those lines, a few weeks ago, and for two days after wearing them, I had sharp nerve pains shooting from my foot to my belly and my foot felt like someone broke all the bones on the inner side where the bunion has formed.

I decided enough was enough, and I went to my doctor, who referred me to a podiatrist, who said, "Sure, we can fix that for you, if you want. Just keep in mind it's 4-6 weeks of healing."

My answer?

"I don't care. I want it gone."

So in the beginning of June I am having a bunionectomy performed on my left foot. And I am darn tickled about it.

For fun, I just looked up videos about bunionectomies and found a whole mess of them that show the real deal. Instead of linking to one of those, I'll link to this fun, less than 60 second, beauty: Austin Bunionectomy - Surgical Animation. Go ahead, you're dying to look, I know.

I am no stranger to surgeries, so I'm not worried about that at all, and I'm not even worried about the pain I will be in after the surgery, but I am worried how my family's life will be while I'm recovering. Mateo still doesn't get the connection of "it hurts here" so don't bumrush me and make it hurt more, and he will still bumrush (but that's after inspecting the "hurt"). My husband will have to pick up many of the duties I do day to day. My mom is helping out as well. So my biggest worry is making other people's lives more complicated.

But then I look at my foot or I step down and it feels like the bones are all shifting about weirdly, and I'm okay with the decision again.

Plus I get to lay on the couch and do nothing for a few days except watch TV or read. Can't really beat that. I will finally catch up on LOST and a bazillion other shows I don't have time to watch, plus get some extra sleep plus read without a toddler yelling at me just as soon as I get into what I'm reading. It'll be painful, but worth it on so many levels. So very worth it.

I am mad about H1N1. (Updated since I published before I was finished because that's how I roll.)

2009-04-29T20:47:00.001-07:00

There is nothing more I hate than watching the news in the morning and being shown one negative segment after another about something we humans cannot control. I stopped watching the morning news because of this reason. Morning news is good for two things: The weather (and to see how hookerish the weather lady is dressing that day, which, sadly, has become less and less as the months have passed by - I tell you, she wore some doozy outfits some days) and to see if BART is messed up and if we can get to work or not (99% of the time we can). Other than that, they repeat the same stupid segments over and over, including warnings about the soon-to-be TV cable change thing the FCC is enforcing that I'll never understand.

So this morning I decide to turn on the TV, and low and behold all the news people were talking about was the "swine" flu and how horrible it is and how the US had its first death and schools are closing and you should really clean your keyboard at work not to mention leave a bottle of hand sanitizer next to your phone with a note posted telling people to use the sanitizer before using your phone.

There was only one segment where they showed some lady from some government organization who clearly and calmly stated that we really didn't have much to worry about as long as we paid attention to what the heck was going on with us if we get sick.

As you can probably tell, I'm not too worried about the H1N1 virus. I know that I won't get it from eating pigs, kissing pigs, petting pigs or looking at pigs. I think it's silly that all the surgery masks in San Francisco drugstores are all sold. Next will be all the hand sanitizers. And has anyone ever thought that the more you sanitize yourself into petri dish standards (minus the test subject), the easier it'll be for viruses and germs to attack your body? I'm not saying be a Pig-Pen about it, but the more you try to live in a bubble, the harder it'll be to fight any illness you get.

While I'm not worried about the flu, I am worried that my son's daycare will be closed for a week because someone got scared or, by chance, a kid did get the H1N1 virus and our daycare is forced to close down by the CDC. And, of course, when I got to our daycare last night to pick up Mateo, they had a letter out to all the parents telling them they do their part by sanitizing all the toys and stuff and making sure the kids wash their hands, the teachers wash their hands and wear gloves, etc., but that parents need to do their part and make sure our little Pig-Pens remain relatively clean while at home (hand washing, trying to get the kids to cover their mouths while coughing and sneezing (and then washing hands again), etc.

Common sense, no?

So until many people at work start getting really sick, or the BART trains become more and more empty, and most of the kids at Mateo's daycare get sick with it, I'm just going to view this as excessive media coverage that's informing while scaring the living poop out of most people.

And I thought I've seen it all.

2009-04-17T12:41:00.000-07:00

Ah, public transportation. It's a wonderful thing. It saves the environment, gives commuters time to read, watch things on their iPods, talk on the phone, sleep. It's great. For the price of $10.50 a day plus a dollar for parking, I get to ride the rails with a bunch of people whom I hope will leave me alone.

