And Loose the Moms of War!

While my Lord and Master is sleeping, I figured I would take this chance to make a post. It's not that I don't think he knows what I'm doing, or that I think I'm winning the war, but he's been momentarily bested by my heavy artillery (the boob is mightier than the baby sometimes) and is merely regrouping with a quick nap. Why do I think I'm going to lose the war? Simple. Thomas is psychic. I figured this out last night as he was peacefully drifting to sleep in my arms. He'd just nursed and was all snuggled up. He looked so sweet as his eyes closed and his breathing slowed, his little arms hanging loose and limp across his little milk gut. As I sat there, staring in awe at his beautiful little face I began to mentally compose a post about my victory. Epic phrases praising my conquest of General Wakeypants at the Battle of Milkerloo swirled through my brain. Heady and flushed with battle fever and triumph, I was, apparently, thinking much too loudly. His eyes slowly creaked open. I stopped moving. His hand twitched. I stopped breathing. He started to grin. I knew I was fucked. With a wail that shredded the flimsy gauze that had been, mere seconds before, the bravely flying pennants I had (preemptively) claimed as my war trophies, Sir Napsanot informed me that he'd merely been playing possum in order to lull me into letting my guard down in celebration before he struck. He could hear my plans. He knew I'd been relieved he'd fallen asleep because the boob was drained - he knew I was out of ammo! Oh devious baby! What did he want? What was his goal in this skirmish? He was tired, so I know he'd eventually sleep, but not before he'd made sure I was dead certain that his position of superiority in this Baby vs. Mommy prizefight was not a fluke, but maintained through strategic genius and supernatural abilities. After he did finally go to sleep, he spent the entire night kicking, punching and slapping me in his sleep. Because the Geneva Convention forbids continued aggression against an enemy that has conceded defeat, he covered it up by letting out a few gut-busting farts this morning so that he could claim he'd merely been wrestling with gas all night, and my inadvertant pummelling was nothing more than unfortunate, and forgivable, friendly fire. I know the truth, though. He was punishing me for my insolence. I bow to him, my little Macchiavelli.
Ah, right on cue, His Lordship wakes...

The Boob Tube

Recently someone felt compelled to quote some comedian or other at me, something about how people who don't watch TV feel the need to mention it at least once during every conversation. They seemed to think that it's a mark of us non-TV people's pretension, as if we think we are superior in some way to TV watchers and we have to rub it in.
Allow me to retort. In actual fact, we have to mention this to you several times because you can't seem to have a conversation that doesn't revolve around what you saw on the Idiot Box last night. If we don't say "I don't watch TV," we'd have to have the following conversation every. God. Damned. Day.:

TV person: "Oh my god, did you see 24 last night?!?1!!11one!!!!eleventyone!"
Me: "No."
TV person: "Oh, let me tell you about it since you missed it, it was really good!"
Me: "No, really, that's okay."
TV person: "Oh, did you Tivo it?"
Me: "No."
TV person:"You really should have! Oh, did you catch the last episode of American Idol? Can you believe Skanky McTalentless didn't win that round? I mean, come on, she's such a sweetheart!"
Me: "No. Not, 'no I can't believe Tarty O'Caterwaul didn't win anything for her ululating rendition of some random bit of pop drivel,' but rather, 'no, I didn't catch that, or any other episode of American Idol, a show which should, by rights, only be popular with the sort of people who compete in karoake contests in bars attached to bowling alleys.'"
TV person: "]Random bit of nonesense delivered in crappy attempt at a British accent.]"
Me: *blank look with slight emphasis on the eyebrows that expresses a concern for TV person's mental health and a slight head tilt that offers to help them find a reputable counselor*
TV Person: "Uh, you don't watch Family Guy, either, huh?"

So, you see, we have to preempt the entire thing by telling you up front that we don't watch TV. Then, of course, we have to have THIS conversation with you:
Me: "I don't watch TV."
TV person: "What?"
Me: "I don't watch TV. I don't own one. Haven't had one in years."
TV person: "How do you liiiiiiiiivvvveeeeee?????!!!!11!!1!!one!!!1!!onethousandonehundredeleven!!!!!"
Me: "Uh, I live just fine."
TV person: "That's so weird...you should totally watch Family Guy, though, I have season one on DVD, I'll loan it to you."

Alright, already, I'll fucking watch some Family Guy, I will, really, it's on my list of things to do. Yeesh! You people are relentless about this show!
Why, though, that's the question, why don't I watch TV?
Simple, I just don't like it. Sure, there are some good shows on some of the cable channels that I find interesting, like Forensic Files, or The New Detectives, but really, I can get all that from all the true crime books I read. I hate sitcoms. I hate crappy acting, abysmal writing, piss-poor premises, unbelievable antics, badly researched shows "based on real events," I hate commercials...the list of things on TV that annoy me goes on and on. Reality TV is the worst offender. These are mediocre people with nothing at all interesting about them, but stick a camera up their ass and suddenly every one is convinced that they are fascinating. They're not. Paris Hilton, not interesting, not attractive, not worth all the time spent on her. You see, I like to see actors, that is, people who can act. There are precious few on TV. I like movies. If I get a movie and it's crap, I stop watching it, or, if I do plow through it, I've wasted maybe an hour and a half of my life, I don't go back and watch it again at the same time next week! And, if I want campy, kitschy pap, I can get that, too. I watch Ray Harryhausen movies, but I certainly don't try to convince myself or anyone else that they are "sooooo good!" Yes, I've given some shows a chance. I've watched at least one episode of all the permutations of CSI, even. How's that for masochism? It took me weeks to start speaking to myself again after that little exercise in self-punishment. For those of you who missed the memo: the show sucks ass. Much ass. Big hairy ass. Flabby ass of questionable cleanliness.
I could go on about this until my fingers bleed, but I'm going to stop now and bask in the waves of righteous indignation that will be rolling towards me from the 3 people who might ever actually read this. You see, since I don't watch TV, I have to get my entertainment by pissing off those of you who do. :P
*grin*

"...I've got the will to drive myself sleepless..."

