Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Spare the rod

I'm sitting here enjoying my latest fresh pineapple, and it's delicious. Sadly, the next pineapple in line isn't ripe enough to eat yet. I placed it in the sunniest window spot to no avail. Anyone know anything about speed-ripening?

Thus far, aside from my expanding bosom and occasional nausea (and conspicuous pineapple consumption, of course), I haven't felt very pregnant for the past 13-14 weeks. But now, quite suddenly, my belly has decided to teach me a thing or two about who is in charge (clue: it is not me). I can feel things stretching and expanding and suddenly I groan whenever I have to bend over and pick something up. Basically, I am finally convinced that someone has taken up residence in my uterus.

Maybe some of you can relate to this: for the longest time I was convinced that somehow six home pregnancy tests, a blood test, and my midwife were all WRONG and that I was not pregnant at all, ho ho ho, silly woman! Even after we heard the heartbeat I convinced myself that it wasn't a baby that we heard, no, it was simply my intestines being quite cranky over that morning's oat bran cereal. I had all sorts of related dreams about things not being what they appeared: I go the cabinet for my oatmeal and find the cardboard container filled with rice pudding, or I get into my car to drive to work and realize that I'm sitting on a park bench, searching fruitlessly for the ignition.

(those are embarrassingly obvious dreams, aren't they? I wish my dreams were obscure and complicated and necessitating long-term psychoanalysis, so I could stretch out on a fainting couch and... oh, let's be honest- I'd take a nap.)

Anyway, this is what my pants be looking like these days, all classy-like:



I'll wager that it won't be long before one of these pops
off and snaps some poor library patron in the eye.

And here's my wee bump, which you probably thought would be enormous based on all the complaining I just did:



For anyone who may be wondering, I took my belly ring out. It happened accidentally, sort of. While we were at my parents' house over Christmas Mike said, "So, I guess you'll have to take the belly ring out at some point." And I stared down at it and thought, huh. I'd had it for a good twelve years and honestly, I had no idea how to remove it. So I started fiddling around with the little ball and, whoops! Off it popped and I took the ring out and that was that.

"Don't worry," my dad reassured me. "You can always get it pierced again." Which was kind of funny to hear coming from my ex-commanding officer military father.

But I doubt I will, which is kind of a shame. I've always had a tiny belly button and from what I remember, it was hard to pierce the first time around. From what experienced mothers tell me, there will be so much more to pierce later on.

Moving on.

So, is it too late to talk about last weekend's activities? On Sunday Mike and I had a lovely lunch at Jaleo and then walked to the Verizon Center for a Caps game. Unfortunately, we ended up sitting directly in front of two screeching little girls who continuously screeched in our ears, kicked the backs of our seats, screeched (did I mention the SCREECHING?), jumped around and nearly dropped an ice cream cone on my head.

Look, I know we were at a hockey game. It's supposed to be loud, yes. I know the girls were excited. But general loudness and loudness aimed directly at your eardrums are two different things. And the seat kicking. God, I'll definitely be adding seat kicking to my list of pet peeves.

We wondered why the parents didn't do anything to settle their kids down, and eventually moved a few rows up to get away from them. And from that vantage point we realized why no action had been taken: they weren't parents, they were slaves! We watched in amazement as the parents continuously ran back and forth to the vendor counters, buying the kids whatever struck their fancies: ice cream, popcorn, mini hockey sticks, you name it. Give me a napkin! I want gum! Make my baby brother disappear! And damned if that infant didn't vanish in a puff of black smoke.

When it was time to leave, those in our section could barely get down the stairs because there were three little boys climbing and flipping all over the railing like it was a jungle gym. I almost came home with a kid-sized Nike imprint on my forehead. Again, the parents seemed like they could care less.

We finally got out to the street and took a breath. I looked at Mike.

"Am I crotchety?" I began. "Is it because I was raised in a military family that behavior like that would have been unimaginable when I was a kid?"

"No." Mike said. "My dad would have killed me dead with his eyes."

We will be perfect parents of a perfect child, I'm sure. And now you should print this out and save it so that you can laugh your ass off the first time our kid has a screaming tantrum in the grocery store and knocks over a towering display of jarred spaghetti sauce.