Right now I'm totally into Brotherhood, which is just about the best TV show on paid cable these days. Since we don't pay for any fancy paid cable channels (HBO, Showtime, etc.), we have to watch these shows by renting from Netflix, record them, and convert the format so we can watch them on our iPods. It's nearly impossible to watch any normal TV these days, so we figured this is much easier to do than hold onto the DVDs for ages.

There I was, happily watching Brotherhood while going to work this morning, when I happened to look up. There was a man and lady sitting in the seat in front of me. The man had his laptop on his lap. He was looking at pictures of Lil' Kim. She was clothed in the pictures, but they were, ahem, sexy pictures with sexy clothes and sexy poses. Not 100% appropriate for a public space, but what can one do?

These weren't small pictures either. They were decent-sized - the can't really hide the fact that he was looking a random sexy pictures of a well-endowed lady size.

He was using the picture-viewer that most PCs have to look at his library of sexy pics, so it was one picture at a time, slowly. I was watching him looking at the pictures. He clicked to the next one, and it was Lil' Kim bare-breasted. And he stayed on the picture. And the lady next to him shifted to the right, away from him. And I got really mad. Then he clicked to the next picture, which was Lil' Kim in on all fours pose but from the side. He zoomed in to take a closer look at her butt.

So now I've seen it all. I wanted to smack him upside his bald head and tell him to act like a civilized man. Who does that?

Instead, I texted my husband about it because I was so mad (I don't normally text, so this shows how mad I was, but you'd have to be me to know that), and after I was done (it took me forever because, as I said, I don't text that often), I looked up, and the man is playing solitaire with thumbnails of Lil' Kim in the background.

He got off soon after that.

I just don't get it. Where is the shame? The dignity? Or just the respect for all the ladies surrounding you as you look at your sexy Lil' Kim pictures?

Hissing ball of fur.

2009-04-16T08:36:00.000-07:00

I have two cats. I love my cats. I love most cats, if not all cats, but some cats are just mean as all get go, so I really can't say that I do, in fact, love all cats. Zoe, our black, tiny, used to be a sort of feral cat before we took in, and she is the sweetest, most passive, most simple cat I've had living with me (I almost wrote "owned," which is probably a common thing to state with animals, but really, who does the "owning" in a pet relationship?). Sophia, on the other hand, she's the miss-mosh of colors, fuzzy, big and bird-boned ornery cat.

We got Sophia when our other cat, Oreo, had to be put down after a very sad and tragic stroke (I still can't shake the overall emotional feeling I had when I found her paralyzed in our bathroom -- ugh, there it goes again, shuddering through my soul). I was completely distraught over Oreo's death, and we decided getting another cat almost immediately would help me get over it. While I tend to be rather, how do I say it, selfish at times, I really do like taking care of others. That was the void I wanted to fill, not so much the learning all about a new cat and making friends with a new cat void.

We headed on over to the ASPCA and looked around, and for some reason I was pulled to Sophia. She was young (1 at the time), fluffy and pretty. Her write-up said she LOVES to be brushed, she was a lap cat, and she was friendly. The first clue to the fact that the author of her write-up was a practicing fiction writer was that Sophia was in a room all by herself. Most of the cats had a cat friend to hang out with in the cat rooms (ASPCA is very cool that they have cat rooms and not cages), but not Sophia. She was pretty friendly with us, I was smitten, and we took her home.

Slowly her kookball of a personality unfolded, and I soon lost interest in her as a cat I could baby. She was independent, not a lap cat (well, sort of she is), and DETESTS being brushed not to mention getting her dragon lady nails cut. As with most cats, she's a tad off in the head, but her offness is usually displayed as pure violent evilness.

Blood has been shed, poor Zoe is often attacked, and she needs to be kept away from Mateo most times.

Don't get me wrong, she's a great cat - if you're me. She seems to find me as attractive as a smattering of cat nip on a rug. So you can imagine her annoyance when Mateo showed up and never left. She is so enamored by me that when I give Mateo a bath, she has to try with all her might to get on my lap so I will pay attention to her and only her. She has to be in the bathroom with me while I'm using it. She has to sleep with me and follow me around incessantly.

I am her person.

With all this toughness, you'd think she came from the streets like Zoe did. She got out once at our old apartment (wearing a Christmas ruffle around her neck, mind you, which somehow slipped down to her waist and looked very much like a tu-tu), but when I realized she was missing and began calling her name, she popped out of some bushes with a look of wild confusion on her cat face, like, "What the hell is wrong with this new room?! It's cold!"