We are now on Day Two of Thomas's evil plan to Never Sleep Again And Drive My Parents Insane. His plan is going swimmingly. He lets me get just enough sleep at night so that I'm not too seriously tempted to sell him on eBay, but not one minute more. He puts off that sleep until we are just about ready to start screaming, then he passes out with a big grin on his face. He sleeps for about three hours, then wakes up to nurse. He sleeps another two hours, then wakes up to nurse again. Then he sleeps another two hours, but he kicks, punches and wiggles the entire time to ensure that I'm only half asleep. Again, he's grinning. It's a cute grin; he's a cute kid. Cute often acts as a front for pure evil. I actually rather admire his efforts. I mean, he's just three months old, he can't speak, he can't crawl, he's only just figured out how to roll over, and he's already mastered psychological warfare. He can keep his victims alive and just sane enough to function and take care of his needs (and lo his needs are many) while still driving them beyond the point of being able to shower, dress themselves or carry on a conversation with any adult who is not also a victim. Honestly, it brings a tear of maniacal parental joy to my red-veined eye.
The Face of Evil.

[Please note that he is awake in this picture. Awake and very, very smug.]

March 20, 2006 - The Hell you say!

So, I'm sitting in my favorite wingchair by the lovely fireplace in my sitting room, you know, the one some brilliant interiorist decided needed to be bricked up, plastered over and partially tiled. My son is three months and one day old and is displayed face down on my husband's chest like the world's chubbiest jetsam, washed up on the cotton shores of the Paternal Tee Shirt. In the other wing chair sits someone I hadn't seen for nearly 8 years until, thank you myspace, she found me, on that site, a couple of weeks ago. Today we drove down, through the beautiful rain, to visit her cousin, who lies in a coma as the result of a car accident last Friday. Strange day. I thought to log on to myspace as we sat, after dinner and a few drinks that she and Rob tossed back to settle the day a bit around her shoulders and pull some of the chafing wrinkles out of the tender places they bind and pinch. And what to my wondering eyes should appear but a message from another long-lost and much-loved friend. And another. "Who the heck is this? Oh. My. God. You're shitting me, right?" That these two particular people should find me on here on the same day, on myspace is seriously rearranging my feng shui. Yes, two myspace messages have actually shifted the placement of my chair in relationship to my wine rack. The whole flow of the room is now set to "odd, with a twist of Jack's Flaming Sense of Vague Amazement."

February 13, 2006 - only 8 weeks late

So, 8 weeks ago today I had a baby. Yep, I'm someone's Mother now. His name is Thomas. He was born 3 weeks early by C-Section, 3 days after an unsuccessful attempt to turn his little breech ass around so that I could have him vaginally. He wasn't interested in going along with our little plan, obviously. He was 7lbs. 8oz - pretty big for being early - I shudder to think how big he'd have been if he'd gone the full 40 weeks (um, ouch!). Since I love statistics*, let's run some numbers:
3-4% all babies are breech. Apparently, all of those babies are related to me. I was breech, my two sisters were breech, my mother, aunt and uncle were breech, and one of my two nieces. And so was Thomas. This is not a family tradition I was interested in him carrying on, thank you very much.
40% External Cephalic Versions (the turning of breech babies) are successful. Mine was, sadly, not, though we tried three times. Turns out that, due to his position, and the fact that he was already the size of a full-term baby, there was just no way it was going to work. It was also the most painful thing I've ever experienced, and that's including recovering from the C-Section itself. Let me set the scene: me, hugely pregnant, laying flat on my back for the first time in 5 months with Rob holding my hand, one doctor pushing the ultrasound wand into my belly, a second doctor pushing on the lump that was Thomas' head and shoulders, and a third doctor who actually climbed up on the table straddling my legs pushing hard just above my pubic bone trying to get her hands firmly under the baby's bottom to push him up and out of my pelvis. Oh yeah, good times.
Only 12-15% women have their water break at the beginning of labor. 5:36am I'm lying there, wide awake, wondering why I can't sleep. Suddenly, with a pop that I swear was audible, and a huge gush, my water breaks. If you've seen X-Men 2, and you recall Nightcrawler teleporting, you'll know exactly how fast I removed myself from the bed, saying, "Fuck, honey, my water just broke!" Yes, I teleported because I didn't want to ruin the Posturepedic.
So, off we toddled to the hospital, after I'd made the mistake of eating something. Hey, I was hungry! I knew we were going to have a C, but I also knew that if I didn't eat, someone was going to die (not me, actually, but as I was just one missed meal away from cannibalism my entire pregnancy, those nurses were in serious danger). Anyway, the contractions started at 6 and were 6 minutes apart or so by the time we got to the hospital at 7. They were going to wait until noon to do the surgery, because I'd eaten, but by 10 my contractions were coming fast and hard and I was dilating like a pro, so it was either cut me open, or try to delver him vaginal breech, 'cause he was sick of waiting in there. So, at 10:24am they pulled my beautiful boy out of my body and out into the world, where he promptly peed on several nurses. Twice. I was very proud. 
The last 8 weeks have been the most amazing time of my life. He's simply awe inspiring. He's a good baby, very mellow, very sweet, very cute. I am just head over heels in love with him.

*disclaimer: that was sarcasm and should in no way be taken as an endorsement for statistics.

November 30, 2005 - New Niece

My sister had her baby on Saturday evening. Her name is Caitlin Marie. She was born vaginally at 7:18pm, weighing 9.5 pounds, 21.25 inches long, after only 18 minutes of some very impressive pushing on my sister's part. This is the first birth I've witnessed, and it was simply astounding. Jess went into the hospital that morning around 7am, and called me in around 1. I got there a little after 2, and 5 hours later there was my niece. I admit that I was a little worried that Jess' husband wasn't going to call me at all - he'd recently put up a fuss about me being in the delivery room at all (he has some jealousy issues about Jesse being close to anyone but him, I guess.), but it all went very smoothly. I did my best to be supportive but unobtrusive, helpful to both of them and out of the way.
As for the actual birth experience, well, here's hoping mine goes as well. She did end up having the epidural, though she'd said beforehand that she wasn't going to. This necessitated her being ringed about with monitors and IV's and drips and all sorts of stuff, and being bed-bound through the whole thing. I'd really like to avoid that, if I can. She was laying on her back for the pushing, which is supposed to be the least effective position, but hell, 18 minutes of pushing doesn't seem inefficient to me! She only had a single superficial tear, too, so I'd say it was an all-around good birth. Caitlin is healthy and beautiful.
My turn is coming up. I'm a little over 5 weeks from my due date, though I am sort of hoping he comes a bit early. My stomach is enormous. He's very strong and very active and seems perfectly healthy, so if he wants to come out a couple of weeks early, I think we'll all be okay with that. We shall see.

