So that thing? That I was doing with a friend? That's my friend there, with his son. And together, we put up a basketball hoop for Andrew.
That's right, we were smarter than a basketball hoop. And it might not even fall down! What's more, it might not even pull the garage down with it.
Putting up the hoop was a two-day cavalcade of "What the hell?" and "Who builds a garage with studs that are 21-and-a-half inches apart?" and "Ah shit--do we go back and fix that, or keep going and pretend we didn't see it?"
Amazingly enough, Andrew has tested it (with his brand new basketball) and it hasn't fallen down yet. It went exactly as I'd hoped, by the way. As we were driving home, Andrew was chattering about his brother said this, his father did that, and so on and so forth, until we turned into our driveway.... it went something like this:
"So Don said that he was never going to--HEEEEYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!"
That was a good "Hey!", just FYI.
I feel quite satisfied.
And as an aside: I checked, and I still suck at basketball.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Mountain and river from airplane
I'm back. I've actually been back for two days, but they've been busy days. I (along with someone else) have been preparing a surprise for Andrew's birthday tomorrow.
Because he's not here.
We missed each other by about 30 minutes at the airport on Friday. He left just before we landed. Very very frustrating. I suppose, though, since his step-grandmother had passed away and there was a funeral and everything, you know, I suppose I don't come first. Annoyingly enough. Because I miss him like a severed limb right now. Even if he did leave a nearly completely empty fridge. A fridge so empty it's like a postmodern piece of art. Empty but for kale. Which is the next best thing to empty.
So anyway. Aggie, I will totally catch you next time I'm in the cities, but this trip was saved to meet Miss Maisie Jean. Who is so much cuter than her pictures, it's almost ridiculous. And then Miss Maisie's Mama, Leah, and Caroline and I had to catch up. I want to come up with the perfect punchline to, "So, a teacher, a lawyer and a doctor go into a bar..."
This trip was... it was good. As good as it could be. Aside from the night in the cities, none of it was really for myself. It was one of those trips that you make because you know you should. I love my grandparents, but man oh man oh man, am I glad to be back. Parts of the trip were painful, because it was easier to have no conversation at all than deal with my grandmother's confusion, but then you feel like a heel for thinking that, but then you have to explain to her AGAIN that yes, Perkins is probably this crowded because it's NOON, and that's what happens... I know the trip was the right thing to do. Bleahghgh.
So, yeah, to see pictures from the trip, click on the view from the airplane. I'm pretty proud of some of those pictures, if I do say so myself.
Because he's not here.
We missed each other by about 30 minutes at the airport on Friday. He left just before we landed. Very very frustrating. I suppose, though, since his step-grandmother had passed away and there was a funeral and everything, you know, I suppose I don't come first. Annoyingly enough. Because I miss him like a severed limb right now. Even if he did leave a nearly completely empty fridge. A fridge so empty it's like a postmodern piece of art. Empty but for kale. Which is the next best thing to empty.
So anyway. Aggie, I will totally catch you next time I'm in the cities, but this trip was saved to meet Miss Maisie Jean. Who is so much cuter than her pictures, it's almost ridiculous. And then Miss Maisie's Mama, Leah, and Caroline and I had to catch up. I want to come up with the perfect punchline to, "So, a teacher, a lawyer and a doctor go into a bar..."
This trip was... it was good. As good as it could be. Aside from the night in the cities, none of it was really for myself. It was one of those trips that you make because you know you should. I love my grandparents, but man oh man oh man, am I glad to be back. Parts of the trip were painful, because it was easier to have no conversation at all than deal with my grandmother's confusion, but then you feel like a heel for thinking that, but then you have to explain to her AGAIN that yes, Perkins is probably this crowded because it's NOON, and that's what happens... I know the trip was the right thing to do. Bleahghgh.
So, yeah, to see pictures from the trip, click on the view from the airplane. I'm pretty proud of some of those pictures, if I do say so myself.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
In Duluth...
When I played rugby, we had one of those singing-forever songs, where you make up verses as you go, that had everything occuring "in Duluth." ("Oh, there's keyholes in the doors and knotholes in the floors in Duluth...")
Let me tell you, not much occurs in Duluth.
Yesterday, we spent about forty-five minutes talking about the grocery stores in the area. Because one had been updated, "and let me tell you, that is the nicest grocery store I've ever been in." And then we compared it to every grocery store in the area.
And then we ate.
That is the major activity here. If we're not eating, we're planning to eat. If we're not planning to eat, we're planning to snack. And so on. I'm falling into the soporific speed. It's 2:00 and my major accomplishment is that I'm dressed.
But I'm seeing my grandparents (92 and still living on their own, in the house my mom lived in when she was a teenager!) and that's good, and it's all good. Plus I got to change my schedule so that I can stop of in Minneapolis and see some of the best women in the world.
As soon as we decide where to eat.
Let me tell you, not much occurs in Duluth.
Yesterday, we spent about forty-five minutes talking about the grocery stores in the area. Because one had been updated, "and let me tell you, that is the nicest grocery store I've ever been in." And then we compared it to every grocery store in the area.
And then we ate.
That is the major activity here. If we're not eating, we're planning to eat. If we're not planning to eat, we're planning to snack. And so on. I'm falling into the soporific speed. It's 2:00 and my major accomplishment is that I'm dressed.
But I'm seeing my grandparents (92 and still living on their own, in the house my mom lived in when she was a teenager!) and that's good, and it's all good. Plus I got to change my schedule so that I can stop of in Minneapolis and see some of the best women in the world.
As soon as we decide where to eat.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Dune
We were supposed to go camping.
That's what was supposed to happen.
Yes, it's Put Everything On Hold week, and so normally this wouldn't have been the type of week where we could make plans, but the campsite is 45 minutes from Portland, and we thought that even if I had to come in to the doctor, we could do it.
And we reeeeally wanted to go camping. All the moreso because we haven't had a chance to go camping by ourselves. Don't get me wrong: I LOOOOVE camping with my friends, but Andrew and I haven't gone camping with just each other and we really wanted to. Andrew has FINISHED HIS BOOK (Thank the sweet little baby jeebus) and I start up teachery stuff next week for real and...
Like I said, we reeeally wanted to go camping.
Apparently, so did EVERY OTHER PERSON IN THE ENTIRE STATES OF WASHINGTON AND OREGON. After coming back home from the campsite of choice (first come first served, and apparently we weren't there early enough), Andrew went online and I manned the phones. And I'm only slightly exagerrating when I say there was not one available campsite in either Washington or Oregon. Because there were two. One was north of Seattle, and the other was south of Bend. In the middle of a baseball field. Aside from the horrid idea of camping in the middle of a baseball field, that would seriously impede our Saturday morning doctory plans.
So THAT sucked.