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Wednesday, February 20, 2008

My Darling, My Hot Dog

Mike and I had our first ultrasound on Monday, during which we saw the baby dancing around like someone had hung a disco ball from my uterine wall. At one point the technician pressed the wand more firmly on my stomach and the baby threw his arms up in the air (fluid?) as if to say, DUDE. Mike took the wild gesticulating as a sign that the baby is definitely half Italian.

They told me to come with a full bladder. Three times they told me. Well, never fear! If there is one thing I'm excellent at, it's filling my bladder. However, I did such an excellent job that the situation was already rather desperate by the time we got to the clinic.

“Do you think we’ll be called in on time?” I ask the receptionist, shifting from foot to foot.

“Absolutely,” she promises.

We head to the (rather posh) waiting room to fill out the requisite paperwork. I painfully lower myself onto the couch and lean way back into the cushions, stretching my legs out in front so as to reduce the amount of pressure on my bladder. A glance across the room reveals an extremely pregnant woman sitting in the exact same position.

“Hi,” I want to call to her. “I’m not mocking you! I’m pregnant, too, just not visibly so.”

Soon after returning the paperwork, my name is called. Yes! Except that we discover we are simply being ushered to a second waiting area.

“Is it okay to go just a little bit?” I ask the receptionist. “I am really in pain.” I grimace and cross my eyes a bit to demonstrate the level of my discomfort.

She eyes me. “If you really have to, but only a little bit. They really do need a full bladder to do the ultrasound.”

“Yeah, they told me three times,” I say. “I’ll try to wait.”

We wait one minute, then two. By this time I imagine the urine expanding beyond my bladder and filling my entire body, all the way up to my eyeballs. No, I don’t have jaundice! These are my handy-dandy urine gauges!

I can’t even sit down. I pace the floor, back and forth, back and forth. The top button of my pants is wrested free of the buttonhole and my fly hangs open beneath my long shirt. I try desperately to think about anything other than the fact that there is a bathroom just 10 feet away.

“This cannot be healthy." Pace, pace, pace.

Three minutes, four minutes.

Oh. My. God.”

Five minutes. Five minutes and thirty seconds.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” I finally explode. “This is a matter of life and death!”

“Just a little!” Mike calls after me. I read alarm in his voice, but am too flooded to care.

A woman whom I presume to be the ultrasound tech catches me exiting the ladies room. She stops short in horror.

“You didn’t empty your bladder, did you?”

“Don’t worry," I assure her. "There is plenty left in there.”

I return to the waiting area.

Going “just a little” actually made the situation worse, because then my bladder knew there was a bathroom nearby and that for some incomprehensible reason, I JUST WASN’T USING IT.

Pace, pace, pace. Grimace, grimace, grimace.

Finally! We are called into the cool, dark ultrasound room. I am relieved to see that there is an absorbent pad on the reclining chair, because for the first time since young childhood, I am actually afraid that I will wet my pants.

The ultraound technician is a serious, no-nonsense woman. This makes me nervous. I prefer friendly, jokey types.

"Okay," she says. "Let's take a look at your baby."

She presses the wand into my belly and I wonder if I will pee all over her, but suddenly our baby is on the screen and I am breathless.

"There it is!" I manage, grabbing Mike's hand. "It looks just like me!"

Mike laughs, but ultrasound lady does not. She shifts the wand and suddenly a huge sac fills the screen.
"What is that?" Mike asks.

"This is your bladder," Ultrasound Ice Queen says.

We stare in amazement. It is gargantuan.

"Your bladder is too full," the tech tells me. She flips off the machine and hands me some paper towel. Mike looks as though he's ready to leap over the chair and grab the wand from her. "But we hardly got to see the baby!" he protests.

"Go to the bathroom," Ice Queen tells me. "There are some cups in there. Fill a cup two times, flush, and then come back."

I follow orders and return to the room, only to find that my bladder is still too full. "I told you there was plenty in there," I say.

We catch another quick glimpse of the baby, but then I'm sent back to the bathroom to fill another three cups. At last, she is satisfied.

And the baby, it is beautiful.

At first he/she was upside down, sucking on a thumb.


Then it flipped over. Future gymnast?