Zoe has snuck out twice, and both times, Sophia hisses and hisses at her for days until all the nasty outside smell has finally drifted off of Zoe.

Basically, Sophia is a princess who acts like a ruffian. She is tough, but really, not that tough.

Last night when my husband came home, Sophia, for whatever reason, decided to dart out into the hallway of our condo building. When she was steps outside the door, she hunkered down and started hissing at nothing.

My husband yelled for me to come help him since his hands were full and our front door is a heavy fire door that won't remain open. I went out there and Sophia turned toward me and hissed. That was when Mateo came running towards the door saying, "Mommy? Mommy?," and since the door is a heavy fire door, and it shuts on its own, my husband freaked out about Mateo's little fingers getting stuck in the door (which has happened to me and it doesn't feel so hot).

While I bent down to pick up the hissing fuzzball cat, my husband freaked out about her attacking me (it's been known to happen), and I was freaked out about Mateo, and so I figured if I got scratched up, oh well; I just wanted Sophia in the condo and Mateo's fingers to remain chubby and cute.

I got Sophia inside, threw her in our room and closed the door to protect everyone (more to protect Zoe, who was bound to get attacked for no reason) from her since she looked like she just went off the deep end.

We still don't know why she ran out. She knows she doesn't want to be outside. We know it, she knows it, so I think she lost her marbles when the door opened. If we didn't get her back inside, she's probably be in the same spot, hissing away until her spit dried up.

The one where I give my kid Reese's Pieces and almost kill him. Yeah, that one.

2009-04-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

We had a slight peanut butter incident last year - where I tried to give him some on a graham cracker, and he proceeded to freak out and then get some on his hand and then rub his eye, and then his whole face ballooned up and his eye got infected. I was told way back then to lay off the peanut butter until he was 3 years old.

Pshaw.

I've always been one to not follow directions or instructions when I felt they didn't make a lick of sense. Yeah, it doesn't always work out for me, but I'm still alive, so I at least have that going for me.

Mateo doesn't really care for candy, nor have we really given him any candy, but, as I mentioned previously, he does enjoy a glazed donut hole or two or three or four as well as 'i cream.' So he has a sweet tooth in there somewhere. As I was shopping for Easter basket goodies, which was going to be mainly toys and books and nothing edible, I thought: Hmmm... M&Ms would be good; If anything, we could eat them. And then I saw the egg-shaped Reese's Pieces and thought, well....he is over two....and my husband does love them....and figured it was okay to buy them and try them out.

Now, my husband and I both don't have nut allergies nor does anyone in our family as far as we know. It's just peanut butter, for poopsake. I figured trying it wasn't going to hurt anyone.

As you can tell, this is where the story goes terribly bad.

Mateo and I were hanging out, playing with play-doh while my husband was at the gym. That's when I got the brilliant idea to open the bag of Reese's Pieces and give one to Mateo to see how he liked it. I had to bite it in half since it has a hard candy shell was was bigger than the normal size. He chewed it, said, "MMmmmmm....," and asked for more. I gave him three half pieces in all. For some reason I told myself that was all he should get even though I knew he liked it. I'm not going to say it's mother's intuition or anything, but I just didn't want him to have any more.

Fast-forward 10 to 15 minutes, and we were in his room, playing with random toys and coloring when he started to complain about his stomach hurting. He has really never made it apparent that his stomach hurts until then, so I was worried, and yes, I suspected the peanut butter, but at the same time, I have never heard of someone with a peanut allergy having a stomach ache. Actually, I've never known anyone with a peanut allergy.

After that, we spent some time watching TV. My husband came home from the gym and began getting ready to go out for the evening. That's when Mateo went from no cough to coughing like he was in the midst of a bad cold.

I gave him his asthma medicine thinking he was having an asthma attack. That didn't work. Then he started scratching at his neck and head. My husband asked if I thought it was the Reese's Pieces and should he stay home, and I was so freaked out about the whole thing I said no, it's not from the Reese's Pieces (even though, at that time, I figured it was) and no, I don't want you to stay home. I think I was feeling like since I did this to Mateo, I should be the one to fix it.