September 17, 2005 - Why I walk like this

His name is Thomas. We call him the Disco Ninja in honor of all the kicking, punching and booty shaking he does. I am firmly into the waddling stages of pregnancy. We are due January 8th, but I am sort of hoping he comes out a bit early, as he's measuring big already and he's inherited his father's GIANT head.
If you hear a loud screaming echoing off of the hills of San Francisco sometime around the first week of January, you will know that I have kept my commitment to deliver naturally. 
The apocalypse is nigh. You have been warned

August 10, 2005 - OHMYGOSH!

IT'S A BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*happy dance*
woohooo!
He totally gave up the goods! After the first u/s when all we got was pictures of the baby's back, we didn't think he'd be so helpful, but there was some full frontal going on!
I'll get the pics scanned in and post them tomorrow!
WOOT!

August 8, 2005 - Whew!

It's Tuesday, and I think Rob, myself, the cats, and my apartment are finally fully recovered from Saturday. The party went quite well, particularly if the MOUNTAINS of empty beer and liquor bottles are any indication. Also, those of you who've been to my little soirees before know that I have a tendency to make WAY too much food, but by Sunday morning even my best efforts to over-feed everyone had vanished, so I suppose that's another good indication of things having gone well. Dear lord was there some drinking and eating! Thank all of you who made it out, you ROCK!!! To those of you too emo to show up, I love you anyway! :P
Sadly, the batteries in my camera died, so I didn't get ANY pictures of the debauchery - I particularly wanted shots of Rob, Tobias, Gretel, Seitchel and Cody all passed out in the living room around 4am. It was precious cute.
By the end I think we had over 50 people show up - luckily they sort of cycled through over the 12 hours the shindig lasted, so the place was never too crowded at one time. I had the backyard opened up, too, so that helped with overflow, though it was probably cruel of me to make smokers climb three flights of stairs to come back up for beer! bwahahaha - take that, smokers! hehe
The real highlight for me, though, was Tzuen from Cherry Bar showing up and playing Tetris Attack with me for the last three hours! My thumbs are still a little sore! It rocked!

Also, I find out tomorrow if our little Bunny Kid is a Thomas or an Eve! I'll keep you posted!

July 19, 2005 - Shopping, Shoes, Dancing, Cattiness

Boy howd-ay what a weekend! Friday Johna was back in town and we did a marathon Haight Street shopping run (five hours with Umbria and The Gothling in tow. That night, a birthday dinner until around midnight. Next day lunch and MORE shopping on Haight Street with Tim and Paty!
Oh, and I finally GOT THEM!!! The shoes that are so hot I told Rob I would fellate him in the store if he bought them for me. Sadly, the store girl didn't let said performance occur, but I got the shoes anyway. THE SEXIEST SHOES KNOWN TO MANKIND!!!!
Suprisingly easy to walk and dance in, too! I wore them out to Death Guild last night. Yep, nearly four months pregnant and off I go buying impractical footware and hitting the clubs! I wanna get some silliness in before I am too ungainly to do so! Had a great time being catty mostly. Wasn't brave enough to try dancing in the pony girl shoes until Johna showed up to dance with me (read: pick my trifling ass up if I fell). The Pole Guy was there, of course. Does ANYONE know anything about him? He never talks to anyone, just dances like an ass and whips his shirt off. Also, any info about The Cervical Collar Guy would be appreciated, too. You know who I mean, right?

July 9, 2005 - Things and such

Uh, I know I was going to post when I got home - oops! Anyway, my Grandmother is doing well. She ended up having her hospital stay extended, though, so she didn't get out until the day after my sister and I left AK. Our Mother stayed on an extra week to help Grams out around the house and get settled back in. My Mother, though I love her dearly, is a bit of a disaster. Before we left she pulled a such a classic Mom stunt...Jesse showed up at her house to pick her up the morning of our flight (she lives about 2 1/2 hours away and we were flying out of Oakland) and she had no idea where her purse was. After a half hour they found the purse and Mom realized there was no ID in it. No ID no flying. They tore the house apart to no avail. So, Jess and I had to fly up alone. Mom finally found an old ID and I got her a new ticket for a few days later. Argh! We flew out last minute, so the tickets were already outrageosly expensive, and the change fee is another $50.
Anyway, Alaska was a beautiful as ever. I got to see a lot of my family that I haven't seen in a long time, and Grams was delighted to see Jess and I and both of our pregnant bellies. Speaking of which, I am finally starting to show someplace other than my boobs (they are a freakin' D cup now - up from an A, for god's sake!)
We had our first ultrasound last week. The baby was not very cooperative, I am afraid. As soon as the tech found the baby, he/she rolled right over and mooned us. So, all we have are two pictures of a baby back and butt. *sigh* Cute as all hell, though. I am pretty sure this level of non-cooperation indicates that the baby is a girl. She was probably rolling over to hide the horns.
We have been talking about the birthing options for the Squirm, and we are thinking of delivering at an alternative birthing center. I mulled over a home birth, since I love this place and I feel really peaceful here, but with our family history of breach births (Grams had 2, Mom had 3) and such things, I am a little worried. I know those things aren't supposed to be genetic, but I would rather be safe than sorry, you know?
Anyway, now that the second trimester is here and I am getting my energy back, I am starting to feel much more social, so you will probably actually see me now and then! woohoo!
More later, now the baby needs ice cream!