So Saturday after the doctory stuff, we decided, you know what? Fuck it. We tossed a picnic in the car and headed off to wine country. Our favorite vinyard was holding two bottles of one of our favorite wines for us, it was a gorgeous day for sipping wine and eating cheese, and so we did. And while we were out there, we figured, hey, what else could we do? So we hopped back into the car and just kept on driving, on to the coast. And then we drove home through the Tillamook forest. Every car we passed that had camping or outdoor gear we said, "They're probably camping this weekend. Assholes." But instead, we went geocaching and exploring and "Well, why not go left?" up the coast, and I'm not sure, but we might have had a better time than if we'd gone camping.
I'm going to like this Andrew's Done With His Book thing.
That's what was supposed to happen.
Yes, it's Put Everything On Hold week, and so normally this wouldn't have been the type of week where we could make plans, but the campsite is 45 minutes from Portland, and we thought that even if I had to come in to the doctor, we could do it.
And we reeeeally wanted to go camping. All the moreso because we haven't had a chance to go camping by ourselves. Don't get me wrong: I LOOOOVE camping with my friends, but Andrew and I haven't gone camping with just each other and we really wanted to. Andrew has FINISHED HIS BOOK (Thank the sweet little baby jeebus) and I start up teachery stuff next week for real and...
Like I said, we reeeally wanted to go camping.
Apparently, so did EVERY OTHER PERSON IN THE ENTIRE STATES OF WASHINGTON AND OREGON. After coming back home from the campsite of choice (first come first served, and apparently we weren't there early enough), Andrew went online and I manned the phones. And I'm only slightly exagerrating when I say there was not one available campsite in either Washington or Oregon. Because there were two. One was north of Seattle, and the other was south of Bend. In the middle of a baseball field. Aside from the horrid idea of camping in the middle of a baseball field, that would seriously impede our Saturday morning doctory plans.
So THAT sucked.
So Saturday after the doctory stuff, we decided, you know what? Fuck it. We tossed a picnic in the car and headed off to wine country. Our favorite vinyard was holding two bottles of one of our favorite wines for us, it was a gorgeous day for sipping wine and eating cheese, and so we did. And while we were out there, we figured, hey, what else could we do? So we hopped back into the car and just kept on driving, on to the coast. And then we drove home through the Tillamook forest. Every car we passed that had camping or outdoor gear we said, "They're probably camping this weekend. Assholes." But instead, we went geocaching and exploring and "Well, why not go left?" up the coast, and I'm not sure, but we might have had a better time than if we'd gone camping.
I'm going to like this Andrew's Done With His Book thing.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
I love to be a student.
So, that conference.
One of the few benefits from my school dsitrict is that they will reimburse up to $550 or so a year of expenses, and if you don't spend it, it rolls over. Since I haven't spent anything for two years, I've got some bucks saved up, and I decided that since I like this AP Stats gig, I might as well really go for it. The folks that own the AP brand (and, seriously, make no mistake: it is a brand, just like American Eagle, Hollister, Dell, and Converse) run institutes all across the country and so I signed up.
I took one of these last year, up in northern Washington, which--uck, so much suckitude, other than the fact I got to hang with a dear dear friend of mine and his wife.
(speaking of which: mental note--they have a baby due. Is it a boy or a girl? Must check into that.)
But I figured this institute was in driving range, and wouldn't fuck (tooo much) with our Make A Goddamn Baby plans for the summer and I could still, you know, progress as a teacher, so hey! Everyone wins!
And of course, it falls right in the week of every cycle that is the Put Everything On Hold week. When calculating weeks and shit in the spring, I thought the PEOH week would be NEXT week, but apparently I miscounted. PEOH week is, um, FUN (or not), but I'll talk about that some other time.
Anyway, I'm in this training.
And. Um. I LOVE it.
Yeah, sure, I'll bitch about the class, about the 25% who have no idea what they're talking about but still insist on FUCKING TALKING. And maybe I'll bitch about the teacher, who isn't very good at getting people in line and making them shut up. And sure, I know, Teachers Make The Worst Students (ask me sometime about the Freedom Finger learning experience...). But I love being a student.
I love it.
I am actually learning some cool projects that I could do as a 1-day or 2-day thing that really do make the "Ah-ha!" light go on (or at least they did for me). Hard concepts, like transformations, or how to explain R-squared, or whatever Stats-associated topic may come up... this instructor has some great material. It makes me think, and I actually do understand some things better because of what I've learne.d I will be a better teacher because of this class. And soon I have to do some homework for it, but first I'll finish this because...
Also? Hee. I ran into another teacher from my district. Not from my school--there aren't any (which actually is a surprise). But this teacher (who rocks, ROCKS!) and I know each other from some post-grad classes we took together. Turns out she's going to be teacing some of the same classes as me and asked how AP Stats had gone. Oh, I said, I had a 90% success rate. THAT WAS YOU?!?!?! she asked.
Huh?
Apparently there is some talking. At the district level. ABOUT ME. That she overheard. Because an influential parent said, "LOOK at this teacher with the 90% passing rate: you can't TELL me that teaching doesn't affect that." Emphasis, by the way, on influential.
SQUEE!
So yeah, despite that PEOH factor of this week, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm a rocking teacher, and I'M GOING TO BE EVEN BETTER.
One of the few benefits from my school dsitrict is that they will reimburse up to $550 or so a year of expenses, and if you don't spend it, it rolls over. Since I haven't spent anything for two years, I've got some bucks saved up, and I decided that since I like this AP Stats gig, I might as well really go for it. The folks that own the AP brand (and, seriously, make no mistake: it is a brand, just like American Eagle, Hollister, Dell, and Converse) run institutes all across the country and so I signed up.
I took one of these last year, up in northern Washington, which--uck, so much suckitude, other than the fact I got to hang with a dear dear friend of mine and his wife.
(speaking of which: mental note--they have a baby due. Is it a boy or a girl? Must check into that.)
But I figured this institute was in driving range, and wouldn't fuck (tooo much) with our Make A Goddamn Baby plans for the summer and I could still, you know, progress as a teacher, so hey! Everyone wins!
And of course, it falls right in the week of every cycle that is the Put Everything On Hold week. When calculating weeks and shit in the spring, I thought the PEOH week would be NEXT week, but apparently I miscounted. PEOH week is, um, FUN (or not), but I'll talk about that some other time.
Anyway, I'm in this training.
And. Um. I LOVE it.
Yeah, sure, I'll bitch about the class, about the 25% who have no idea what they're talking about but still insist on FUCKING TALKING. And maybe I'll bitch about the teacher, who isn't very good at getting people in line and making them shut up. And sure, I know, Teachers Make The Worst Students (ask me sometime about the Freedom Finger learning experience...). But I love being a student.
I love it.
