Friday, August 31, 2007

I have spent the last few days in a fabulously craptastic funk. Man, I was grouchy and so blue about so many things. Then, for some reason, today while walking to lunch with my superhot boss, it was like a cloud lifted. We spent our lunch hour cracking each other up about silly things like football rivalries and sports reporters. We talked about how cute our kid is, our plans for the long weekend, and sunning ourselves on rocks like lizards. (Ok, really just he wanted to do that. I wanted to get back inside to the air conditioning. But still.)

Anyhoo…I am resolved to be in a better mood. Even though today is kind of a sad day…the fabulous Ethel Baby passed away two years ago today. And I’m having some drama in my friendsphere. And the lobby outside my office is full of reporters waiting for Sen. Craig to announce his resignation. (Man, that bums me out. What a way to end a career. What a blow to the state of Idaho. What a STUPID THING TO DO. Seriously, listen to the police interview and then try to convince me that any first year law school student couldn’t have gotten those charges dropped. But props to the Senator for employing more of my previously blogged about battle tactics than I originally gave him credit for.)

In an attempt to make my resolve a little more, erm, resolved? I ate some cookies and read a funny blog. And now, yup, I’m in a good mood. I can’t believe that August is over though. Not that September in southern Hideyhoo is even remotely fallish. It’s still hotter than hell here, and the air is thick and smokey. But school has started, my football team opens against USC on Saturday, and Sweet Pea asked me about a Halloween costume the other day. So I suppose summer is officially on its way out.

Usually, I dig in my heels and refuse to acknowledge the changing seasons. But this year, the beginning of September means that October is right around the corner. And that means we’re going to have a baby soon. Woohoo!! And also, ohmigah, what have I done? And finally, sniff sniff. This is my last pregnancy. The last time I’ll be able to feel little feet in my belly. My last mommy of a newborn time. My last few weeks of being really uncomfortable and nauseated and bloated and hormotional and…BACK TO WOOOHOOO!

I told Sweet Pea several weeks ago that her baby brother was going to come when it was pumpkin time. And it’s funny, but now I’m sort of holding myself to that same timeframe. Like, the baby has strict orders to stay put until the air turns crisp (yeah, I worry about having a preemie, Sweet Pea was early) and then when we get out the fall decorations and put pumpkins on the porch he will magically arrive just in time to wear a cute and snuggly little costume for Halloween. How convenient and tidy for me, no? Like Martha Stewart is going to tie a grosgrain ribbon around his little diapered waist and present him to me with a freshly baked loaf of pumpkin bread. Ahh Fall. Ahh domesticity and perfection and bliss.


It’s the denial and terror talking. I realized that this morning when Sweet Pea tore the nursery apart and smeared lip balm all over the diaper changing pad. Kind of a, “How am I going to shower and dress myself while keeping an eye on the baby and his super helpful and busy big sister? Lalalalalalalala…Fall is family time. Fall is cocooning time. Fall is when we bake and wear sweaters and have perfect babies and perfect preschoolers who look like Ralph Lauren ads and play in the leaves. Lalalalalala,” moment.

It’s all true though, right?


Thursday, August 30, 2007

At lunch today Mr. G and I were approached by a reporter from the NY Times about the Larry Craig thing. So that's the 3rd reporter at this point who's asked me about it.


What a mess. I really can't even decide how I feel about it. I'm conflicted. It's hard when it's people you actually know. I mean, kind of peripherally. But still. This is a small state where people have a lot of interaction with their public officials. I've met him several times. I know his family. My friends work on his staff. It's just...ugly. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, and even my liberal little self takes no joy in it. For several reasons.

Here’s what I know though. Senator Craig would be in much less of a mess had he employed an age old female battle tactic. Get indignant, get scary pissed, and confuse the opposition into believing it’s all their fault. Let me illustrate.

I’m sitting in a bathroom stall tapping out sexually aggressive messages in Morris Code. Suddenly a badge appears. In the next 3 seconds I go ballistic. “Who are you? What are you talking about? Are you some kind of freak?” Because really, until someone sees your wanker, have you actually engaged in lude conduct? No! You were simply singing showtunes – ok, maybe not showtunes. Maybe the Battle Hymn of the Republic – in your head and tapping your foot along to the beat. What kind of freaky weird pervert would assume that toe tapping was a solicitation for sex??? And BY THE WAY, I am very powerful and could squash you like a bug for making these ridiculous accusations.