June 8, 2005 - Been a while

Man did I drop the ball on this journalling thing? Yes, I did. I maintain that it's livejournal's fault. I joined the pregnancy community (actually, I joined three, but only one is to blame) and was so overwhelmed by the tidal wave of self-righteousness, downright ignorance, irresponsible breeding, attention whoring and other affronts to the gene pool that I was literally forced to step away from livejournal. I am only now recovering from the shock. This has proved two things: 1. I am more susceptible to nausea from things seen than things eaten (see two entries ago and me getting motion sick from Katamari Damancy), and 2. When you are pregnant your belly and boobs grow, but it, apparently does nothing for your IQ, charm or wit. If you were a vitriol spouting idiot on a high horse before getting it up the duff, sadly, having two brains in one body isn't going to change that.
In other news, life is in all ways awesome for me at the moment, except for the oooey-gooey head cold. Remember that cartoon, The Snorks? I am, apparently, obsessed with them since that's the noise I make as I attempt to breath through the sheets of nastiness clogging my pipes. We watched Van Helsing the other day and I realized where they got the idea for the filling for the vampire egg sacs.
heh, sorry, I know that's way more info than you needed, but at least I am not talking about my cervix or pregnancy gas....my uncouth only goes so far.

May 16, 2005, part 2 - And another thing,

Anyone who says something like, "isn't it great, you don't have to have your period for a whole 9 months," in that breathlessly exuberant way, really needs to be shaken until their teeth snap together and their eyes go crossed. Even the damn pregnancy books extoll this myth, with mutliple exclamation marks, no less!!!!
Let's see, a period is a few days every month of cramping, bloating, back aches, moodiness, food cravings, and bleeding. Pregnancy is nine months of cramping, bloating, back aches, moodiness, food cravings, weight gain, nausea, heartburn, and swollen boobs - EVERY DAY - topped off with a whole mess of pain and bleeding at the end. It's not that I resent being pregnant, or am not beside myself with joy about the baby, it's just that if one more person tells me how great it is not to have my period for nine months, I may just indulge in some seriously violent fantasies about their wet and awkward demise. I can't actually act out such fantasies, since I am a mommy now and mommy's aren't supposed to do that sort of thing, but know that the desire will be there...oh yes, it will be there...hell, it's here now....and how refreshing it is!

May 16, 2005, part 1 - Update

Well, here I am at 6 weeks, 1 day pregnant. Apparently the early stages of pregnancy resembles narcolepsy more than anything else. If you wondered why I haven't posted lately, it's mostly because those brief hours when I am conscious are pretty precious, and I have a lot of stuff to do before I pass out again. However, today I am fresh from a nap and without too many chores piled up, so here I am.
Things have been busy, even without the Squirm I am harboring. Weekend before last there was a film crew in my apartment filming scenes for a vampire musical. It's a Berkeley film class project. It was fun, but a little strange having random people, lights, cameras, boom mics and such in my home. Also had a dinner party for some friends of Rob's and their children that weekend. Last week was mostly sleeping, eating, peeing and more sleeping - I think I may be turning into a cat. This last weekend I visited my pregnant sister and we hung out with my mom on Saturday. Sunday Bunny played in the park during Bay to Breakers, but I stayed home. It was a pretty bad day for me, actually. The Squirm decided to let me know that everything was going well and it was growth spurt time by making me nauseaus all day. Morning sickness is a grossly inappropriate name. I usually get it in the evenings, but yesterday's started around 11 and lasted until around 7pm.
The upside is I know that the baby is doing well, which is what I really care about. The downside is that I get queasy so easily that playing Katamari Damancy makes me motion sick.

May 2, 2005 - Uh..

So, um, I'm pregnant.

April 11, 2005 - So much Awesome!

So, I just had a hell of a weekend! It was awesome! Friday night we met up with a couple of our favorite people in the world, Tim and Paty, and went to see MOTORHEAD baby!!!!! It RRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrRRRRROCKED! They played with Corrosion of Conformity, who were quite good, but not one of my favorite bands. But, the band that played before COC, Zeke , kicked so much ass that my perception of COC's performance was colored by it, no doubt. So, yeah, Zeke rules - see them if you get a chance.
After the show we went to Sparky's with Tim and Paty and Snake from Poison Jett Gunz, who you all also need to go see. (I apologize for the lack of link, but I can't seem to find a website for Poison Jett Gunz).
Saturday we went and saw Sin City! It kicked ass! I read some reviews, which I normally don't do, but I was curious. Some of the reviews were bad, but I can only imagine that any jackass critic who bagged on this movie has less than no appreciation for the comic book as an art form, and further, they can kiss my pearly white ass! Movie critics are a bunch of morons anyway, they give 7 out of 10 stars to romantic comedies - there is no movie in that genre that deserves more than 4 stars, ever. Even the funniest and best romantic comedy is inherently flawed from the get-go and most are patently unwatchable. Then, those same bastards turn around a give a movie like Sin City 3 stars! 3! cocksuckers! Anyway, the movie rocks, go see it. Now. Leave work, get out of bed, abandon your family, whatever you have to do, just go see this movie....like now, read the rest of this post later. Don't bother getting dressed if you aren't, don't even set down your mouse, rip it out of the computer if you have to, just go.

Okay, now that you are back from Sin City, here's the rest of my weekend. After Sin City came home and got ready. We had two birthday functions to go to, but only made it to one. The lovely Bean was having her party at Bootie and as much as I love her, and her bootie, I can't face a night of mash-ups without screaming. I hate them so much, I am getting twitchy just thinking about them. They must be stopped. I know there are some of you who think you like them, but you don't. Really. It's all hype. Someone you know said they were clever, and you believed them - but you have to get past that and return to reality. It's going to be okay. Take a deep breath and repeat after me, "mash-ups are awful, there is no excuse for them. I hate them." There, don't you feel better? Next week we will have a long talk about that Louis the 14th band you also hate, deep down inside where you keep your musical taste. I am only trying to help you because I care.
Anyway, we ended up at Cody's birthday thing over at the Tango Tango in the Loin. It's a very small, but very friendly karoake bar. I spent the night soaking up gin and tonic and gathering my courage to sing. We came back to our house with two of Cody's friends, with the intention to just pee real quick, pick up two more people, then meet up with the birthday boy at some afterhours club. However, the birthday boy was passing out on the street, and had to go home, so we stayed here, drank some more, had pizza and watched Conan the Barbarian. The impromtu gathering broke up Sunday around 5 pm.
Also, on Friday, I finally watched a porn! All in all, it was pretty fun, and the acting was on par with anything you'd see on the WB, or that damn CSI drivel (which you also hate) - if you actually like forensic shows, you would watch the Forensic Files on A&E, or whatever, you wouldn't watch that badly written, badly acted, unrealistic piece of crap. Unless you watch it for the pretty people, in which case, at the heart of it, you are watching it for the sex. You may as well be watching porn. Be honest. At least in porn, there is an excuse for the wooden line delivery and unbelievable plots, CSI can claim no such virtue. Turn off your TV, put in a porn, you'll enjoy it more, and probably feel less dirty afterwards.