I am actually learning some cool projects that I could do as a 1-day or 2-day thing that really do make the "Ah-ha!" light go on (or at least they did for me). Hard concepts, like transformations, or how to explain R-squared, or whatever Stats-associated topic may come up... this instructor has some great material. It makes me think, and I actually do understand some things better because of what I've learne.d I will be a better teacher because of this class. And soon I have to do some homework for it, but first I'll finish this because...
Also? Hee. I ran into another teacher from my district. Not from my school--there aren't any (which actually is a surprise). But this teacher (who rocks, ROCKS!) and I know each other from some post-grad classes we took together. Turns out she's going to be teacing some of the same classes as me and asked how AP Stats had gone. Oh, I said, I had a 90% success rate. THAT WAS YOU?!?!?! she asked.
Huh?
Apparently there is some talking. At the district level. ABOUT ME. That she overheard. Because an influential parent said, "LOOK at this teacher with the 90% passing rate: you can't TELL me that teaching doesn't affect that." Emphasis, by the way, on influential.
SQUEE!
So yeah, despite that PEOH factor of this week, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm a rocking teacher, and I'M GOING TO BE EVEN BETTER.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Um, hello?
"Hi, Kari? This is Dr. Doogie's office. Yeah, your 8:45 appointment is... well, he's on vacation and so won't be in that morning, so will a 10:45 appointment be okay? In fact, I'm just going to put you down for that, so if it's not okay, can you call us? 'kay, thanks, byeee!"
Um, no? It's so very NOT okay? Because I'm supposed to be twenty miles north of here at that time? And my ovaries kind of feel like two inflated balloons so I kind of have to get in for this appointment tomorrow some time? And so it's great that the Doogster can take a vacation with his family and all, but if there was doubt about whether he'd take appointments in the morning after coming back, could you ahve scheduled me for another time? AAaaannd you've pretty much fucked my ability to attend this conference, thereby probably fucking my ability to get the $600 refunded? So fuck you very much? 'kay, thanks, byeeeee!
Um, no? It's so very NOT okay? Because I'm supposed to be twenty miles north of here at that time? And my ovaries kind of feel like two inflated balloons so I kind of have to get in for this appointment tomorrow some time? And so it's great that the Doogster can take a vacation with his family and all, but if there was doubt about whether he'd take appointments in the morning after coming back, could you ahve scheduled me for another time? AAaaannd you've pretty much fucked my ability to attend this conference, thereby probably fucking my ability to get the $600 refunded? So fuck you very much? 'kay, thanks, byeeeee!
Sunday, August 05, 2007
This thing we're doing
So, for that brief time I was pregnant, and basically ever since then, I've been putting a lot more thought into what I eat. Not losing-weight wise, because I am doing too damn much to my body right now to fight a two-front war with it. I'm on meds that make me gain weight, I gained weight while pregnant that a miscarriage doesn't help with losing, depression does great things for one's waistline, whatever, I'm trying to let that go.
What I am trying to do is pay more attention on the fresh vs. packaged, local vs. organic vs. conventional, enhanced vs. not debate. Not necessarily picking sides, but at least being aware of the payoffs and costs. I guess what struck a chord was reading one of the many THINGS YOU HAVE TO BE AWARE OF NOW THAT YOU'RE A HUMAN INCUBATOR books and it said, "You should be trying to each as much organic food as possible." Now, that might be dirty-hippy lies, but whatever it is, it resonated with me.
As Em said once, there weren't choices a generation ago that we have now, but there also wasn't the massive amounts of additives either. And we need to think about the growth hormones, the perservatives, the corn syrup, the partially hydroginated di-methyl siloxane or whatever. I'm not saying don't buy movie popcorn, because hello? Have you gone to a movie with me? I guess I'm saying, it makes sense that some of this stuff may be affecting us in ways that we won't ever know.
So Andrew and I--okay, mostly at my urging--have signed up for this great thing, Organics To You, that delivers fresh produce to us each week.
We call it the Hippie Box.
This is me, who hasn't cooked with fresh food much in her life (and whose favorite recipe is a casserole that has exactly 1 ingredient that's fresh--who's midwestern????) It's kind of giving me a hard time, because, well, for instance, here's next week's box:
1-6oz. Blueberries - *LOCAL, farm direct*
4-5 Nectarines
1lb. Apricots - *LOCAL*
3-5 Pluots - 'A Plum-Apricot Hybrid'
1lb. YukonGold Potatoes - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1 Romaine Lettuce - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1 bunch Kale or Chard - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1/2lb. Snow Peas - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1 bunch Green Onions - *LOCAL, farm direct*
6-7oz. Crimini Mushrooms - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1 bunch Beets - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1-2 sm. Red Peppers - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1 bunch Broccoli - *LOCAL, farm direct*
1/2lb. 'french filet' Green Beans - *LOCAL, farm direct*
Okay, the first few are easy: fruits! And fresh fruits! And Pluots? SO FREAKING TASTY. And the potatoes, well--mashed is easy. Lettuce--uh, salads, sandwiches? And then we start getting into what I call the "uh-oh!" territory. Kale or Chard? Yeah, I'm googling recipes for that. Snow peas? Beets? I have never ever cooked with these. I mean, I know how to cook broccoli, but seriously, how much cooking of fresh vegetables do I do? Well, now I do quite a lot.
We get the Hippie box each Tuesday, but I can look up what I'm going to get on Saturday, so that I spend most of Saturday and Sunday figuring out what I can make. I'm making a lot of stir-frys--I had to go out and buy a wok finally--because that's easy, healthy, and uses a LOT of veggies.
But we get either chard or kale, or--lucky day!--both once a week, and I am running out of ways to make that shit tasty.
End of Summer.
I have been spectacularly unproductive this week. About the most useful things I've done are: I gave blood, and I squeegeed the new storm door.
I had to use my new 99-cent IKEA squeegee which by the way has a name. It's the LETTEN. So even a 99-cent squeegee has a goofy Swedish name.
And in trying to google what the name of the squeegee is, I found folks who are selling the squeegee! On Ebay! For $2.99!!!! That's some markup.
Anyway, my summer is basically over--next week I'm in AP training again. I know, your pity is overwhelming. But it's part relief and part disappointment. I get to have a purpose every day again, a reason to shower and get dressed again. On the other hand, I haven't reorganized the basement like I had planned to, cleaned out the garage like I had planned to.
I did this training last year, but I did it in waaaaaay northern Washington, so I had to sleep in a hotel every night. It basically sucked. Now I get to do this training here and come home every night which is way cool. Plus, I couldn't have gone away this week anyway, because I'll have at least one if not two doctor's appointments this week which would have been difficult from waaaaaaay northern Washington.