One of my many pet names for Alex is My Darling, My Hamburger, shamelessly stolen from the oft-banned Paul Zindel novel. He’s also Boo, Booh-bah, Buddy, and, when he’s feeling especially Russian, Alex Alexsovitch! I am practically incapable of not nick-naming people and pets.

Later, at home, I'm looking at the picture of the baby and it just pops out of my mouth: "My darling, my hamburger!"

Alex runs into the room, collar jingling. He stops a few feet short, as though suddenly sensing that I'd been talking to someone else.

"Come here, Boo," I say, patting the couch.

He doesn't move.

I hold up the ultrasound picture so he can see it. "My darling, my hot dog!"

Alex comes over and puts his chin on my knee, wagging his little stump. He politely sniffs the picture when I hold it out to him, but he's more interested in having his ears scratched.

This hamburger knows he's not going anywhere.

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Monday, February 18, 2008

Symptoms may include sleeplessness, pineapple cravings, and wearing the same three outfits over and over again.

Thus far, pregnancy has been relatively easy. There have been lots of changes, to be sure, and not all of them pleasant. But compared to some of my girlfriends, I’ve had a pretty easy time of it.

First, I haven’t vomited. Not a single time. Dry heaves, I’ve had a few, and nausea was an issue for several weeks, but even that wasn’t as bad as I know it could have been. I know, you all hate me, don’t you? My mom said she didn’t have any sickness with her three pregnancies, so I guess the luck is in the genes.

The nausea usually surfaced for two reasons: 1) I was hungry, or 2) I ate (or simply thought about) a food that turned my stomach.

The worst nausea was in the wee hours of the morning. I’d often wake up needing to pee at 4 a.m., and I’d tip-toe into the bathroom, gingerly lower myself onto the toilet, and pray that my stomach didn’t notice that I was up. But, ho! It always noticed! And it would become quite nasty and rudely demand a feeding. Many saltines and glasses of milk were consumed at the kitchen counter while the dog worriedly ran upstairs and down, anxious for all the pack members to be back in bed where they belonged. OMG! This wasn’t on the schedule! What are you DOING?

For a while, deciding what I wanted to eat was a time-consuming and often pointless venture. I’d spend an hour hemming and hawing, imagining this dish or that, and finally go with whatever didn’t make me want to spew. And then, just as it was about to become mine, ALL MINE, I’d change my mind.

The only thing I’ve craved consistently is fruit. Fresh pineapple? Come here, lover. Last week I ate almost an entire one by myself and my tongue will never be the same. We buy ridiculously expensive, out of season things that we would normally never put in the cart: bags of cherries, boxes of strawberries, pints of raspberries. I love them all.

Sleep: I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in quite a while. I guess “tired” will be a way of life from here on out. It’s nature’s way of preparing you for the baby! my neighbor said cheerfully. I threw a pineapple at her head.

Weight: I haven’t gained much weight yet, but apparently my boobs saw the positive pregnancy test back in December and immediately rose to the occasion. Right off the bat I couldn’t wear any of my button-down work shirts unless I had a sweater on over them, because hello! No one wants Pamela Anderson at the reference desk.

Or do you?

Never mind, don’t tell me.

I finally broke down and went to a department store yesterday, where I spent two hours trying on clothes. I ended up buying a roasting pan. This is so completely typical of me, but hey! I got that pan for 75% OFF. Acknowledge my greatness, Earthlings.

I was too embarrassed to return home without a stitch of new clothing so I did end up going back for a new pair of yoga pants. That’s a nice, professional look for the office, right?

No? How about if I pair them with some sensible heels and a bustier?

Too late.

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Friday, February 15, 2008

Conversation

Liz: stares blearily at monitor

Liz:

Liz:

Internet: Uh, did you want to say something?

Liz:

Internet: HELLO?

Liz: Oh! Yes. I wanted to say something. Something... something... something...

Internet: Well, we're off to a fine start.

Liz: Sorry, I'm really tired.

Internet: What is up with you?

Liz: Oh God, I don't even want to get into it. (lets head drop onto keyboard)

Liz: Ouch.

Internet: Juicy details? Spill.

Liz: It's nothing juicy.

Internet: Liar.

Liz: I swear! It's so boring, it could bring you to tears.