April 1, 2005 - You keep hoping right up 'til the bleeding starts

so, if anyone feels the need to go out drinking tonight, I will be at Kimo's. Bunny is playing tonight, and, as a Mrs. Bunny, I, of course, will be there. And, I will be drinking. Perhaps a lot. You see, the donnelly is having a bad day. Not for a good reason, it's hormonal, really - but it's still bad, and I am still having it. I know it's probably a bit too much info, but my uterus is fucking with me. It's decided that, since I am trying to get pregnant, it's going to randomly have a 32 day cycle - yeah, 32. For those of you who don't have a uterus, the norm is 28. I usually go about 29. So, my uterus gives me those two days to not be sure, to think that maybe, just maybe, I am pregnant. Of course, I am not and I know I am not, but, after 32 days with no period my hopes do start to get raised. Then, BAM, cramps, bleeding, mood swings (it all starts at the exact same moment. It's delightful...kill me.) So, yeah, I am crampy, depressed, and need to drink.
I would prefer to do my drinking at home, cleaning the guns and watching Boondock Saints over and over, but it's a Bunny night, and the last gig until the end of May, so I am heading out, and would love to see you there. I promise to be nice. Hell, between the drinks and the hormones, you may even get a sloppy drunk donnelly "I really love you, man" hug for showing up.

March 17, 2005 - ...Of love, adootdootdoot...

yes, i went on my very first ever big scary roller coaster!!!!! in Vegas - where i have also never been before! IT WAS AWESOME! I nearly didn't come home. we had a whirlwind day there with our friends Tim and Paty and Tim's brother, sister-in-law, neice and nephew! they were awesome, too!
We went to the Star Trek bar in the Hilton, and it turns out that I am scared of Borgs in real life - even normal guys dressed up in rubber Borg costumes are scary! Yes, I am a nerd, and a coward!
We saw lions. They looked cuddly, for kiddens what bites off faces, that is.
I had a blast! A blast, I say!!!!!! I must go back! Not into gambling, but way way way into the silly, glitzy, goofy stuff! I still need to see Circus Circus! and the Luxor! and, and...and STUFF!
We are inventing a game called Bachelorette Bimbo. Rules of bingo, but cards with the various tacky things chicks out on bachelorette party nights do in Vegas. there will be film footage for those of you playing at home. mmmtackyness!
Glee!
(also, i now own a Vulcan teddy bear. Anyone wishing to cuddle him in an illogical way will be phasered)

February 5, 2005 - Snot Faucet the Undead

It's Saturday, and I haven't left the house since Tuesday. I was struck down with the flu...or possibly leprosy...bubonic leprosy. I feel better now, but I was doing a 3 day long Zombie impersonation up 'til yesterday. Well, that is if Zombies are really into The Sims, Hannibal and Sonny Chiba movies.....
It went something like this:
sniffle, sniffle, cough, drink tea, read book, pee out tea, have Theraflu, pass out, wake up, "braaaaiiiiiiiiiinnnnnns..."

January 25, 2005 - She's here!

Michelle's baby has arrived! She's scrumptious cute! I WANT ONE!!! If anyone has been hearing a loud ticking noise since yesterday morning around 4:30, that's not tenitus, that's my biological clock.
Her husband called me around 2:15 or so yesterday morning, and I headed straight to the hospital, expecting that I would be holding a leg soon for her delivery. Unfortunately, there were some minor complications and she ended up having to have a C section. The baby is fine, though, and so is Michelle - if a bit exhausted and sore. I suppose not having seen the actual delivery could be for the best - this way I won't be tempted, after watching something so traumatic, to consider changing my mind about having one of my own. I was hoping, actually, to be pregnant by now. As of this morning when I took a pregnancy test, I am not. *sigh*
If it doesn't happen this coming month or possibly the next, I may head back to school in the Fall as previously planned, and then try again next summer. We shall see. If I don't manage to conceive this time around, I will have all sorts of time with Michelle's little poop machine to tide me over. I am going to nanny her when I am not in school. It'll help keep my baby jones under control.

January 19, 2005 - Snot faucet

My husband is sick. Apparently he has this exciting new flu that’s all the rage in his office. Why can't he be fad-ish about footwear, or hats or something?

January 5, 2005 - New Year Stuff

2005. Isn't everyone supposed to be wearing spandex jumpsuits and having casual sexual encounters with andriods, or has science fiction been lying to me all these years? Damn You Sci Fi!
We had a nice New Year's, though, with Umbria and her husband and a school friend of mine. We watched Conan the Barbarian and Weird Science and played video games. Apparentlly we were reliving New Year's Eve 1985. Just before the stroke of midnight deificar and veopatra, with friends, showed up. We toasted in the New Year with champagne and shots for deificar and Rob. I hear tell that those shots may have contributed to an epic evening after the wild bunch left. All I know is that deificar was doing his best Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz impression as veopatra poured him down the stairs and off to the club.
After they left we went back to our nerdy-ness. It wasn't as much fun without Umbria and I being able to drink like we usually do on holidays (if none of you have ever seen her after a bloody mary or two, you are totally missing out), since she's going to pop out a baby any minute now, and I wasn't sure yet that I wasn't pregnant. Sigh, woke up Jan 1 to definite proof of non-conception. Ah well, the trying is the fun part!
Well, I hope everyone has a better year this year than the last one,
love you all,
d

December 23, 2004 - Ah, Winter

It's Christmas Eve Eve! And a Merry Ho-HO-HOLY SHIT IT'S COLD IN MY APARTMENT to all. I think it's time to crank up the heat and have a hot cup of something to warm me down to the toesies! Once I am thawed out I must venture forth and buy the very last present on my list, lay in a stock of wine, and then I can hole up in my jammies until the New Year!
Here's wishing you all a lovely (and warm) winter holiday

December 15, 2004 - Procreation, as opposed to amateurcreation?