So, bye bye summer, hello fall. Hello Back to School clothes (thank you Mommy!), reasons to wear new super cute shoes, and homework. Good bye aimless lonely days, copious free time, and America's Next Top Model marathons. See you on the other side.
I had to use my new 99-cent IKEA squeegee which by the way has a name. It's the LETTEN. So even a 99-cent squeegee has a goofy Swedish name.
And in trying to google what the name of the squeegee is, I found folks who are selling the squeegee! On Ebay! For $2.99!!!! That's some markup.
Anyway, my summer is basically over--next week I'm in AP training again. I know, your pity is overwhelming. But it's part relief and part disappointment. I get to have a purpose every day again, a reason to shower and get dressed again. On the other hand, I haven't reorganized the basement like I had planned to, cleaned out the garage like I had planned to.
I did this training last year, but I did it in waaaaaay northern Washington, so I had to sleep in a hotel every night. It basically sucked. Now I get to do this training here and come home every night which is way cool. Plus, I couldn't have gone away this week anyway, because I'll have at least one if not two doctor's appointments this week which would have been difficult from waaaaaaay northern Washington.
So, bye bye summer, hello fall. Hello Back to School clothes (thank you Mommy!), reasons to wear new super cute shoes, and homework. Good bye aimless lonely days, copious free time, and America's Next Top Model marathons. See you on the other side.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Minneapolis
I never lived there, but I visited often.
I have family there. I have friends there. I've checked in with everyone I can think of, or checked in with someone who checked in with them. God bless Teh Internets, because when cell phones go down, you can still post to a site.
I'm glad everyone I can think of is okay.
I have family there. I have friends there. I've checked in with everyone I can think of, or checked in with someone who checked in with them. God bless Teh Internets, because when cell phones go down, you can still post to a site.
I'm glad everyone I can think of is okay.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
RESULTS ARE IN
Dude.
There were two 1's (neither a surprise) and two 2's (only one was really a surprise), but every other stats student passed their AP Exam (including the two who weren't even in the class, but whatever).
Holy CRAP!
There were a couple surprises, a 4 from someone I would have sworn would get a 5, a couple 3's from some people who I was pretty sure would get 4's, but there were surprises the other way too: two people passed that I didn't think had a snowball's chance in hell; three people got 4's that I'm sure weren't expecting to (including my sister's favorite: go Cowbell!). Both of my twins passed, but one got a 5 and one got a 3--but that doesn't really surprise me. And you know what? A 3 counts for credit, so it's just as good as a 5, functionally speaking.
But SERIOUSLY. I now have DOCUMENTED PROOF of exactly HOW MUCH I ROCK. Oh, and that my students were the greatest bunch of students ever.
NINETY PERCENT PASS RATE, SUCKAS! National average: 60%.
There were two 1's (neither a surprise) and two 2's (only one was really a surprise), but every other stats student passed their AP Exam (including the two who weren't even in the class, but whatever).
Holy CRAP!
There were a couple surprises, a 4 from someone I would have sworn would get a 5, a couple 3's from some people who I was pretty sure would get 4's, but there were surprises the other way too: two people passed that I didn't think had a snowball's chance in hell; three people got 4's that I'm sure weren't expecting to (including my sister's favorite: go Cowbell!). Both of my twins passed, but one got a 5 and one got a 3--but that doesn't really surprise me. And you know what? A 3 counts for credit, so it's just as good as a 5, functionally speaking.
But SERIOUSLY. I now have DOCUMENTED PROOF of exactly HOW MUCH I ROCK. Oh, and that my students were the greatest bunch of students ever.
NINETY PERCENT PASS RATE, SUCKAS! National average: 60%.
Monday, July 30, 2007
I had an oops.
I don't feel guilty. Conversations like this have been going on all over the greater Portland metro area since Wednesday.
Him: What’s this?
Me: A squeegee.
A what?
A squeegee!
Why do we have a squeegee!
It was ninety-nine cents! At IKEA!
I thought you were going to IKEA with Emily on Friday.
Well, yes, but I just stopped by today. I’m sooooo bored, and plus I needed a shelf for the bathroom.
So you went to IKEA, and you bought a shelf and a squeegee?
And a salad spinner.
And a salad spinner.
It was right by the checkout! And we have all that lettuce.
So if I looked all over this house, all I would find is a shelf, a squeegee, and a salad spinner.
Yes, I only bought stuff if it started with an s.
Really?
No.
So, that’s it, though?
Oh, yeah, I was great! Well, that, and the mirror that’s still in the car.
A mirror.
Yeah, and some hooks.
So a shelf, a squeegee, a salad spinner, a mirror and some hooks.
Yeah, and I’m going back on Friday with Emily. We totally need some shelving for the basement.
Him: What’s this?
Me: A squeegee.
A what?
A squeegee!
Why do we have a squeegee!
It was ninety-nine cents! At IKEA!
I thought you were going to IKEA with Emily on Friday.
Well, yes, but I just stopped by today. I’m sooooo bored, and plus I needed a shelf for the bathroom.
So you went to IKEA, and you bought a shelf and a squeegee?
And a salad spinner.
And a salad spinner.
It was right by the checkout! And we have all that lettuce.
So if I looked all over this house, all I would find is a shelf, a squeegee, and a salad spinner.
Yes, I only bought stuff if it started with an s.
Really?
No.
So, that’s it, though?
Oh, yeah, I was great! Well, that, and the mirror that’s still in the car.
A mirror.
Yeah, and some hooks.
So a shelf, a squeegee, a salad spinner, a mirror and some hooks.
Yeah, and I’m going back on Friday with Emily. We totally need some shelving for the basement.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
In my neighborhood
This morning I went to the farmer's market. Normally, this would not be a big deal: Portland is awash in farmer's markets. Organic farmer's markets, farmer's co-op markets, year-round farmer's markets. You name it, if it's granola enough, there's a farmer's market for it.
But this one was different. It's brand new, and it's down the street from me.
When we moved in to this neighborhood, the wee little neighborhood strip was a four-block long strip of mostly empty storefronts. There was a dusty, dark, and usually closed Hippie Emporium, selling "herbs" (it's closed now: shocker!), but otherwise, all other operating shops were an auto upholstery shop, two auto-body shops, a billiards hall, a specialty lumber yard, and three slightly sketchy taverns.
As I walked to the farmer's market--it's wee, really, not a huge number of stalls--along the four-block walk, more and more people joined me on the sidewalks. A block ahead of me, three families--whole families!--were walking together, stroller and dogs included. Behind me, two hipster couples shuffled along, holding hands and sipping coffee.