Mateo then went from goofy kid with a cough and an itch to miserable kid who was obviously suffering, and I was already on the phone with Kaiser (And, by the way, Kaiser? When I need to talk to someone immediately, I should not be forced to listen to the what seems like five minutes of pre-recorded nonsense, and yes, I know you say to hang up and call 911 in an emergency, but sometimes, sometimes we moms don't want to believe that an emergency is happening and don't want to call 911 and then see their kids whisked away in an ambulance. Because that means we really screwed up.). The nurse said to bring him into the ER. NOW.

Of course the ride to the ER, which should take all of 10 minutes, if that, felt like an eternity, and it was only during the car ride that I was truly, truly frightened for my boy's life.

He was seen right away, was given Benadryl and prednisone and two nebulizer treatments, and then sent on his merry way. When he woke up Sunday morning, no one would have been able to tell what that poor boy when through the night before.

Next week he's seeing an allergy specialist because I need to know what he's allergic too, and if it is more than one thing. I feel bad putting him through whatever he'll be going through (that's if the doctor deems it necessary, I suppose), but I also don't want him to go through that again.

Mom guilt seems to get worse and worse for me. Perhaps there should be classes all about the joys of mom guilt to go with how to swaddle a baby and this is how your pelvis will naturally open up wider. Oh yeah, but I do have that whole not listening to instructions thing....

Life lessons start early and cause much pain.

2009-04-10T13:29:00.000-07:00

I was working at home yesterday. The phone rang. I looked at it to see if I needed to answer it or not. My son's daycare name was listed.

Oh no, I thought. Please don't be sick, please don't be sick, please don't be sick.

I answered, and the center director was calling about Mateo. The first thing she said was that it's been a long time since she's had to call me.

"I know....," I answered, as in: Why ARE you calling me???

Basically, it happened like this: Mateo was playing with an xylophone when another child decided they wanted to play with it (the incorrect pronoun use is on purpose in case - this is how it was told to me...stay with me). A slight scuffle ensued because Mateo, being the xylophone loving fool that he is, didn't want to give up the instrument to the other child. That was when SHE scratched him. Right on his cute little chubby cheek. Everyone is fine, he got the scratch cleaned, so on and so forth.

Now, I found it really interesting that the director wanted to hide the gender of the student and then slipped when she said "...she scratched his cheek...." I think they don't ever want to give away the idenity of the other student who did the hurting or who got hurt because they don't want the parents to get into it like some crazed sports mom/dad rivalry thing. There aren't many girls in Mateo's room, but still, I was never going to figure it out.

My first concern was if he was okay, and then it was whether he did anything back to her. I hate the idea of him hurting another child even though I know it's part of being a kid. As long as he's not bleeding to death or has a broken bone or has been ruthlessly attacked by a rabid monkey child, I'm never going to get mad when a scuffle ensues. It's part of life. At least a 2-year old's life. I get the feeling my take on the situation is very opposite from most parent's take because the director always seems to fear confrontation after she tells me when something happens.

When I went into his room at daycare, I was greeted with my scratched-cheek boy, who was as happy as ever.

His teacher told me that he only cried right when it happened and then was soon over it. Sounds just like my boy.

I told the ladies that I told my husband he needs to start teaching Mateo that when lady wants something of his, Mateo needs to just hand it over immediately and save himself some trouble.

Ain't that the truth? I think so.

Can I have a do-over, please? Or just more time in life.

2009-04-09T05:36:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my boss yesterday (and this is not a work-related post by any means, so I can officially say I was talking to my boss and not "someone I know" or "some random lady who controls me during the day" or "the Sugar Momma who bought me the tasty Eggs Benedict on Monday morning" even though all may be very true) about what I recently decided I want to do with my life, which, again, is totally not work-related as far as what I do now, so it's okay to talk about it.

She said something along the lines of, "Doesn't it stink that you have to decide what you want to do when you're young and not when you're older, when you do figure it out?"

And yes, it does suck the biggest monkey toes around.

Sure, I love to write, I love the whole grammar thing, I love to edit, I love to draw and paint and make up funny cartoons and design things and take pictures and make jewelry and cook and read and listen to music and write about music, but that's not what I want to do in life. I wouldn't mind doing any of those things and get paid, don't get me wrong. I thrive on creating things, whether it's something tangible or something in my head that I'm just talking about or dreaming about. I think I've always been that way.

But the one thing I do know about myself is that with all of the above, I can drop any one of them and not pick it up again for the rest of my life and I would be okay.

Well, I take that back - most of them. I think I will always write. Which sort of leads me into what I've decided I want to do.