Admittedly, I have participated in con-creation, but that's a whole long story, and many years ago. Let's just say that I don't have a 10 year old child, and leave it at that, shall we?
Anyway, all that aside (not that it hasn't drifted across my mind frequently in the last decade, and nearly daily since we've decided to get pregnant), I am very very nervous. I have read in various places that each month a couple only has a 25% chance of conception. (Did I already use up all my statistical luck when I was a foolish girl?). I have read conflicting things about when the best days of my cycle will be. I have read different advice on his sperm production.....oy! Thousands of women get pregnant every day on accident, so I need to stop stressing and just relax. Really. Donnelly, stop stressing.
I think, all in all, I may be hoping that I am pregnant by the time Umbria goes into labor, so that it will be too late to chicken out when I watch her deliver! I have been reading a lot about child birthing lately, thanks to her. I have also been asking everyone I know who's had a baby to tell me the whole story. Pretty much, it boils down to the same thing: it's different for every woman, but women have been doing it for millenia, so, just trust your body to know what to do.
I can barely trust my body to navigate a hallway upright without hitting furniture!!! I have serious doubts about my body's ability to handle anything as complicated as producing a whole person out of my woo!

December 10, 2004 - My husband, the Kringle

Well welly well, it's that time of year again, when the normally Grinchy husband's heart grows three sizes. For 11 months he hates the world, he grumbles, he grouses, he, well, let's face it, he grinches! Then, the air gets chilly, the eggnog lattes make their appearance in the coffee shops, and my young man's thoughts turn to trees and cider and Rankin/Bass movies. Our living room is dominated by a tree that, as they would say in a film noir detective story, "is bigger than the both of us, schweetheart!" The damned thing is at least 8 feet tall. He's been known to point at it and giggle like a little girl.
In other news, I won't be returning to school next semester due to some unfortunate misinformation from the staff in the accounts receivable department and from the Registrars office at the university. So, Mr. Kringle and I have decided to go ahead and make a baby for christmas.

November 5, 2004 - Blog off the starboard bow!

Yes, well...it's been a rough couple of months, but it's getting better. I went MIA for a bit - had some stuff that needed attending (actually, it was someone else's stuff, and I do tend to dive right in when help is needed).
So, to tender my report on Sacramento:
It's hot.
It's boring.
I became very comfortable with driving really goddamned fast on I-80. ("Sorry if I was speeding Officer. I thought that sign said 90mph, but it went by awfully fast...")
If I have to hear one more damn DJ announce, as if he were the first one to say so, and were, in fact, the pinnacle or broadcast cleverness, that the new Green Day album was destined to be the 'album of the year' just before playing Boulevard of Broken Dreams for the EIGHT HUNDREDTH TIME THAT FREAKIN' HOUR, I swear Ima gonna start shootin'.
In a couple of years when that Maroon 5 song makes it to the karaoke lexicon I am gonna be so damn prepared! (2 hours or more of commute every day in a car with only no cd player, a broken iRock, and your only tapes consisting of Journey, Concrete Blonde, Led Zepplin and some random tape that seems to have been made as a cruel joke by my high school roommate [for the love of god it has Extreme on it - it WOULD take More Than Words to express how embarrassed I was when my husband popped that anonymous tape in and then just stared at me as I tried to protest that I hadn't made it....I SWEAR TO YOU!!!!!] left me with a lot of sing-along time).
There is no burrito delivery.
Pizza places won't deliver beer.
As far as I am concerned, these last two mark the absolute conditions by which Sacramento is proved to be utterly uncivilized.
My sister is doing better, though.

August 20, 2004 - The who with the what now?

I just had the strangest AIM conversation with my husband.....well, actually, not THE strangest, since AIM conversation with him tends to get really weird on a regular basis and I am sure we've had weirder exchanges. This one, however, I had to share so that somone else could appreciate the fine art that is communicating with my spouse:
4:20 PM
him: exchange crashed again
me: crickey!
him : so we'll be goign to brainwash around 8 i think
me: we will?
me: but...I...am confused
him: oh?>
me: the exchange server crashed so we are going to Brainwash at 8??????
him: totally
me: What the helld does that mean in ENGLISH??????

I now have a headache and I think I need to go lie down....

August 16, 2004 - Alas, poor CHS, I knew it well Horatio

As you can see, I survived my descent into the bowels of Calaveras County. The reunion actually went much better than I feared. Nearly all of the people I was eager to see were there, and nearly no one I dreaded encountering. It seems that the intervening decade has been very kind to some very deserving people. Even my husband enjoyed himself - of course that was helped by the fact that several women there were hoping he was on the menu ("Who is that? Was he in our class? He's hot!") That's right, bitches, he's all sortsa taken!
The only really low point of that night was that, despite my preparations and watching Grosse Pointe Blank the night before, I didn't get to kill anyone with a pen. *sadness*
I still have the pen, though, if there is anyone you would like stabbed in the neck...

August 13, 2004 - Ten Years

So.....my ten year High School reunion is tomorrow. I feel a little old. Ten years slipped away from me. All those chances to keep that passionate promise "I will keep in touch," lost. Friends who stuck with me through the worst, ugliest, dumbest, weirdest, most neurotic times of my life, and I lost touch with them. Or I would contact them, sporadically. Every few years, an email, a phone call, a chance meeting in some random place ("Say, you look really familiar, did you go to Calaveras High? Holy shit!!). Tomorrow I get to see them again, some of them, anyway. To those that I loved and lost touch with - I still love you and hold the memory of you very close to me. You helped me survive. You kept me (moderately) sane. You were, and no doubt still are, wonderful. I will see as many of you as I can tomorrow.