Since we've moved in, our neighborhood has been going through some amazing change. A coffee shop has opened up, the kind with fresh-made pastries, that doesn't have that familiar green-and-white mermaid logo. The "herbarium" disappeared; now we have a wine shop and a crafty paper/art store. The old drug store finally got leased; half of it is this super awesome, reasonably priced, rotating menu of American food restaurant. The movie theater that had been closed since the 70's has been through a makeover and now plays recent-release movies for $3 a pop. Oh, and serves beer, wine, and tasty tasty pizza from the pizzaria next door.
Standing at the farmer's market, all I could think was: who knew all of these families with these wee little kids lived within walking distance? I bought some golden raspberries and a margarita melon (less alcoholic than it sounds), sipped my Ethiopian Fair Trade Shade Grown coffee while munching on a ham-and-gruyere croissant and realized I was standing next to the auto-body shop and across the street from the billiards hall.
I love my neighborhood. I can't wait to see what we get next.
But this one was different. It's brand new, and it's down the street from me.
When we moved in to this neighborhood, the wee little neighborhood strip was a four-block long strip of mostly empty storefronts. There was a dusty, dark, and usually closed Hippie Emporium, selling "herbs" (it's closed now: shocker!), but otherwise, all other operating shops were an auto upholstery shop, two auto-body shops, a billiards hall, a specialty lumber yard, and three slightly sketchy taverns.
As I walked to the farmer's market--it's wee, really, not a huge number of stalls--along the four-block walk, more and more people joined me on the sidewalks. A block ahead of me, three families--whole families!--were walking together, stroller and dogs included. Behind me, two hipster couples shuffled along, holding hands and sipping coffee.
Since we've moved in, our neighborhood has been going through some amazing change. A coffee shop has opened up, the kind with fresh-made pastries, that doesn't have that familiar green-and-white mermaid logo. The "herbarium" disappeared; now we have a wine shop and a crafty paper/art store. The old drug store finally got leased; half of it is this super awesome, reasonably priced, rotating menu of American food restaurant. The movie theater that had been closed since the 70's has been through a makeover and now plays recent-release movies for $3 a pop. Oh, and serves beer, wine, and tasty tasty pizza from the pizzaria next door.
Standing at the farmer's market, all I could think was: who knew all of these families with these wee little kids lived within walking distance? I bought some golden raspberries and a margarita melon (less alcoholic than it sounds), sipped my Ethiopian Fair Trade Shade Grown coffee while munching on a ham-and-gruyere croissant and realized I was standing next to the auto-body shop and across the street from the billiards hall.
I love my neighborhood. I can't wait to see what we get next.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Whew!
So, how's everyone doing with my last few doses of Extra Special Bitter?
Good? Or a little too hoppy?
Yeah, I know.
So, on a brighter note: ANDREW'S FINISHED HIS FIRST DRAFT! WOOO HOO! I might actually get to socialize with him again one day SOON! Yeah, Andrew, go!
I don't think I've talked enough about how proud I am of his endeavor. Frustrated as all hell because I miss the shit out of him (evenings, weekends, that kind of thing), but also proud as shit. You can search his name on Amazon: he has a page on Amazon! My husband! It's like proud by vicarious nearness.
Or something.
Also, I rearranged the living room today. Again.
In related news, I have three total unplanned weeks left of this summer. Remind me of the cabin fever when I'm stressed as hell next April, willya?
Thanks.
Good? Or a little too hoppy?
Yeah, I know.
So, on a brighter note: ANDREW'S FINISHED HIS FIRST DRAFT! WOOO HOO! I might actually get to socialize with him again one day SOON! Yeah, Andrew, go!
I don't think I've talked enough about how proud I am of his endeavor. Frustrated as all hell because I miss the shit out of him (evenings, weekends, that kind of thing), but also proud as shit. You can search his name on Amazon: he has a page on Amazon! My husband! It's like proud by vicarious nearness.
Or something.
Also, I rearranged the living room today. Again.
In related news, I have three total unplanned weeks left of this summer. Remind me of the cabin fever when I'm stressed as hell next April, willya?
Thanks.
False Promises.
Well-meaning people, people who love me, people I love, have a common refrain that really, truly rubs me the wrong way.
It will happen.
My mom, I love her, but that's her refrain when there's another failed cycle. And we've had our differences about how to communicate lately, but finally last month I just had to stop her.
I know this will work out in the end, she said.
And she meant well. But.
No, mom, I said, you don't know it. You hope it. That's the thing. It may not happen.
It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't dangled at that precipice, that panicky realization that it really truly may not happen. Yeah, we're using IUI right now, and that may happen, and there are other options, the next step is IVF--but that's expensive/risky/just may not happen. Adoption (oh, boy, is THAT a topic for a future Oh The Things People Say!) is expensive/intensive/just may not happen. And while the fact that Nothing In Life Is Guaranteed is a truism, no one ever thinks it applies to them, not about having children. Until suddenly it does. Some ART-folks maintain their optimism, and my own optimism rises and falls (usually in concert with the levels of clomid in my system, odd, huh?), but personally as I keep going, pragmatism and realism (some might say pessimism) creeps in.
It Might Not Happen. We might not get lucky. That's not me inviting pity (much) or even self pity (well, a little). That's me acknowledging a truth that really honestly kind of sucks, but it's a truth, along the lines of "Actually, no, I never WILL be a supermodel" and "I really wasn't meant to be an athlete". We'll still keep going, try again next month, and probably the month after that, et cetera and so forth, because I want this more than I've ever wanted anything and I will keep trying until we've exhausted ourselves. But that doesn't mean it will happen.
And I can't help at getting irritated at people (usually women) who got pregnant by, of all things, having sex, telling me that I should be patient, it'll happen.
There are two things so very very wrong with that statement. First of all: Look, we've been seeing doctors on and off for almost four years now, and steadily, monthly, bimonthly, almost weekly and sometimes biweekly, for over a year. This is just a drop in the bucket to some ART couples, I know, but seriously, you don't think I know about patience by now? If I could have hurried things up, don't you think I would have by now? I don't have a choice about patience.
Second, you don't know it'll happen. Last I checked, your ESP didn't include reading the tea leaves. That's just an empty empty Thing to Say, comforting you far far more than it comforts me. It's all very well and good to say that from the easy place of having had your child/children, but every time you say that, no matter how difficult your own process was, it is a reminder that you are on the other side of a bright shining line that so far I've been denied.
What could you say instead, you ask?
Most likely--and here's the sucky part for you--nothing. Each failed cycle is a little less carefree than the last, you see, so it hits a little harder. Being there and listening is the best possible thing a friend could do when another cycle fails. Or, being there and distracting if I don't want to talk about it.
If you find yourself in that place where the words are on the tip of your tongue, no matter how firmly you believe it will happen or is meant to happen or God whispered in your ear one night or the chicken bones aligned or whatever!, keep it between yourself and your chicken bones. I'm glad--for you--that you feel that way, but that's your faith. I have my reality to deal with.
It will happen.