I've always been interested in people and how they think. I over analyze people in hopes I can figure out why they do what they do, which I'm sure most people do not do and yes, that makes me a tad nuts. I'm really interested in what makes people do what they do, think how they think, and how the brain works. I started listening to more science podcasts (especially Radio Lab, just about the best darn science podcast out there), and that's when I discovered this thing called Neuroscience.

I've heard the term before. It meant nothing to me, but yes, I've heard it. Basically it's the study of the nervous system. But it's also so much more than that. At least, it can be.

There is a branch of neuroscience called neuropsychology - and that is what I'm most interested in. So I looked up Stanford to see if they have a degree in it (yes) and then told my husband I was going to Stanford to become a neuropsychologist. He said something like "good deal," which really means, "Yeah, sure, another dream of yours that won't pan out...." But the thing is, is that I really am interested in this. Like, I could see myself doing this. And I can see myself writing books about the brain, similar to Oliver Sacks (who is just the cutest flipping old man around and yes, he wrote Awakenings, a movie I have always loved (have yet to read the book though)) and Steven Pinker, and V. S. Ramachandran to name a few. See how I can bring that whole writing thing into this new interest?

If I had no family relying on me, I would figure out how to drop it all and go back to school. Since I do have family relying on me, I just have to wait. I can be the oldest neuropyschologist out in the world. Why not. I already plan on bring "fun" back to neuroscience.

I give up! I do not know my child.

2009-04-03T12:39:00.000-07:00

As a parent, I often find myself spouting off about what Mateo does and does not like. For example, he's never seemed too interested in chocolate, although loves glazed donuts. He doesn't care for super sugary things (except for the aforementioned glazed donut), and will eat a bit of a cookie or graham cracker, but loves ice cream (I just found that out last weekend).

I have realized that since he is changing on a daily basis, I must give up on knowing him in that way. That "this is my child and I know him" way.

This morning I gave Mateo a package of honey graham bunnies to eat before taking him to daycare. I was starving, so I grabbed the bag of chocolate graham bunnies to eat. I handed him his open package, opened mine, and he immediately wanted what I was having.

"It's chocolate," I said.

He looked at the dark brown bunny curiously, took it, and put it in his mouth.

"You like it? You like the chocolate?" I asked him.

He nodded his head in agreement swiftly took my bag of chocolate graham bunnies. So, being a mom who is used to this sort of thing, I took his bag of honey graham bunnies and began eating them.

"Cha-co-lat," he said. "Cha-co-lat buuuny."

Now, I think my kid is a good speaker. He's got a wide repertoire of words he uses, and some we're still figuring out (like "atches" = ashes, as in "ashes, ashes, we all fall down" - my husband always gets this but I sit there and say, "Atches? Itches? Something itches? Where does it itch?"). But he doesn't have too many polysyllabic words under his belt. We have to break up longer words into chunks for him to repeat them. And even then, we know there is no way he's going to walk away and use the word.

So I was fairly surprised that he started saying "chocolate." He was even intoning "chocolate" in goofy ways, like "cha-co-LATE!"

I gather the boy likes chocolate. Or, at least, chocolate graham bunnies.

He took the bag of chocolate graham bunnies in the car with him, and when I got him out of the car at daycare, he said, "Bye bye, cha-co-late buuunies."

How did he learn to say 'chocolate' so well? I have no idea. Just like I had no idea he would want to eat the chocolate graham bunnies. I guess I just don't know much of anything.

It was like having we were having two different conversations.

2009-04-01T07:37:00.000-07:00

I ran into a high school friend while at the grocery store yesterday. This is the conversation we had:

My name being called.
Me looking around. Seeing HS Friend who shall be deemed HSF from this point on.
HSF: Hi! This is so weird!
Me: I know!
HSF: This is the second time this has happened!
Me: I know! What is it with the grocery store?

Side note: Last time I randomly saw her, it was at the grocery store.

HSF: I just saw blah blah blah the other day! It's so weird. I haven't seen her since graduation, and then we become friends on Facebook, and then I see her running of all things.
Me: Oh, that is weird.

Side note: We just became friends on Facebook, and I thought she was talking about it was weird we keep seeing each other in grocery stores, and then soon realized the weird thing was befriending people on Facebook and then seeing them.

HSF: So, are you planning on having any more little ones?
Me: Oh, well. Not right now. We really can't afford it.
HSF: I know, there's always something you need to buy.
Me: Oh, well, no, it's not that. It's daycare and our mortgage.