Internet: Let us guess- someone was mean to you on the Beltway and you cried.

Liz: No. Well, yes, but that's not what I was thinking about.

Internet: We can hardly wait to hear this one.

Liz: Well, I accidentally contracted a virus on our home computer. I went to one of those web pages that turns out to be a nightmare-- you know, the ones where extra windows starting popping up like mad and you can't get rid of them?

Internet: You clicked on one, didn't you?

Liz: Accidentally! I was trying to CLOSE one and I accidentally clicked on it and suddenly my computer was smoking a stogie and throwing knives at my head.

Internet: Is exaggeration like, a religion with you?

Liz: And I kept following the instructions to get rid of it, for three days I worked on this, and it kept coming back and multiplying! And horrible ads started popping up with these very busty women who were looking at me in a very inappropriate way and I was all, oh my god, I'm pregnant! My fetus cannot be exposed to pornography! It was truly a bloody battle of good and evil, like I was Indiana Jones and the huge boulder was chasing me and trying to crush me! My gritty will to persevere just totally kicked in.

Inernet: And?

Liz: We had to call Symantec and pay some twelve-year-old $100 to get rid of it.

Internet: Uh-huh. How did you get this virus, anyway? You were looking at adult sites, weren't you?

Liz: No!

Internet: Likely story.

Liz: I was on a Yo Mama joke site, if you must know. I was trying to find material for Stoneyfield's Yo Mommy-Yo Mama campaign.

Internet: They have a Yo Mama campaign?

Liz: In my dreams they do.

Internet: You are so weird.

Liz: Should I pretend to be Laura Ingalls instead?

Internet: No, ad executive is more amusing.

Liz: So anyway, Mike is the one who called Symantec and stayed on the phone with them until midnight.

Internet: So in other words, you gave your husband a virus for Valentine's Day.

Liz. Er, yes.

Internet: What did he give you, a wet willy?

Liz: No, actually. I woke up and found a beautiful beribboned box on my chest.

Internet: You're a sucker for beribboned boxes.

Liz: I know. This was inside.

Internet: Wow. So your husband does all the food shopping, cleans the toilets, takes the dog to the vet, spends hours on the phone fixing computer viruses that were your fault, and buys you jewelry, and in return you make fun of him on the Internet by telling everyone how many times he calls you from the produce section?

Liz: I deserve the worst Yo Mama joke of all time.

Internet: We're thinking...

Internet:

Internet:

Liz: Oh, I know!

Internet: Go for it, genius.

Liz: Yo mama's so lazy, she got a remote control for her remote control!

Internet: You should send that one to Stonyfield right away.

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Monday, February 11, 2008

What I Really Did During My Christmas Vacation



Wednesday, December 13

Short on patience, I write this post. Red laser beams of irritation continue to shoot from my eyes for the next three days.


Friday, December 14

I wake up feeling so tired that I can hardly move. Sadness and depression have engulfed me, seemingly out of nowhere. I do not want to go to work, but I have opening duties that morning and will be the only one there. I drag myself in wearing the fugliest outfit known to womankind.

I arrive to find that one of my co-workers has shown up early. “Oh!” I say. “If I had known you would be here, I would have called in sick today.” She asks if I’m okay and to my complete mortification, I burst into tears.

She sends me home. I spend most of the day alternating between napping and weeping.

I wonder if I should call a therapist.


Tuesday evening, December 18

I return home to a message from the public library. They say that a disc from my last book-on-CD is still missing. I call back and very tersely explain that I returned that disc two days ago and that I walked up to the check-out desk and handed it to a woman with glasses and shoulder-length blonde hair. “She told me she would take care of it,” I say, my voice wobbling. “I guess she didn’t.” The woman says she will get to the bottom of it.

I hang up and cry.


Wednesday evening, December 19

Mike suggests that we start packing for our holiday trip to Georgia and Florida. My eyes fill.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, surprised.

“I don’t want to pack!” I weep. “I don’t want to drive to Georgia and Florida! Why can’t we just stay here, on the couch?”

He hugs me and says into my hair, “Are you harboring a bun in your oven?”

I laugh, and then I cry. Again.

PMS for sure.