My mom, I love her, but that's her refrain when there's another failed cycle. And we've had our differences about how to communicate lately, but finally last month I just had to stop her.
I know this will work out in the end, she said.
And she meant well. But.
No, mom, I said, you don't know it. You hope it. That's the thing. It may not happen.
It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't dangled at that precipice, that panicky realization that it really truly may not happen. Yeah, we're using IUI right now, and that may happen, and there are other options, the next step is IVF--but that's expensive/risky/just may not happen. Adoption (oh, boy, is THAT a topic for a future Oh The Things People Say!) is expensive/intensive/just may not happen. And while the fact that Nothing In Life Is Guaranteed is a truism, no one ever thinks it applies to them, not about having children. Until suddenly it does. Some ART-folks maintain their optimism, and my own optimism rises and falls (usually in concert with the levels of clomid in my system, odd, huh?), but personally as I keep going, pragmatism and realism (some might say pessimism) creeps in.
It Might Not Happen. We might not get lucky. That's not me inviting pity (much) or even self pity (well, a little). That's me acknowledging a truth that really honestly kind of sucks, but it's a truth, along the lines of "Actually, no, I never WILL be a supermodel" and "I really wasn't meant to be an athlete". We'll still keep going, try again next month, and probably the month after that, et cetera and so forth, because I want this more than I've ever wanted anything and I will keep trying until we've exhausted ourselves. But that doesn't mean it will happen.
And I can't help at getting irritated at people (usually women) who got pregnant by, of all things, having sex, telling me that I should be patient, it'll happen.
There are two things so very very wrong with that statement. First of all: Look, we've been seeing doctors on and off for almost four years now, and steadily, monthly, bimonthly, almost weekly and sometimes biweekly, for over a year. This is just a drop in the bucket to some ART couples, I know, but seriously, you don't think I know about patience by now? If I could have hurried things up, don't you think I would have by now? I don't have a choice about patience.
Second, you don't know it'll happen. Last I checked, your ESP didn't include reading the tea leaves. That's just an empty empty Thing to Say, comforting you far far more than it comforts me. It's all very well and good to say that from the easy place of having had your child/children, but every time you say that, no matter how difficult your own process was, it is a reminder that you are on the other side of a bright shining line that so far I've been denied.
What could you say instead, you ask?
Most likely--and here's the sucky part for you--nothing. Each failed cycle is a little less carefree than the last, you see, so it hits a little harder. Being there and listening is the best possible thing a friend could do when another cycle fails. Or, being there and distracting if I don't want to talk about it.
If you find yourself in that place where the words are on the tip of your tongue, no matter how firmly you believe it will happen or is meant to happen or God whispered in your ear one night or the chicken bones aligned or whatever!, keep it between yourself and your chicken bones. I'm glad--for you--that you feel that way, but that's your faith. I have my reality to deal with.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
This is the reality of IUI.
So you sit down to take your test and you caution yourself. And it's not like you don't have practice cautioning yourself, because you've taken this particular test a squizillion times.
I don't feel any symptoms, you say to yourself. My boobs don't hurt, they aren't bigger, someone told me I'd have Porn Star Nipples and I definitely don't have those, nothing.
Plus, you remind yourself, this is early. Good ol' Aunt Flo isn't due here till, like, Thursday, so really, chances are super slim that even if I was pregnant, that it'd register.
And really, no matter how many times we've tried, it's still like, a 10 to 15% chance that any particular month will work, you tell yourself. So, really, you remind yourself, the odds are not in our favor.
And you're still crushed when that second line doesn't appear, when there's no plus sign, when the wee computer doesn't tell give you that ten-dollar sign.
The cruelty is that you still have a blood test waiting for you, but it's not for three days, so that if you really wanted to, you could keep peeing. And you will.
Ahh... a quiet, silky voice from the back of your mind reminds you, remember? That one time you actually were pregnant? Remember how you got a not pregnant one day and a pregnant the next? That could happen. You never know. Because that damn silky voice comes back, day after day after day.
And so you get to be crushed tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until Aunt Flo actually comes and you get to start planning your appointments for the next month.
I don't feel any symptoms, you say to yourself. My boobs don't hurt, they aren't bigger, someone told me I'd have Porn Star Nipples and I definitely don't have those, nothing.
Plus, you remind yourself, this is early. Good ol' Aunt Flo isn't due here till, like, Thursday, so really, chances are super slim that even if I was pregnant, that it'd register.
And really, no matter how many times we've tried, it's still like, a 10 to 15% chance that any particular month will work, you tell yourself. So, really, you remind yourself, the odds are not in our favor.
And you're still crushed when that second line doesn't appear, when there's no plus sign, when the wee computer doesn't tell give you that ten-dollar sign.
The cruelty is that you still have a blood test waiting for you, but it's not for three days, so that if you really wanted to, you could keep peeing. And you will.
Ahh... a quiet, silky voice from the back of your mind reminds you, remember? That one time you actually were pregnant? Remember how you got a not pregnant one day and a pregnant the next? That could happen. You never know. Because that damn silky voice comes back, day after day after day.
And so you get to be crushed tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until Aunt Flo actually comes and you get to start planning your appointments for the next month.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
PKW event
I got an email from my mom for a "Pamper Kari Week" event. I guess I'd sounded a little pathetic on the phone on Thursday.
Okay, maybe a lot pathetic.
"You're doing much better this month!" Em had said.
Apparently I'm crying less in public. This is good. But I still have crippling self-pity, though, that sneaks up on me. Yeah, it's still self-pity, so I'm not proud it's there, but regardless, it comes out of nowhere (a JC Penny's ad, a picture, a thought) and then I want to do nothing ever again.
So on Thursday I sounded really sorry for myself. On Friday, Mom emailed me for a chance to be pampered at her home in Michigan. They'd pay the freight.
It's novel, really, to be in my thirties and a guest in my parents home by myself: no siblings, no husband, no crisis for a change. And aside from some snippieness when we were on the way to the movie but MIGHT be LATE, MARY, WHY DID WE CHOOSE TO EAT AT A RESTAURANT ACROSS THE CITY FROM THE MOVIE THEATER, but we'll ONLY MISS THE PREVIEWS, KEN (me in the back: LALALA I'M NOT LISTENING) type of tomfoolery, it's been a really mellow week.
I helped Mom with her newsletter formatting which unexpectedly turned into a lot of laughter. Dad and I have watched the Tour de France and taken the dog on walks through their Faux French Provincial Community. Mom and I went to the Ann Arbor Art Fair and counted people who bought art on sticks. And might have maybe perhaps bought some shoes.
Mellow.
I miss Andrew (hi hon!) but maybe he can USE THIS TIME TO FINISH HIS DAMN BOOK so that I'll see him some when I get back. (hi hon!)
