Monday, January 30, 2006

A Very Bad Day

Tomorrow is my due date, and seeing as approximately 95% of babies are not born on their due date, I do not expect mine to be. Which means the baby will be late, which is not only normal, but is also, really, fine. Who am I to complain; being home and waiting for the arrival of my firstborn is not a bad problem to have. Except that, right now, I'm feeling more than a little whiny about the whole situation. I've burst into tears approximately 3 times today. Once during Grey's Anatomy, when Meredith had her little paper-bag breathing incident in the closet with McDreamy. The second time during A Baby Story, which for the last few months I have been boycotting, because all it does it make me nervous. However, the plug got me: "A woman is a week late and labor is induced." I was like, Oh, maybe that will make me feel better. It didn't, and the labor part made me nervous, and the baby being born made me cry in that weepy, cliched way overly-hormonal women do. Like last week when I was watching the S&tC ep where Miranda has Brady, I was a damn wreck. Cynical Miranda, looking at her baby for the first time and being affected--gah! (On a side note, Ashley, if my water does end up breaking, I will try really really hard not to ruin anyone's shoes, much less someone's Manolos, heehee. That was so ick.)

The third time I turned on the waterworks was after my dress-up pink flamingo flung itself off the shelf and smashed. An overtly tacky, revenge-type Christmas present from my brother, the flamingo has been in my possession about 2 years now. It has outfits for every holiday, some of them more than hideous, but in the end, it is MY tacky flamingo, and I love it. I made a 2005 calendar inspired by the flamingo, for pete's sake. Scott threw a toy for Bender, and Bender careened into the shelf, and the flamingo flew its first and only (dreadfully unsucessful) flight. I just saw the head, the body, and the bodiless outfit lying sadly in the hallway, and had to leave. Dogs break things, husbands break things, kids break things, and hell if I don't break something every other day. A person can't get too attached. And I'm really not mad. Scott's trying to fix it with two kinds of glue; there's just a few pieces left.

But it was everything else surrounding the flamingo. I'm at the point where all movies suck, there truly is nothing on TV, despite having the help of the DVR, I don't want to read--I don't even want to read Harry Potter, which is a Very Bad Sign. The yarn I bought to learn crocheting with, despite being soft, multi-colored, and very cool, is too crinkly to do anything with. I honestly don't feel like emailing very much, even, because what is there to say other than, nope, still no baby, and yup, going more than a little crazy. I certainly do not want to talk on the phone. I can't write thank-you cards yet for baby gifts, because I had a plan for that, and the plan hinges on the baby actually BEING here. I don't even want to go to Target (another grave sign). And I don't want to sit in the same spot on the living room couch, because the perspective is getting old.

So, after the flamingo incident, I sat down in the chair by the window and discovered that Bill Lumbergh is about to die. He's been fine the entire time I've owned him (yeah, all of two and a half months, but still). He was fine this weekend. His water needed to be cleaned, and I did that today, seemingly without incident, and fed him a little. And now he's either tweaking out and shooting all over the office tank, or he's laying on his side for several long moments at a time. After seeing how many aquatic creatures die over the past few months, I know the signs. I'm no idiot--Bill is going to die. He is. I'm going to have to flush him, and this baby's still not going to come out, and what if I'm as bad a People Mom as I am a Fish Mom. And then my flamingo is forever going to have a hole in his chest. And nothing good will ever be on TV again. And I still can't stop eating cookies.



i'm back from hells kitchen and joshua tree. when conscious i will post about ruining an entire roll of film, and life from the inferno to some place much hotter.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

@ 25

D said...
"Why was 25 such a good age?"

like in the context of it being an odd-numbered birthday? i had to look up the year - good thing i have albums, bcs i was a complete blank.

let me take you back:
to chicago> It was actually a kick ass year. I went to depeche mode at the staples center (okay and LA), close enough to see dave gahan sweat, saw Weezer 'live at the aragon' along with the Get Up Kids and Ozma, (in chicago)... i was working at Borders, developing an odd assortment of friends and aquaintences, taking people to Dave and Busters, seeing the Cubs play, walking around in the wilderness. Some of my closest new friends hadn't yet betrayed me, a long time friend hadn't as yet had a psychotic break from reality. All was well, except for the $271 ticket (moving violation), i explored the inner workings of the aerospace industry over the summer (w/ bill and gill), went down to the 'river' and took a speedboat ride to edge of california and had the best teryaki bbq salamon EVER. But then there was the maddening pressure to be creative every day, every month... and the desperate need for a community in a place not my home- which mostly failed but at times soared beyond expectation. So in my darkest moments I panicked about my chosen destiny, pondered another way and route, was too clingy and emotionally needy- and @ my best I was becoming an artist who owned their craft and called myself so, producing work i was proud of and exploring a place that seeped into the aesthetic of my soul- like closing my eyes in the face of a beautiful january sun and walking over the bridge into the city blind.