Early Friday morning, December 21

Departure day! Mike is outside, readying the car for our trip to Georgia. I get out of the shower and notice something strange in my reflection. I won’t go into details for the sake of the male readership, but it is enough to make me suspicious. I take a pregnancy test, expecting to feel pretty silly when it comes up negative.

A few minutes later, I glance down at the test. Is that a second pink line? It’s very, very faint. But out of all the pregnancy tests I’ve taken in my life, I’ve never seen even a hint of a second line before. I run to the window and shove it open.

“MIKE!” I shriek, waking the entire neighborhood. “MIKE, COME QUICK!”

He runs inside and up to our bedroom. “LOOK,” I yelp, shoving the test at him. “WHAT DOES THIS LOOK LIKE TO YOU? IS THAT A SECOND LINE I THINK THAT’S A SECOND LINE!”

He holds the test up to the light, turning it this way and that.

“It looks like it could be,” he says, thoughtfully. We stare at each other.

Then we load the dog into the car and drive to Georgia.


Saturday, December 22

It’s the morning after we arrive at Mike’s brother’s house in Georgia. We make a plan to go to the local Wal-Mart for a digital pregnancy test. “It will either say PREGNANT or NOT PREGNANT,” I explain to Mike. “There won’t be any ambiguity.”

But first we have to get past our sister-in-law, Wendy. Wendy is high-energy and very observant. It’s hard to put anything past her.

“Wal-Mart?” she asks. “For what? I’ve got lots of extra stuff around here. Maybe I already have what you need.”

I doubt you have pregnancy tests, I think. She and Mike’s brother have three children and are decidedly done with reproducing.

“Uh,” I say, brilliantly. “Uh, I just need some…uh, personal items. Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” she says, giving me a close look. “Are you sure? Because really, I probably have anything you could need, so just let me know.”

“Thanks, Wendy,” Mike says. “But we’ll just run to Wal-Mart. I need to get gas, anyhow.”

We escape to the car. “She thinks I need tampons but that I’m too embarrassed to ask for them!” I huff. “What, am I in seventh grade? Why didn’t we just say that we needed dog food?” (theirs is a no-pets household)

At Wal-Mart we buy a Clearblue Easy digital pregnancy test, which I take the next morning.

It says PREGNANT.


Sunday, December 23:

Mike decides to tell Wendy and Adam the good news, since we’re leaving the next morning for Florida. They are ecstatic.

“Thank God!” Wendy breathes. We all look at her.

“Well, you’ve been so tired, and you took that mysterious trip to Wal-Mart,” she explains to me. “Last night I said to Adam, ‘I’m afraid Liz has Lupus or something! She keeps taking naps!’”

Adam, who is a doctor, smiles wryly. “Her little bit of medical knowledge is a dangerous thing.”


Monday, December 24

Christmas Eve at my parents’ house in Florida. I take a regular pregnancy test, since the results on the digital tests only display for 24 hours. There are two obvious lines. I cap it, wrap it, and hide it under the Christmas tree.


Tuesday, December 25

We wake up and engage in all the usual traditions… stockings, mom’s breakfast casserole and sticky buns, the calling of the relatives, and finally the slow, methodical opening of the presents. When it appears that the pile has at last been demolished, I pull out the slim package that I hid in the tree skirt. “Oops, one more!”

Dad lets Mom do the honors. I kind of overdid it on the wrapping (really, it doesn't take much to adequately cover a pee stick) and it is taking her freaking forever to get it open. My heart is nearly exploding from my chest as she keeps pausing to hold out the package to their dog, Benny. “What is it, Benny?” she asks. “What could it be?” Benny sniffs intently, his ears standing at attention. OMG, pee! She gave you PEE!

Mom does not seem to receive this canine communication.

Finally, finally, she rips off the last layer of wrapping paper. She stares at the stick in confusion.

“What is this?” she asks. “Is it…an X-Acto knife?”

My dad leans over for a closer look. “Yeah, some kind of tool?”

Mom turns the stick over. Suddenly she gasps and claps her hand over her mouth, her eyes searching my face.

“What?” Dad asks. He looks from her to me, trying to figure out what’s going on.

I look at Mom expectantly.

"WHAT IS IT?" Dad asks again, thoroughly befuddled.

“YOU’RE PREGNANT!” Mom screams.