I can dig this PKW event.
Okay, maybe a lot pathetic.
"You're doing much better this month!" Em had said.
Apparently I'm crying less in public. This is good. But I still have crippling self-pity, though, that sneaks up on me. Yeah, it's still self-pity, so I'm not proud it's there, but regardless, it comes out of nowhere (a JC Penny's ad, a picture, a thought) and then I want to do nothing ever again.
So on Thursday I sounded really sorry for myself. On Friday, Mom emailed me for a chance to be pampered at her home in Michigan. They'd pay the freight.
It's novel, really, to be in my thirties and a guest in my parents home by myself: no siblings, no husband, no crisis for a change. And aside from some snippieness when we were on the way to the movie but MIGHT be LATE, MARY, WHY DID WE CHOOSE TO EAT AT A RESTAURANT ACROSS THE CITY FROM THE MOVIE THEATER, but we'll ONLY MISS THE PREVIEWS, KEN (me in the back: LALALA I'M NOT LISTENING) type of tomfoolery, it's been a really mellow week.
I helped Mom with her newsletter formatting which unexpectedly turned into a lot of laughter. Dad and I have watched the Tour de France and taken the dog on walks through their Faux French Provincial Community. Mom and I went to the Ann Arbor Art Fair and counted people who bought art on sticks. And might have maybe perhaps bought some shoes.
Mellow.
I miss Andrew (hi hon!) but maybe he can USE THIS TIME TO FINISH HIS DAMN BOOK so that I'll see him some when I get back. (hi hon!)
I can dig this PKW event.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
At least...
I just wanted to start a little service for those who are going through ART (assisted reproductive technology). More specifically, this is for those who know someone else who is going through it.
If you are going through ART know this here and now: otherwise well-meaning, sympathetic and intelligent people will say some dumb-ass shit. Family, friends, coworkers--some may know what you're going through, some may not, depending on how open you are--doesn't matter. They don't mean to, but they will.
And it will hurt. I mean, it may be a small pinprick, or it may be a raw seeping wound, depending on the day, the person saying it, and the clomid levels, but somebody will say something that will bother you. In fact, several somebodies, and they'll all say different things.
The truth is, they have no idea what to say. And the painful truth is, many won't do research on the emotional aspects of how to deal with a friend with fertility problems. And the real truth is, almost none will know how to ask you what you need, nor will they know how to react when you talk about it.
When you find the friends or family who know how to ask you questions frankly yet sympathetically? Who follow your lead when you do or don't want to talk about it? Coat them in gold and chain them in your basement. You won't find many, so hold on to the ones you do. I have three chained up down there right now. It's being able to go downstairs and visit those three that get me through the bonehead shit that other people say. And then I occasionally toss them a treat.
That said, I wanted to start a small recurring feature of They'll Say It, But That Doesn't Mean You Have To Like It. I just want to cover what I've heard and why it sucks, and what some viable alternatives may be.
Today's entry:
"At least you know you can get pregnant!"
You will here this after a miscarriage. Guaranteed. You will hear this after every miscarriage. You will hear this in the down times between miscarriages. You will hear this in the empty times between doctor's appointments--assuming, of oourse, that you've been pregnant at least once, whether you actually gave birth or not. You will hear this while waiting after your last IUI for your beta blood tests. It's often the go-to thing to say for people who want to comfort, and they will say it any time you admit to feeling anything less that optimistic.
And you know what? It's not comforting.
Can everyone who only wants to get pregnant, but doesn't want the baby, can you stand up?
Anyone?
The goal is to stay pregnant. Right? I mean, you'd tell me if I was wrong, wouldn't you? The thing is, every fertility story is different, and so yes, some people have difficulty at the getting pregnant stage, while others have diffiulty at the staying pregnant stage. Some lucky winners (!!!) have difficulty with both. But I'm fairly certain, even without doing clinial research, that it isn't anyone's ultimate goal to just get pregnant, even for the women who have problems getting that far.
And besides, how on earth is that comforting? "At least the one event that no one has control over can happen!"
It's a little like comforting your newly divorced sister by saying, "Well, at least you know you can get through a wedding! Now next time you just need the marriage to stick!"
If you find these words allllmost coming out of your mouth, ever, for the love of all the fluffy kittens in the world, stuff your fist in your mouth before these words come out. Check yourself: does this person you're talking to really want comfort, or do they want a sympathetic ear so they can just not be Susie Fucking Sunshine all the time? If they really want comfort, don't give them false promises (more on those in a future installment!), ask. Ask, ask, ask: "How can I help?" If they want sympathy, try something crazy: just be sympathetic.
And if someone says that to you? I'm sorry, not if, but when? God, I wish I knew. If you had a good response, please let me know, because I'm still searching for one that doesn't make everyone want to stop talking to me altogether.
Next up: Variations on a theme: False promises.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Slippety Doo Dah
So, the White Spot.
Beyond that being the name of my first punk album, I have an update. Of sorts.
To recap: in my last few dildo-cam appointments (oh the joy of that being plural! Can you get frequent flier points or something, some kind of coffee club card for those? A dozen ultrasounds, and your next one is free! They could even use some sperm-shaped hole puncher, just for continuity.), the doctor has paused with the oh-so-reassuring sound of, "Huh." Not precisely what you want to hear when assessing the health of the uteral areas.
Last year, this time, I was waiting to have a fibroid removed. They'd tried to do it the non-invasive way--well, they're still sending cutting implements up my happy chute, so it's still pretty damn invasive--but that was ultimately unsuccessful, so we'd gone the surgical route. Wheee! A caesarian for Phil, my fibroid.
So was this white spot a new growth, or unfinished bidness from the Phil-ectomy, or something entirely harmless? The dildo-cam would no longer suffice, it was time for the big guns: radioactive elements.
For the past month, I've been pretty mellow about all of it because, hell, The White Spot was there. If it was harmless, it was still harmless, if it was screwing up our chances of growing a baby, it was already doing that, and besides, ain't nothing fertilizing up in those parts anyway. The past few days, though: not so much. The sort of overwhelming feeling of This Is It was sneaking up on me. It's some horrid growth, left over from my miscarriage. It was The Son of Phil, back for a sequel, and I'd need to schedule surgury for August. Again. It was cancer and I'd need to lose the entire Happy Fun Uterus.
That is to say, I was slightly pessimistic.
I had an appointment for an HSG: a hystero schmemememe gram. Hystero: uterus. Shmemememe: something about scoping or sono or something. Whatever. The upshot (heh) works something like this.