Side note: I think she's homeschooling her kid, or someone is homeschooling her kid, and when I said "daycare," her eyes shifted like she was thinking, "what kind of monster mother puts her kid in daycare?!" Or maybe she was weirded out about the mortgage thing. I'm not sure.

Side note on the above side note: She's a hippy, a tad out there, and I think has always had to live with roommates, and hasn't always had her kid living with her.

Side note on the above side note of the above side note: I'm really not a jerk. I just sound like one.

HSF: Oh, yeah...

Staring at each other. Realizing we have nothing in common anymore.

HSF: So! What's for dinner?

I flipped through my meal plans in my head, got confused because I had to change them on Monday, remembered what it was, realized I had totally bypassed that aisle, and then realized I had totally forgotten Mateo's mini pizza things in the deli area (flat bread pizzas...mmmm).

Me: Oh! Um...Tequila-lime chicken burgers. And I just realized I passed the aisle. And I passed something else I need to get up front.
HSF: Oh. (laughs)

Niceties ensue, we part ways without promises to call each other or try to meet up because really, what would we talk about?

We run into each other again in the beer aisle. I was calling my husband because I wanted to know if he wanted Guinness or not.

HSF: I'm just stalking you now. (laughs)
Me: I really should take my husband shopping with me. It's so much easier than having to call him to see what he wants.
HSF: (looks confused). Yeah. Okay, bye!

I check out, almost kill two kids who were totally nuts and in my way (and were previously in my way, and I had to sorta yell at one of them to get out of my way, so they were already scared of me), and really, I was more annoyed with the mom who either was ignoring them and what they were doing or yelling for them to stop climbing on displays but doing nothing to physically to stop it.

I get outside, and HSF is sitting on the planter with her shopping basket next to her, waiting for something or someone, or just sitting there, who knows.

Me: I'm "this" close.... (meaning losing my cool because of stupid kids and their mom)
HSF: Ah, looks like a good night tonight.
Her eyes make a beeline to the 6-pack of beer in my cart.
HSF: Guinness. Nice.....

Side note: She drinks. A lot. From what I can discern. Among other things.

Me: Oh. It's not mine. I don't really like it.
HSF: Oh, you don't like it....
Right then I knew I was crossed off her list of potential friends resurfaced.
HSF: Have a good night!

Just to save my level of cool in everyone's eyes, I happened to have made a whole mess of new friends who did not attend my high school. She seems to have remained friends with many of our high school classmates and really hasn't seemed to move on from where she was 17 years ago.

And that's a whole other story that I just do not understand.

Hints don't work. And now I realize links and "buy this for me NOW" doesn't work either.

2009-03-30T19:28:00.001-07:00

My boss recently went to New York and came back with this really cool, teeny tiny, iPod speaker. It is only available in Korea and the MOMA in NY. They are I.dear Speakers, and they are awesome, and if you are like me, and have the first generation iPod touch, then you aren't blessed with the sorta okay speakers that come with the new fangled iPod touch, 2nd generation.

I often drag my laptop around with me just so I can listen to music on last.fm, my choice for an online "radio." Basically, you tell it what band you want to hear, and it picks similar bands and just plays them until it can't figure out any more similar artists. I usually do this when I'm cooking dinner or taking care of the dishes.

Sure, we have a nice Bose iPod player that I moved into the dining area, but when you have a bossy toddler on your hands who must watch TV after a hard day at daycare, then it's much easier to lug your laptop with you than try to listen to music in the Bose player. And earbuds are so not a good idea with a bossy toddler.

When my boss played the speaker for me, I was truly smitten. A smitten kitten, I was. I told my husband I had to have it, sent him the link, and I told him to buy it for me. I said how nice it would be if he would buy it and give it to me as a surprise. Wouldn't that be lovely? Yes. It would be. He even came over and listened to the speaker, and I think he was impressed, but what do I know.

I need this little speaker. I must have it.

So one day he tried to give me 20 bucks to deposit. I was like, "What? Why?" because he's very fond of his cash on hand and doesn't like to share.

"So I can buy something," he said.

Ah, how cute, I thought. He wants to use his 20 bucks to put towards my speaker!

"No...just keep it, that's silly," I said.

As an afterthought, I asked, "Where did you get this?"

"I was hoarding it," he told me.

(I'm now wondering if he meant the 20 bucks for my speaker or for shoes...darn my husband. I'll keep pretending it was for my speaker.)