Anyway, to little old me, that sounds way more likely to work than pleading guilty. I’m just sayin…But it only works on male police officers. If they bring in that Kyra Sedgwick character you’re screwed.

I told the reporter that. Heh. But off the record. So if anyone sees it in the NY Times let me know.


Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I'm starting to think this "Random Photo Tuesday" thing was a bad idea. Basically it just illustrates what a craptastic blogger I am.

Then again, random photos would probably be a lot better than random slices of my headspace today. I'll just be honest and tell you that I'm in a foul, foul mood. I don't even feel like apologizing for forgetting the HS dance picture. Again.

This is a picture taken by Sweet Pea. Not bad, eh?

This is a picture of Sweet Pea. Man, that girl is cute.

And this is a picture of my ginormous belly.

I got stopped on the street by a reporter earlier today. He wanted to know if I had a comment on the Larry Craig thing. I don't. It seems really sad to me on so many levels.


Friday, August 24, 2007

I am so loving this illustration that was posted on Illustration Friday today. It's a watercolor. So cute. I'm thinking that it would be a faux pas to put the image here, but you can click this link to see it. The topic this week is "Visitor" and this piece is titled, "Waiting for Visitors." The blog is called "Artista Blog" and you have the link.

Oh, what the heck. I keep getting pop ups when I go to the blog, so here's the image:

That little girl is three I bet. :)

Speaking of, it's State Fair time here in Hideyhoo. My usual ritual is to go with Sweet Pea and my mom, have a corndog, look at all the art/photography/quilts/giant pumpkins/farm animals/"amazing" product booths, and ride a couple of kiddie rides. But this year since I'm banned even from the slow moving elephant ride we had to enlist the help of Mr. G. He went rather grudgingly and then surprised himself by having fun. Right up until the point that he and the other dad with us on ride duty had to share the back seat of a teeny weensy little helicopter so that Sweet Pea and Weezoo could sit in front with all the controls. OMG, I will just say that even though I know it means he will NEVER go back to the fair with me, the hysterical laughing jag that I participated in with my dear friend Emily was worth it. Mr. G. has sworn that bad things will happen if I post any of the "big guys in a little helicopter" photos on my blog. But WHAT-EVER. Why have a blog if not for immortalizing moments like these? I mean, after all, isn't this about the love that fathers have for their children? Love that trumps any hope you have of clinging to your dignity? Love that laughs in the face of maximum capacity warnings? Love that has actually nothing to do with cuddling your fraternity brother in the back of a stuffy plastic helicopter, and yet there you are...

The good people in the Ag Extension Barn would be thrilled to know that I'm counting on the valuable and interactive learning experience at the dairy cow display to answer a few questions come October about babies and nutrition. Sweet Pea is stoked to know that milk and other dairy products come from cows and goats. I bet you one hundred American dollars that she asks me at some point post baby if I can also make ice cream.

We did go back to the fair with grandma last night, and made our usual rounds. Man, there is a lot of REALLY BAD art out there. My top faves were, in order:

1) The painting of the hunter about to take have a poop in the woods, who has to make a tough decision between reaching for the toilet paper or his gun when a big elk wanders right in front of him.

2) The meticulously drawn, big enough to hang over your couch, incredibly realistic, man-that-must-have-taken-HOURS, expensively framed, bud light bottle.

3) The 2' x 3' acrylic painting done from some middle school kid's yearbook photo, where said kid has not combed his hair and is wearing a wrinkly Dr. Pepper t-shirt.

I have to say that the flower arrangements were kind of a disappointment this year. No one used a slinky OR any old car parts. The most exciting one had some big pieces of clear plastic incorporated. But other than that there wasn't even really anything to snark on.

The highlight of the evening was Sweet Pea "winning" a stuffed rose at a froggy fishing game. You would have thought she just won big on Millionaire. And coming in second was Grandma's gold star effort to take her on a ride. Not as funny as two dads in a helicopter. But just as uncomfortable for a long legged beauty such as my mother.

Anyway, I heart the fair. Last night I promised Sweet Pea that when she got big enough I'd take her on the fast rides. She'll be lucky to hit the height requirement for the Farris Wheel by high school. But someday...


Tuesday, August 21, 2007

It's Random Photo Tuesday, again. Already. Geeze...

Ok, so I forgot to bring in the promised embarrassing high school dance photo. But I do have a good snap to share.