And now, let us address the rest of you fuckers I went to High School with.
You know who you are, you redneck, racist, homophobic, ignorant, backwards, violent, hurtful BASTARDS! That's right, I am talking to YOU, Sara Hollingsworth, and particularly YOU, Nick Reid......ooooooh how I hated you! (I know, I know, it's been ten years, Donnelly. You can stop hating them. You're right, of course, I CAN stop hating them...but I'm not gonna.) There are others I hated back then, but, without dragging out my yearbook, I can't think of their names at the moment. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe you haven't changed since High School, maybe you'll snicker and point at my blue hair. Maybe you'll be offended by my tongue piercing or tattoos. Maybe you'll still call me "dyke" under your breath and assume my husband is a fag. Maybe you'll try to look down on me for who I was ten years ago. Maybe not. Maybe you've grown up, too. I hope so. But, I am harboring the secret little wish that you're still the exact same fuckstick you used to be. Yeah, that would be good. If living well is the best revenge, I think that it should indeed be served cold with a great big ol' side of you still living in the god damned trailer park with your same small town prejudices and no real idea of what a great thing life can be if you were just a little more open-fucking-minded.
grrrrrr....bastards.

But, ten years later, I have a wonderful life. I have a fantastic husband. Fantastic wonderful smart funny sarcastic romantic loving husband. I have terrific friends. Terrific amazing dazzling charming warm caring friends. I'm going to a great school and working my ass off for it. I have traded off insanity for a fairly healthy eccentricity. I'm a happy girl. With just a little residual bitterness that I think I hold onto more for its entertainment value than anything else.

Anyway, full report on my return.

August 11, 2004 - Donnelly:1, Officer 1420:nothing!!

At the tender age of 26 I decided that it was high god damned time I got my driver's license. It's not that I was hell bent on joining the adult world or protesting Critical Mass or anything, I just figured that it might be a useful thing to have so that I could do some of the driving on long road trips or balance my karma for all the rides I had cadged from friends in the past. Also, we'd bought a car and I realized that, out of self-defense, it might be a good idea to take over driving duty from The Husband. (He's not a bad driver, per se, but he is an angry driver). Well, as luck would have it, one fateful April evening I was practicing my driving directly in front of a police officer (luckily for me I actually had a licensed driver with me at the time). My lesson that evening was "Turning onto the most confusing street in the City (Market) at the weirdest intersection you can find (Page St.)." The lesson was going pretty well in that I was properly flustered, sort of lost, and totally baffled. I noticed the police officer behind me, and, as instructed by the California Driver's Handbook, I immediately launched into my favorite cop joke for the benefit of my passenger. Sadly, while reaching the punchline, I noticed that the lane I think I was supposed to end up in was backed up for several blocks, and so I turned into a different lane. The wrong lane. The bus lane, as I was informed by a sign half a block further along. Naturally, there is no getting out of the bus lane once you are in it; solid lines, traffic and concrete bus stop islands conspire to keep you there, sandwiched between the two cops in front of you and the one cop behind you. So, I was pulled over (he made me pull over in front of a hydrant - I was pretty sure he was going to give me a second ticket for that). He gave me a ticket, but only after asking how old I was several times (apparently he doesn't get many 26 yr old first time drivers), told repeatedly that the signs were printed in English, and informed that police officers are the "opposite of Muni and that's why they are using the bus lane."
Today was my court date to contest this. I planned on contesting on the grounds that I am the ONLY PERSON IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING CITY to have ever gotten this particular ticket. I got to the court after a sleepless night filled with mental replays of choice scenes from The Wall, Fargo, and Office Space ("I hereby sentence you to life in a Federal Fuck Me in the Ass Prison" for impersonating a bus). I wore large boots with a great deal of metal on them, out of habit more than anything else, and had to take them off for the very bored guard who didn't even glance into my HUGE (and often knife-harboring) handbag. Thoughts of violent uprising and a general Traffic Offenders Glorious Revolution went through my head before I realized that I had removed from my bag anything more dangerous than a particularly smoking hot red lipstick. Dauntless, I went upstairs and sat in mute and uncomfortable silence with all the other hapless motorists awaiting our doom at the callous hands of Dept A's uncaring vehicular justice. The doors opened, we filed sheepishly in, each wavering between righteous indignation that we, brave and noble warriors of these San Francisco streets who daily battle cabs, bicyclists and and the vile Dark Army of Meter Maids, should have been singled out, and embarrassed chagrin at the thought of being dressed-down in front of these strangers for having been foolish enough to commit our acts of automotive audacity directly in the view of police officers. I continued mentally rehearsing my impassioned speech of protestation (I am pretty sure I would have been nominated for an Academy for Best Actress in a Traffic Court), and hoping that the judge wouldn't summarily send me up the river as an example to other's who might have the temerity, the downright gall, to show up in his courtroom with blue hair. The bailiff called some names to the back of the room to receive their information (a laminated card telling you how to address the judge [Your Honor and Sir are okay, but Darling and Pooky-Britches are frowned on]). I stewed, I sweated, I quietly panicked....and I wasn't called. He announced that another clerk would call everyone else to the front of the room. I quickly checked to make sure there was no dunce cap and stool reserved for to display the shame of those of us who had committed only the truly stupid crimes, and was relieved to not see one. The next person called had her case dismissed. Hope rose. The next, and the one after that, were also dismissed. Hope surged! VICTORY!!! I was also dismissed!!!!!! Boo-yah, officer-number-1420-whose-signature-is-so-unclear-I-can't-decipher-your-name (unless it really is "Tur KL"), Boo-yah! Of course, the clerk couldn't find my damn paper and I had to wait for an additional 10 minutes while he searched, and searched and searched for it. That interval did serve to give the guy in row three the chance he'd been waiting for, though. Unable to resist my blue-haired, bus-lane defying charms, and apparently unable to see the wedding ring I'd been pointedly aiming at him since I caught him staring at my ass on the way into the room, he sidled over all ninja-like and asked to take me out to coffee. I told him my husband wouldn't like that. I wanted to tell him that I wouldn't like it much either, but I'm a nice girl and hate to give offense (or tempt fate with rudeness when my paperwork still hadn't been found and the fickle gods of chance might still trap me into staying in the court with the row three speeding ticket guy). After several more minutes of the clerk shuffling paper and the speeder staring at the back of my head, I was finally free! Free at last, free at last!
I like to imagine that the judge reacted to my ticket the same way every other person who has heard about it has. I picture his look of disbelief, a furrowing of the brow and a puzzled, "You can get a ticket for that?" Then, perhaps a good-natured laugh at my expense before graciously dismissing the case. Thank you, thank you, you wonderful man I never had to meet, thank you! I shall now retire to play "I Fought the Law and I Won" very loudly and dance the dance of "No Points on My New Driving Record."