So I waited, and waited, and waited. I finally had to go onto Mint.com and get our money straight again, and I realized there was no charge for the speaker.

Yes, my heart sank.

"I want this, here is the link, buy this for me!" doesn't seem to work. And if that doesn't work, then nothing will work.

So I had to ask.

"Did you order the speaker for me?"

"Um. Nooooooo. I didn't know where I should order it from," he said in a slight, I'm ready to get annoyed with you any second voice.

"I sent you the link," I told him.

"I know. But I thought I could get it at SFMOMA," he said. SFMOMA just happens to be right next to our work building.

"You can't. You can only get it at the NY MOMA! Never mind. I'll just order it myself," I said.

I grumbled some other stuff, he shot me a dirty look, that was the end of that.

Today I reminded him that Mother's day is May 10th and I expect that he and Mateo plan something fantastic for me.

He told me he needed to order the salt and pepper shakers then.

I asked what salt and pepper shakers. I don't know what you're talking about.

He said exactly.

So I had to politely remind him AGAIN that I wanted the speaker, not stupid salt and pepper shakers.

He said he made it up to get me in a tizzy.

I still don't believe him, and I already told him that if he gives me salt and pepper shakers, he's getting a napkin dispenser for Father's Day.

Youdata.com - Update number two.

2009-03-30T17:32:00.000-07:00

I'm still not getting much money - maybe $1.50 if that (and that's between my account and the one I forced my husband to sign up for). It's nice to get some random change every so week, so I'm not going to complain. Although I still wish it were covering my morning coffee.

However, one thing I have noticed that I'm going to blame on Youdata is that I get a whole heck of a lot of spam e-mail.

What made me suspicious that Youdata might be selling my email address is that I got this random email from some kid's advice web site acting like I had signed up to their site and they knew I had a blog and they wanted bloggers to write about certain topics they come up with and mention their site and then let them know and all this crazy talk and I was like, when did I ever sign up for this nonsense?

Then, all of a sudden, I got emails once or twice a day from them. Which is one or two times more than I wanted. So I told them to stop emailing me, and they have, but come on....kids....bloggers....blogging about kids....Yeah okay, Youdata, I know it's you.

I asked my friend, who is also signed up to Youdata so she can get her piddly dimes on too, if she was getting tons of spam email, and she said yes. That was clue number three. I haven't asked my husband yet, but I'm sure it's the same thing for him.

I know that spam email is just a fact of internet life, but still. I get tired of reporting spam email and then just getting the same thing the next day. And if it doesn't even seem remotely legit, I don't open it, so I can't tell them to leave me alone. Just today Human Resources emailed me about a job they found me. And I got a notice that if I join AARP, I would get a free travel kit.

Okay, Human Resources where? And with what comapany? The Human Resources company? And last time I checked, I'm not AARP age. I also got something about growing tomatoes for a penny. A penny! Sign me up.

I probably get about 20 or more spam emails a day. To put it into perspective, I used to get maybe 1 in a few days.

So that's just something to think about. I don't care what Youdata says about privacy and respecting it and blah blah blah, I'm almost sorta positive they've sold everyone's email addresses.

Can I get in trouble for assuming that? Oh well. As long as I keep getting my buck fifty, I guess it's a weird trade off.

(And yes, I do realize I could have set up a separate email address for signing up for Youdata and never go and look at it, but I'm sorry, I can be a big dummy with these things. At least I admit it.)

What's next? Mini fridge? Shaving? Sleep treading??

2009-03-24T17:15:00.000-07:00

I went to the gym today. My gym is set up so the back row of equipment is all those horrible things called (and believe it or not, I have to really think hard to remember what they are called, which is what I'm doing right now as I type this) ellipticals. Then it's a row of treadmills (Gimme a T-R-E-A-D....GOOOOOOO! TREADMILLS!) (that was my attempt at showing how I love the treadmill so), then a row of stair climbers and stationary bikes and some other odd looking things with pads that I will probably never use. Beyond all that is the "real" exercise equipment for the "real" exercisers (like my husband).

Since I'm in the middle, I never know what's going on behind me. I can imagine what's going on behind me because I'm always thinking people are staring at my big butt and my wonky walking technique (I tend to veer at times). And I sweat profusely, so at some point, my pants have bunched up between my chubby thighs, and I try to casually shimmy the material loose so I don't keep feeling like the material is headed on up inside of me.