This is a photo of my grandmother, Ethel Baby. She must have been in her mid twenties in this picture. It was taken at the Idaho Statesman, where she worked. And where my grandfather also worked. He was five years younger than she was - scandalous! He must have really caught her eye though, because she told me that she turned two other gentlemen down before she finally agreed to get married at the ripe old age of 28. On the back of the photo in her handwriting it says, "Statesman, legs." And for all my life whenever this photo has surfaced the members of my family all exclaim, "Nice Gams!" I think my grandfather made her a card or something that said that. I'll have to check with my mom. Anyway, here's to Ethel Baby and her fabulous gams. She's been gone two years this month, and boy do I miss her every single day.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

I’m trying desperately to think of some fun and clever way to begin this post. But really want I want to do is flop down beside you sorority girl style and say, “Ohmigosh, you are NEVER going to belieeeeeve what I found stuck to my windshield yesterday.”

It’s a little newspaper called “Christian Ministries World Newsletter”. And after sitting in my car and reading it for a few minutes, I actually braved the “girl, you crazy?” stares of everyone else downtown that day who had been proselytized to and carried it two whole blocks back to my office so I could share it with you, gentle reader.

Let me just pull some quotes for you to give you a taste of what Pastor T is preachin’.

Headline: “Evil One-World Government Agents are Claiming to be United States Agents”

Body copy: “After quitting his diabolical work for Rome, under the pretense of being part of the United States government, [name withheld] tells how the United States of America’s law enforcement agencies are enforcing the Pope in Rome’s will on U.S. citizens.”

I guess because I am a Catholic, and already under the influence of the diabolical Pope in Rome, I hadn’t realized what a threat this really was.

For example, did you know that the Pope in Rome was responsible for the Killing of David Koresh? Did you KNOW THAT? It’s all right here in the seven page transcript of the phone conversation of [name withheld] to one D. Sweat of the Holy Christian Church volunteer prayer phone line. Apparently this poor soul, we’ll call him J, was totally overcome with all his pent up guilt and called the prayer line to confess his involvement in Waco, the Oklahoma City bombing, and both attacks on the World Trade Center. Actually, he called twice. They only printed one transcript because of the redundancy though. Natch. He’s former BATF, FBI and DEA you know. As evidenced by a full color photo of him in fatigues, and of course by his own admission in this chilling confession.

It all began when he volunteered for the government in 1988. Then the FBI “did him real dirty.” Then we interject a diatribe from the editor of the newspaper – presumably Pastor T – where we learn that Pearl Harbor was all a set up by the Pope in Rome, and the plan communicated to FDR (a puppet of the pope) by a homosexual Cardinal. Then back to J who goes on to tell us 5 more pages of things like, “the FBI, DEA, CIA, CFR are all branches of the Vatican.” “I’m not a white supremacist or anything, I’m a Christian first.” (White supremacist second? Third? Oh, right. Your stint with the KKK was an undercover op. Keep reading…) He was forced to frame some high ups with the KKK, and then when he refused to agree to assassinate Pastor T the FBI tried to frame him. But HA! Little did they know that he was in a hospital in an oxygen tent recovering from a highly secretive gunshot wound when THEY say he was doing whatever it is they were trying to frame him for. So they framed his youngest son instead. And I’ve got his high school prom picture here to prove it.

I’ve also got a picture of Pastor T, with the following really relevant caption. “[Pastor T] with the late superstar and congressman, Sonny Bono and Congresswoman Mary Bono (who loves her up some Pastor T in this photo I should add). All three are wearing [Pastor T] designer jackets, which are worn by hundreds of motion picture stars, entertainers, recording artists, sports figures, presidents, politicians, kings, queens, princes and princesses.

Presumably not by President Bush, however. As Pastor T labels him “the most Catholic President we’ve ever had.” And says that President Bush is advocating “Catholic Nazi terrorism, which is Roman cannon law.”

Man, I missed that in CCD class. I’m not a huge fan of the President or the new Pope though. So maybe I should jump on this bandwagon. Somebody sure as hell has. Because Pastor T is printing up his newsletter in full color on some nice heavy stock. And inside the the newsletter was another newsletter printed in full color on some nice glossy paper, with fancy illustrations of a “difficult mountain.” Or maybe he just makes so much money selling his designer jackets to famous people he can throw a lot of cash at his printing operations.

Here’s a little trivia. Did you know that Pastor T and his wife were married in a Baptist church in Las Vegas – despite not being Baptists at all, and their best man was none other than Hank Snow? Hank just happened to be there and stood in, but years later when he and Pastor T became best friends in Nashville, Pastor T never brought up their previous connection. And Hank never remembered it. Not even when he saw the pictures? Maybe, since Pastor T and his wife were actually married 3 times in Las Vegas, Hank just was confused about which ceremony he was Best Man in.