I nod, and that’s all it takes. She is laughing and crying and jumping up and down. Later, she asks if she can keep the pee stick.

I guess she really wanted grandchildren.

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Thursday, February 07, 2008

"Baby fish mouth! Baby fish mouth!"





2 + PINK + LINES = YES, I'M PREGNANT



I thought the Pictionary clues would be so obvious! And yet even Bearette, who already knew I was pregnant, didn't get it. I should have just gone with my original idea, since you guys like our weekly grocery store phone conversations so much.


Scene:
The grocery store


Liz: Hello?

Mike: Hey, it's me.

Liz: I know. What, is the garlic looking terrible again this week?

Mike: No, I'm way past produce. I'm already in dairy.

Liz: Record time!

Mike: You think speed shopping is hot, don't you?

Liz: Obviously.

Mike: Well, I was getting your Stonyfield organic yogurts when I noticed that they also make a special yogurt for pregnant women.

Liz: Special yogurt?

Mike: Yeah. It's called Yo Mommy.

Liz: (sputtering laughter) Yo Mommy?

Mike: Yeah.

Liz: You are joking.

Mike: No, I'm not. It has added DHA and folic acid.

Liz: (howling) Yo, Mommy! Yo, Adrian!

Mike: It also has extra Vitamin D.

Liz: They should have called it Yo Mama, and then they could have printed a yo mama joke on the bottom of each lid!

Mike:

Liz: Yo mama's so skinny, she swallowed a meatball and thought she was pregnant!

Mike: It think it's obvious why they didn't go with that marketing strategy.

Liz: Hhhhhhaaaaahahahahahahahahaaaaa.......

Mike: So do you want some, or not?

Liz: (wiping eyes) Well, I guess you should get it, since I'm pregnant and all.


I'm around 11 weeks. We heard a nice, strong heartbeat on Monday and I officially lifted the gag order. By dinner time, Mike had notified the entire tri-state area and most of New Jersey.

We are thrilled. More details to come. :)

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Wednesday, February 06, 2008

The Big Reveal

Okay, two big announcements today!

First, I have completed the process of spending my $15 iTunes gift card, thanks to your great suggestions. It's a little embarrassing that it took me this long to spend 15 measly dollars, isn't it?

I wish I could have a big, fancy ceremony for announcing the song choices; wouldn't that be fun? We could dress up in fabulous gowns and tuxedos and you could congratulate each other on how fabulous your musical tastes are and we could all drink champagne and take home fabulous swag.

Unfortunately, all I have is a blog and an old prom dress, and the best swag I could muster right now would probably be some homemade cookies and old issues of Food & Wine. Plus, I really need to shower. So maybe you should fly to Australia and visit Suse, who might still be blogging naked. That sounds like a lot more fun.

Let me preface this by saying that I am far from being a music maven. My husband is veritable encyclopedia of music and seriously, if you ever go on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (is that show still on?) and you get stumped by a music question, Mike should be your phone call, no doubt about it.

If I hear something and I like it, I'll buy it, but I don't spend hours trolling Best Buy or iTunes. I lazily wait for music to come to me, which is why I appreciated your suggestions so much. And yes, I listened to every single one. If someone suggested an artist, I listened to a sampling of his/her songs. Some of it was familiar, some already on my iPod, but there were lots of pleasant surprises in there.

So without further ado (or champagne, or a fabulous ballgown), I hereby reveal the long-awaited iTunes selections!


1) As suggested by the lovely and swing dancin' Kay, my first purchase was "Sh-boom" by The Chords. An old favorite, and it makes me so happy. I'll dance to it and pretend that I have actual talent, like Kay.

2) Several of Caffeinated Librarian's suggestions hit the spot for me. Really, you should all be blaming her for the lengthy delay of this post, as she gave me about 500 songs to listen to. But she was undoubtedly the Queen of the Mix Tapes back in high school and could probably find you the perfect song for any occasion. Just listening to her suggestions made me feel infinitely cooler.