But other than that, yeah, I don't know what's going on behind me. What's going on in front of my is fairly amusing, and I think random thoughts about people, but I can't help that, and it only fuels my fear that the people behind me are thinking random thoughts about my pants slowly creeping up.

Today I had to use the bathroom before I left (I know, I know, no one really needs to know that, but it's important for the story). I might take this moment to mention that my gym uses super powerful hand soap that no matter how long you rub your hands together under running water, you will not get that dang flowery soap off your hands. I exited the bathroom and headed towards the last row of equipment--the horrible ellipticals--so I could walk behind them and head on out the door.

That's when I saw it.

I thought texting while on the treadmill was stupid. Was I wrong. There was a man with a Bluetooth thing stuck in his ear, talking wildly about something really important (Because it had to be really important to be talking wildly at the gym, yes? That's what I thought too.) On his back was a back pack. With, what I have to assume, but I must admit right off that I don't know for sure, a battery pack of some kind in it. Because I kid you not, he had some electronic thingy on the elliptical platform where most people with common sense would put a book or a magazine.

I kid you not.

Oh, wait, I already said that.

But seriously, I kid you not.

It really makes me think going to the gym will either give me tons of blog fodder or just drive me mad.

And I'm happy to report that there were no naked ladies in the bathroom this time. I fear the gym bathroom just for that reason.

I stole this picture from Perezhilton.com and I don't care!

2009-03-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

I couldn't find the original picture or of something similar, so I stole. Shame on me. But at least I gave credit. Which I don't normally do.

So this is Octo-mom's new stroller (according to perezhilton.com). This also happens to be the buggy that Mateo's daycare uses to cart around babies during warmer weather since they really can't go outside until they are walking. The only big difference is the plastic baby seats welded to the handle bar, which my daycare does not have on their buggies (the official term and not stroller). And I'm sorry, it just looks all sorts of wrong not to mention dangerous and a slightly shoddy looking welding job.

Mateo was sitting with me when I started writing this post, and he exclaimed, "Babies! Babies!" when he saw the picture. Because the babies get moved around the daycare property in this thing and all the toddlers, who have forgotten that just last year they were hitching a ride in this fantastic buggy, get all goofy about seeing the babies being paraded around like show ponies.

Oh how soon they all forget.

But unless there is a secret compartment in the back where she can store her bags and bags of groceries (because you know with 14 kids to feed she'll have bags and bags of groceries), I wouldn't touch that buggy with a 10-foot pole.

Who told men they can go back to the ponytail look?

2009-03-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

This is a serious, serious issue. It started with one person - a guy who was "growing out" his hair. That, in itself, is silly. This is 2009, not the '70s, and no man should be "growing out" his hair.

Well, now that his hair has grown, but in no way is long, he has decided that he needs to pull back his luxurious, oftentimes greasy, locks into a ponytail. This is not your ordinary ponytail, nor is it a New Agey man ponytail (pulled to the base of the neck, many times just a few scraggly pieces), this is some stupid samurai looking, hair pulled from the sides and gathered in the back while the front is still floppy and there is a tuft hanging below the tail, ponytail. It's very much like Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai when he pulls his hair back (and, of course, I could not find a picture of him with his hair pulled back for demonstration purposes), but this guy is no Tom Cruise. Nor a samurai for that matter.

And the trend, unfortunately, has spread.

One day I was confronted by another guy, who is growing out his hair, but it's not even remotely as long as the first guy, and, if you remember, the first guy's hair isn't even long, with a teeny tiny tuft on the back of his head. He basically gathered what he could and wrapped a rubber band around it. This guy is an unfortunate victim of adult acne, hence our nickname for him - Pizza Face - so he looks like some toddler's twisted version of baby doll with chicken pox. And yes, I realize I'm 35 and calling people Pizza Face. I am a nickname fanatic - mean or nice - and 9 times out of 10, they stick.

And then today I turned around to find myself looking at yet another guy with his hair pulled back in a pouf of a ponytail. He has curlyish hair, so it looked like a French poodle's nicely shorn tail with the pouf adornment at the tip.

I have to assume this is some weird trend starting up. I thought it was a stupid kick to look like a samurai. But the third guy isn't the "I want to look like a samurai" type, so I'm not sure that explains it. I think all these guys think they look good with their tufts of ponytail.

So what I want to know is this: Who went and decided this is a good idea? Because all the ladies I talk to about this trend think it's a stupid idea. And you can only make so many jokes about a samurai's club before you realize these guys are serious. And that is simply frightening.