August 9, 2004 - Ew, Warm Yogurt!

So, I got up this morning (by that I mean I dragged my butt out of bed when I could no longer convince myself that I didn't have to pee), and decided to make some breakfast for The Husband before he went off to work. So, I open my freezer to grab some frozen veggie sausage patties (while I prefer my breakfast sausage flavored with the suffering of pigs, my doctor told me that cholesterol levels in a person my age should not be quite so...impressive...for a while I thought a high score was something to be proud of, but, alas, unlike the video arcade, at the doctor's office high is bad - hence the switch to patties flavored only with the mild discomfort of soy bean plants)...where was I? Oh yeah, opening the freezer and being greeted by a blast of HOT AIR. That's right, hot, the opposite of cold. I no longer have a freezer, I have some sort of refridgerator/toaster oven combo sitting in my kitchen. It has been acting funny, in a Ghostbusters sort of way, since last Thursday. I am pretty sure I heard something behind the wilted zucchini muttering "Zool" the other day. This whole weekend we've been doing our best to clean out the perishable items, but we didn't quite get to them all in time before the fridge decided that merely failing to chill should be escalated into actively cooking the food, thereby saving us the trouble of turning on the stove. I tried to explain to it that I really don't mind cooking for myself using a totally seperate appliance, but it's just not listening.
Anyway, our new landlords are getting us a new fridge today. Has anyone else read Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul? That fridge was cast away and joined the Norse pantheon...I can only wonder what will happen to my own Frightening Frigidaire...

August 6, 2004 - Take that, Freud!

So, we broke down and bought some ice cream the other day. We've been trying to avoid all that fattening creamy lactosey goodness for a while, it being counter productive to the ol' going to the gym sillyness we've adopted. Anyway, I figured that I had earned some ice cream, since I'd gotten a shot at the doctor's office and, as far as I am concerned the rule that you get ice cream after going to the doctor for a shot has not been revoked since my childhood.
So, anyway, we snarfed down a tub o' New York Super Fudge Chunk while watching History of the World, Part 1, then went to bed. I had the following dream, which may or may not be the ice cream's fault, but the blame has to go somewhere...:
At first I was watching television, which I remember thinking was odd, since we don't have one; the dream grabbed hold of me at that point, refusing to let any lucidity interfere with the pageant of weirdness it was about to put me through. The show that was on was some sort of Happy Days anniversary special, with all of the cast participating in some sort of elimination round Survivor/American Idol thing. Viewers were calling in to vote on their favorite character, and the losers were to be voted off the stage. Fonzi, however, wasn't williing to let fate decide, and was surreptitiously bumping off other cast members. After knocking Richie and Arnold off of the stage into a sub-basement full of wiring and machinery (don't ask me how the sub-basement was opened - the Fonz has his ways...), Fonzi was, naturally, the winner. Then, it got weird. It turns out that the show's producers had decided that Henry Winkler was too old ('who wants to watch a fifty year old guy hitting on chicks?'), and so had cast a very young (i would say around 20) Pierce Brosnan to be Fonzi for the show. His closing number, which was sort of his reward for winning, was a solo rendition of Sweet Transvestite from the Rocky Horror Picture show, which he sang doing his best Billy Idol impression. He was also wearing leather pants....
that's all I remember.
(Fuck you Sigmund Freud!!!! I blame it on Ben and Jerry!)

May 13, 2003 - Do they give scholarships for procrastination?

I just finished writing an essay that is due tomorrow and was assigned to me about 2 months ago. It's a research paper. Surely, you say, surely I had all the research done already and just needed to synthesize it into a paper, right? You would be wrong. Well, then, when did I start this research? Noon. Today. Well, you say, I am sure that's just a fluke, a 4.0 student on her way to Berkeley surely doesn't make a habit of such abominable study habits! Again, you would be wrong. I have become a legend in my classes for writing my papers as late as a half hour before they are due. Campus mystery: "how is donnelly getting a 4.0????" I have no idea. I am pretty sure that karma is going to come back to bite me in the ass about it, though. I have nightmares that someone is going to show up for me, tell me it was a clerical error and give me my REAL transcript littered with B's. (shudder, the horror, the HORROR!!) They'll show me secret videotaped footage of me in the computer lab typing up film analysis at 1:00 for my 1:30 film history class, or frantically digging through my anatomy book to figure out where the hell the flexor pollicus longus is in relation to the flexor carpi ulnaris right before my lab practical....I am going to academic hell. Actually, I think this next week and a half is going to be my academic hell - I have 6 finals. joy.

Tuesday, May 6, 2003

Okay, new entry for the first time in ages! woohoo!
well, I have been admitted to Berkeley for the Fall. Rock!!! I guess all those A's paid off! If you can't guess, I am STOKED!!!! Now all I have to do is beg the Psych Department to let me into that major - it's an impacted one so there may not be room. If such is the case, then I'll just do Bio or something until a slot does open up and get a double major in Psych and Bio. Sciences and trundle on to Med School afterwards or something. We'll see.
In other news: we're planning on starting the ol' play-do fun factory of life during the latter half of my senior year (which, since I transfer in as a Junior, means Spring of 2005). So, Umbria, I hope you can hold out that long (cross your legs or something!) Names are an issue, he wants to use family names (like Jerome and Francis) that I just don't want to stick some poor child with. He's nixing Wolfgang (sigh), so we have to come up with something else. And, heaven forbid we have a girl because we aren't even tossing girl's names around.
Other, other news: I think I may be able to pull off keeping my 4.0 this semester! However, after spending all that time with the preserved cadavers in anatomy, I may never eat beef jerky again.
Had a weird run-in at lunch yesterday - one of the Husband's old girl-toys. We had run into her about 2 months ago on the street, and he introduced us, though he could barely get a word in edgewise as she told us how fabulous she was and how cool her parties/friends/movies etc. were and how impressed we should be that she was taking 4 classes at CCSF (bite my ass wench, I'm takin' six [how's that for petty and bitchy?]). She didn't recognize me though when she sat down at the same table I was at. It was kind of uncomfortable, so, when I saw some other friends I abandoned the table.
Anyway, (woohoo, I'm goin' to Berkeley), more another day!

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