  • "1234" by Feist.
    CL noted that this was featured in an iPod commercial, and it was vaguely familiar to me. I like it!
  • "Wonderful Night" by Fatboy Slim.
    I have some of his stuff already, but I love this one. So great for working out or just car dancing as I drive home from work. I can already tell that I'll listen to it over and over until I have the lyrics memorized. Mike, YE HAVE BEEN WARNED.
  • "Hey There Delilah" by Plain White T's.
    Love it. This one falls into the category of Songs I Listen To When I Want to Pretend That I am Out Driving in the Country on a Beautiful Spring Day, Instead of Facing Reality, Which is DC Rush Hour in February.
  • "Mornin' Dove" by Robinella and the CC Stringband.
    See above for category.
  • "Hell" by the Squirrel Nut Zippers.
    This one goes on the Dinner Party Playlist. Nothing says "Welcome to our home!" like a song titled HELL.
  • "Flourescent Adolescent" by Arctic Monkeys.
    I just liked the beat. But the band's name conjures up a worrisome image of shivering monkeys.
  • "Poor Old Heart" by Alison Krauss and Union Station.
    Again... helps me pretend that I live in the country.
  • "Hey Julie" by Fountains of Wayne.
    Very peppy. Makes me wish my name were Julie, much like I long to be Cecilia when I listen to Simon & Garfunkel.

3) The hard-working Teacher Bee took a quick break from wrangling fourth graders to suggest some lovelies, and I really liked "Reasons to Love You", by Meiko. This song goes in the Long, Steamy Bubble Bath category.

4) Bearette suggested "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" by Elton John and Kiki Dee, and I snapped it up. I have fond memories of singing this with my brother and sister back in the day, shrieking "OOOOH-HOO!" in the back seat of the station wagon. My parents loved taking long car trips with us.

5) Frema suggested a couple of albums: KT Tunstall's Drastic Fantastic and the new Tori Amos, American Doll Posse. Tunstall's new album broke when Mike and I were in Ireland, and she was all over the media there. So I downloaded "Hold On", because it reminds me of our Ireland travels. I already have a good amount of Tori, but I hadn't really explored American Doll Posse yet. I selected my two favorites, "Digital Ghost" and "You Can Bring Your Dog" (the last for obvious reasons... I would like any song with that title).

6) And with just 99 cents to spare, I went with fellow librarian Chrissy's recommendation of The Go! Team and bought "Grip Like a Vice". Everything by this group makes me want to run out and start cheering on a football field.

And with that, my iTunes gift card and I are spent. You guys are awesome.

But wait- I said I had two annoucements, didn't I? Okay... let's kick back to the Quiet in the Stacks pictionary days, since I've used up all my words for today.

Announcement #2:

Any guesses?

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Friday, February 01, 2008

Another question

So, how's the weather in your parts? It's been raining cats and dogs here. All day. Without pause. I think I'm going to have to paddle my way home, where Alex will most certainly be hiding behind the washing machine.

ANNOUNCEMENT:
I have been rightfully called out by Frema for not writing my follow-up iTunes post. I thought she would've been too busy giving birth to notice, but she noticed. Do not mess with the hormonal postpartum woman. She needs her 3 a.m. entertainment.

So, yeah. Here's my third (fourth? fifth?) apology for the Delay of Indeterminate Length.

You know that scene at the end of Dirty Dancing when Jerry Orbach says to Patrick Swayze, "I know you're not the one who got Penny in trouble. When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong."

BUT THEN HE NEVER ACTUALLY SAYS HE WAS WRONG.

This drives me crazy. So I have amended Jerry's lines to read, "When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong, except actually, I don't say I'm wrong, I just hint at it."

I think that's more accurate.

So yes, the ANNOUNCEMENT:

I am wrong.

In a fit of bad humor and self-pity, I asked you all to distract me with some good ways to spend my iTunes gift card. And you came through for me! And I promised to write a follow-up!

And then I didn't.

So I am truly wrong. And unlike Jerry Orbach, I will say so.

Does it help to know that I haven't spent even 99 cents of that gift card yet? If you suffer, I suffer. That's just the kind of woman I am.

iTunes post coming soon! I really mean it this time!

And now for my QUESTION:

I recently ordered one of these:

Don't be afraid. It's a Ceramic 3-Barrel Jumbo Weaver. For my hair. It is supposed to give me the loose waves I've always longed for.

I know you're laughing at me. This was a terrible idea, wasn't it?

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