yesterday i repotted 3 plants, played with dogs, finished 3 paintings, watched amelie, wished i was the gnome, ate some fattening nuggets, didn't work out, dosed advil, watched scrubs and went to bed at 1130.

today i woke up late, made bacon, played with dogs, watered 80 plants, planted 1, righted the feld vines, contemplated the universe, got a call from Hell's Kitchen II to do standin/PA work for $100 a day. Temporarily conflicted, seized, stopped in tracks.

but thank god for the IMDB. i deduced that they got my resume not bcs god is trying to be funny or that they're making a horrible sequal to some movie with angelina jolie but that it's the reality tv show about a guy and some restaurants and some chefs. i think. yes. yes. that must be it. so luckily we push joshua tree back to sat. sun. mon. and my world isn't shattered with dashed expectation. he even asked if i could work sat. sun. and i was like er, no. definitely not. even this was too dangeroulsy close to upsetting my fragile world order. but i'm not complaining.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Okay I'm calm(er) again

I went to the doctor just to set my spazzy mind at ease about the whole contractions/are they/aren't they real thing, and (obviously) they sent me home, so I'm now regrouping. I am pleased to say that the bitchy receptionist of last week's blog-lore was not there today, so I instead was checked out by the posse of big-haired ladies instead, and even though they have ginormous hairdos, at least they are pleasant. Also, I've discovered that "contractions" is a magic word at the OB/GYN office. I've never been sent through so quickly. (Sweet.)

Inspired by mendacious, I think I'll create my own to-do list:
1) Find recipe for cubed steak, which will be tonight's dinner, along with rice and some sort of veggie.
2) Quit eating chocolate chip cookies, graduate to yogurt, or grapes, or something remotely healthy. Maybe ice cream (calcium).
3) Look forward to SCRUBS, lament that Gilmore's a repeat. Also, lament that soon the Olympics will be on, which means no new eps of Scrubs, Earl, the Office...sigh. BUT, Survivor starts Feb 2, so this is good.
4) Spruce up the plainer Bender Mania designs with illegal clipart, hope someone purchases products.
5) Stare listlessly.
6) Aspire to drink water, but drink Sprite, caffeine-free diet coke, and Gatorade (in exciting new "Rain" flavor) instead.
7) Watch the latest episode of "Martha," which I have set to DVR on TLC later. Then, ponder the fact that I am not only watching "Martha" but DVRing it as well. Martha Stewart is like, the devil. I've believed this to be true for years. But she's going to be talking about storage containers today, and I just can't help myself.
8) Possibly finish watching one of the several movies I've started and then fell asleep to over the past few weeks: Lost in Translation, Shall we Dance (Japanese version--am I up for subtitles? It's a bit much), Monster-in-Law, Mean Girls, Something's Gotta Give.
9) Watch the latest ep of Guantlet 2, ponder as I do every single week how and why I continue to watch this show, considering that I hate every single person on it. Especially (this season) Beth the Blue Eyeshadowed Cow. And Jody the Skank Ho. And even Idiot Ace. And after today, probably Cara who's Hot but Apparently Freaks Out Just Like all the Other Assholes on this Show, too.
10) Shop online for something I don't have enough money to buy, place item in virtual cart, and close window after approximately 1 hour of pretending I'm going to actually own this item.
11) Pretend contractions don't exist. Unless, of course, they do.

I also Love Odd Numbered Birthdays

good morning: having been reminded of my en/famous TO DO lists I will give you mine for today

1. Paint some small pieces while watching comedies on DVD, currently up: office space, possibly next: amelie.

2. Repot Lime tree and Orange tree into bigger pots. Think about all the other things i have to pot- refuse and read the "Divine Conspiracy" instead.