There are a lot of people who are totally inspired by Pastor T, just so you know and don’t think I’m making fun. Most of them live in places like Uruguay, Nigeria, Zambia and the like. They all write lovely letters and include photos. Maybe in the next newsletter there will be letters and photos of people right here in Hideyhoo who saw the light after the blanketing of our downtown with this inspired literature. Maybe my blog will be featured…

Fame, fortune, maybe even my own designer jacket? I tremble with anticipation.


Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Today is Random Photo Tuesday!

Blast From the Past Picture Day!

Bad Scanning, But Who Cares? Show Us the Goods Day!

Ok, actually, it's I'm Probably Going to Sell My Wedding Dress on Craig's List Day. So I had to scan a picture of it, and a discussion about whether or not to sell it led some of my interweb girly friends to request to see the photos. So, here you go.

Mr. G and I will celebrate 9 years of wedded bliss in October. Given that, I have to say that I'm pretty impressed with how un-outdated our hair is.

Please forgive all the dust on the scanner.

This is the "here's the dress" picture that will go on Criag's list, sans Mr. G and my head. Would you buy that dress for $200? Alfred Angelo, size 10 (fits like an 8). No stains or tears.

This is just some pure schmoop. I heart that picture.

This is me and one of my two Dads. (Divorce, not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.) I heart this picture a whole bunch too. My mom has one just like it of her and my grandfather. One of these days I'll frame them together.

This is my soon-to-be-new family, so as to show off the bridesmaid attire (on my SIL at the far right.) My other SIL was pregnant with my nephew in this picture. I remember shopping for her dress before she was even showing, and having to use one of those little pillows to see what it might look like by the wedding. We laughed at the prospect of her belly really sticking out like that. My nephew turned 8 in January. Le sigh...

Next Tuesday maybe I'll see if I can dig up an embarrassing HS dance photo. I know just the one.


Thursday, August 09, 2007

I have just now learned that a couple of my girlfriends have declared this to be “The Year of Cunnilingus.” Do with that what you will. But, for the love of God, don’t tell me about it.

Have I mentioned lately how pregnant I am? Ohmahgah. I am so pregnant. I am at the point where people look upon me with pity and ask with hope in their voices if I’m almost through. You know what’s crazy though? I’m NOT almost through. If I make it to 40 weeks (unlikely) I will be pregnant for another 2.5 whole months. Sweet Fancy Moses. Being this pregnant is really itchy. That’s one of the things I had not forgotten from last time. It started with a vengeance about a week ago. I’m at the point where I have to get up in the middle of the night not just to pee, but to reapply body butter. (Thank you Jesus for Body Shop Body Butter. Amen.) The itching. And the peeing. And the heartburn. Oy.

You know, there are women out there who just loooooooove being pregnant. God bless them. Each and every Buddha bellied one of those mamas. They should all be surrogates and have babies for the all the nice ladies out there who can’t. I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE WOMEN. I don’t hate it or anything. But I can say with a lot of confidence that I like being unpregnant, and all the sleeping and walking normal and peeing once at bedtime that goes with unpregnancy. Thank you.

There are some things I do like about being pregnant though. Like, getting rid of all my belts and not having to tuck my shirt in ever. And watching the baby roll around and stick his little hands and feet out so that my stomach goes all cattywampus. My outie bellybutton. Eating dessert whenever I want. Wearing flip flops all the time, even when it’s totally inappropriate and then being all, “Just TRY to make me wear shoes” about it. Naps. The way older women smile when they see you waddling down the street. The way Mr. G and Sweet Pea talk into the bellybutton microphone.

Ok, I should stop or you’re going to think I was lying when I was complaining about the itching and peeing and heartburn. Those things really do suck. And I don’t need to remind anyone about the 17 weeks of all day long sickness hell. Do I? Suffice to say, it was hell.

Anyway, that kind of came out of nowhere. Hormones I suppose. I fluctuate between schmoopy and bitchy pretty readily these days. And that was slightly more interesting than what I was going to post about Sweet Pea falling into a toilet in the Spokane airport on Sunday. (Shudder.)

And with that, I’m out.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Who hit the Warp Speed button? How do we turn it off?

Where are we going, and why am I in this handbasket? Oh, sorry, that's a different post.


Oh, and also, I made it so that you don't have to register or sign in to post comments on my blog. Be gentle. And no spam please.