Have you ever cleaned out a bottle or some long-necked thing where you can't get a sponge the entire way in? So you swish soapy water around in the bottom? We did that, only substitute "uterus" and "radioactive dye". Fill it up till it hurts, make me roll around on a table that moves like an animatronic Disney creation from hell, and then shoot the xray machine at me when the correct anatomy is under the mutation-inducing lens. It's like America's Next Top Model of My Uterus. "Okay, now we need a 3/4 angle... shoot that! Great. Okay, now roll the other way, shift the table up a little, Great! Shoot that."
And it's oh so much less fun than it sounds. I know, right? I'm just hoping I don't get eliminated.
Of course, my geeky side can't help but be slightly awed by the images that show up. You kknow those drawings we all saw in middle school, how the ovaries are attached to the uterus? Picture that as, say, a water slide. An egg's last little fun as it descends into the uterus. The drawings in middle school all have the water slide that looks like this:
See the dude at the top? He's the egg, about to slide into the pool of my uterus.
Stick with me here, this weird analogy will pay off. Okay, maybe, I make no promises, but stick with me anyway.
Well, as we swish the dye around my insides (fun! fun! fun!) I got to see as it snakes up through my fallopian tubes. This is good, since it means my eggs, when the pills and the shots make them do their thing, actually have someplace to go and a way to get there, and that's part of the point of this particularly fun test. But what strikes me is those waterslides. They're no direct shot, they're really more like this:
That's one crazy ride those eggs are taking before settling into life of babyhood. No wonder most don't make it.
And about that White Spot? No idea. Didn't find any homonculous-type Head of Satan staring at me from the 3-D images, so that's a plus. Experts get to pore over the negatives and tell me if we're screwed or what. I meet with my Doogie Howser doctor tomorrow (another punch on my dildo card! eeeee!) and I suppose we'll find out. My ovaries feel almost ready to explode out of my abdomen right now (thank you, Senor Clomid!) and if we're going to do another IUI this cycle, it'll be this week, so yeah.
Like everything about this whole damn shit: it's all wait and see.
But I really think now I want to go to the water park.
How to spend a night not sleeping.
One thing that sucks about living in the Pacific Time Zone is that when you have insomnia, it's pretty much guaranteed that no one is awake. So let's say, hypothetically speaking, you have the hours from midnight to whenever the hell you get some sleep to fill. What do you do?
You've got your blogroll, the RSS feeds, but very few people update their blogs between midnight and eight a.m. on an early Monday morning.
There's MetaFilter, a good site to go to that takes you to other sites, but it can be hit or miss.
Surf YouTube, sure. Find some mildly amusing clips like Marvel vs. DC (parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on--now with more mutants), a sort of low-budget Robot Chicken. I mean, REALLY low budget. You see the hands. But there's some great geek in there.
There's other YouTube stuff that might occupy you for a while. LisaNova amused me for a little while, especially her three part series on Keira Knightly, Johnny Depp, and the Pirates of the Carribbean (parts 1, 2, and 3). She's got some other stuff, but those were my favorites.
You can try watching old movies. Something like Back to the Future has held up astonishingly well, actually; of course, parts are period and so aren't affected by the TWO DECADES since the movie. And really, the other part is now period all on its own. Ahhh Michael J. You were adorableness.
Also: apparently Billy Zane is in Back to the Future! Who knew?
What's next? I mean after the couple hours you lie back down and toss and turn and haunt yourself with the stupid stressors you let invade your brain.
So, next up on cable: Cousins! Yes, it's that wonderful movie, the one with Ted Danson as a romantic lead! Verdict on Isabella Rosselini: still an always gorgeous, but the eighties were not kind to her. Not kind at all. (I've been trying to find images to link to, but I can't say I blame Isabella for erasing all memory of herself in shapeless Coldwater Creek Tops and blazers that--no kidding--go down to her knees.) But where else are you going to see a movie with Ted Danson, Isabella Rosselini, William Peterson, and Sean Young? Oh, and Lloyd Bridges.
So, now it's 5:30. The sky is starting to get lighter. You check your email, but who would have emailed you by now? Update your blogroll. Nothing. Is that... yes, it's the paper arriving! And the garbage being picked up! You, my dear, have officially Not Slept. Yay, you!
It's time for Crap TV! Yes, that lovely thing that TNT, USA, Spike and TBS all do all day long: those syndicated shows. JAG, perhaps? Or maybe you'd prefer Charmed? Baywatch? Something, anything, to get those beloved alpha waves? I do still draw the line at Walker, Texas Ranger. Even sleep-deprived, I have some standards.
No? Well, crap, it's 8:00 by now anyway. You've got a doctor's appointment to dread. Might as well get up and get to it.
You've got your blogroll, the RSS feeds, but very few people update their blogs between midnight and eight a.m. on an early Monday morning.
There's MetaFilter, a good site to go to that takes you to other sites, but it can be hit or miss.
Surf YouTube, sure. Find some mildly amusing clips like Marvel vs. DC (parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on--now with more mutants), a sort of low-budget Robot Chicken. I mean, REALLY low budget. You see the hands. But there's some great geek in there.
There's other YouTube stuff that might occupy you for a while. LisaNova amused me for a little while, especially her three part series on Keira Knightly, Johnny Depp, and the Pirates of the Carribbean (parts 1, 2, and 3). She's got some other stuff, but those were my favorites.
You can try watching old movies. Something like Back to the Future has held up astonishingly well, actually; of course, parts are period and so aren't affected by the TWO DECADES since the movie. And really, the other part is now period all on its own. Ahhh Michael J. You were adorableness.
Also: apparently Billy Zane is in Back to the Future! Who knew?
What's next? I mean after the couple hours you lie back down and toss and turn and haunt yourself with the stupid stressors you let invade your brain.
So, next up on cable: Cousins! Yes, it's that wonderful movie, the one with Ted Danson as a romantic lead! Verdict on Isabella Rosselini: still an always gorgeous, but the eighties were not kind to her. Not kind at all. (I've been trying to find images to link to, but I can't say I blame Isabella for erasing all memory of herself in shapeless Coldwater Creek Tops and blazers that--no kidding--go down to her knees.) But where else are you going to see a movie with Ted Danson, Isabella Rosselini, William Peterson, and Sean Young? Oh, and Lloyd Bridges.
So, now it's 5:30. The sky is starting to get lighter. You check your email, but who would have emailed you by now? Update your blogroll. Nothing. Is that... yes, it's the paper arriving! And the garbage being picked up! You, my dear, have officially Not Slept. Yay, you!
It's time for Crap TV! Yes, that lovely thing that TNT, USA, Spike and TBS all do all day long: those syndicated shows. JAG, perhaps? Or maybe you'd prefer Charmed? Baywatch? Something, anything, to get those beloved alpha waves? I do still draw the line at Walker, Texas Ranger. Even sleep-deprived, I have some standards.
No? Well, crap, it's 8:00 by now anyway. You've got a doctor's appointment to dread. Might as well get up and get to it.
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