3. Call Mom and ask her to come home early so we can garden in the aftermath of 20mph wind. Toppled sunflower and vine complex, now feld as well. Hummingbirds: living. Neighbor's roof: quite bare.

4. Continue to think of ways to work in a workout today. It'd have to be a bike ride or going to the 24HF after Scrubs.

5. Contemplate my parents 36th anniversary. Having 1: forgotten and 2: having forgotten, thereby unable to do anything for them at all. I don't know what i wouldve done but given time there might have been something.

6. Get 2006 planner from Office Depot.
7. Buff Nails, possibly trim.
8. Research exposure times for pinhole cameras.
9. Pack for Joshua tree.
10. See if the EDD is ever going to pay me.
11. Drink Water.
12. Stare listlessly.
13. Procrastinate about writing.
14. Think about applying to a. screenwriting course i can't afford for july b. applying for an artist residency in holland i can't afford. c. a vacation for my non-odd numbered birthday that i can't as yet afford.
15. Think of ways 30 is going to better than all the rest. Watch Gilmore Girls instead.

Wilbur, I'm a little confused about laburrrr

Today is Tuesday, and a) I needed confirmation from Bob Townsend, our friendly local newsman, on this ("Good Tuesday Morning to you") and b) this means it will be Day 3 of me sitting around and pondering the question of "true" vs. "false" labor. I've read so many Internet and book articles on the topic that my eyes are bleeding. They all say the same thing, nothing earth-shattering, and in the back of my distorted mind I'm vaguely aware that this behavior is unproductive in virtually every way except to drive me insane-o. Last week I was able to recognize this fact in a more lucid way, and made the Official Decision to do Other Things that were both productive and distracting, and made time pass a lot faster. But I'm done with Sex & the City, so now what do I do. And, since Sunday morning, I've actually been having contractions consistent enough to make everything else look boring. The problem is that the contractions aren't particularly exciting either, so instead of enjoying the excuse to lay around and watch "Made" reruns and girl movies, I can't make a commitment lasting more than 10 minutes. Today the contractions are stronger than yesterday's, which were stronger than the day before. But, what does it all MEAN. I'm waiting for the ones that stop me in my tracks, the ones that actually give me...pause. Bring it on, bitches. That, and an epidural, and we are good to go.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Whose neck do I ring?

It's either Bender or the neighbor, I cannot decide which. (This pic of Bend, by the way is from about 3 years ago. We were both a lot smaller then, and I'm kind of getting a little depressed looking at my beloved Gumby shirt. I wish to wear thee again someday, Gumby shirt!) Anyway, it's previously been established that Bender is a special kind of dork, and one of her dorkiest qualities is her posturing. Literally, she will stand out back by the fence and bark like a wild lady, thrashing her head around Tasmanian-devil style at the neighbors and anyone else who might walk by. She's a lot better about this than she used to be, and when I say better I mean that at least she doesn't do it to everyone, all the time. It's just like, when she's in the mood. But without fail, she will always, always posture to our neighbor to the right, who shall be known henceforth as Cranky Old Guy.

Cranky Old Guy didn't do so much as say "hi" when we moved in next door, and sure, it takes two, but we moved into his neighborhood, so one would think... I mean, I'm the definition of Introvert and not likely to strike up lengthy conversation with anyone, much less strangers, but the nodding and smiling thing--overrated social custom, or just common decency? I vote for decency on this one. I hate playing games, but for god's sake. Don't be fucking rude.

Cranky Old Guy may or may not live alone. I don't think he does, personally, because I've seen pink nightgowns hanging on the clothes line, which he utilizes even on 28-degree mornings. Which is, actually, kind of endearing. My family uses a clothes line, and to be honest, I wish I wasn't such a big fan of the dryer (the warmth, the softness, the wrinkle release...) because it might save us a few bucks every month on our electric bill. Cranky Old Guy also mows the lawn religiously--the yard is overall impeccable. Except, of course, for the occasional spitwad of a wayward tennis ball accidentally tossed into his yard by his Horrible Neighbors, Scott and Penelope. God, they're so LOUD, have you ever met them? And they have this horrible black lab mix, who acts like she has rabies or some other disease, most likely mental. Worst. Neighbors. EVER.

Cranky Old Guy never says anything about the tennis balls, but he also never throws them back, either. Even though they usually land about a foot from the fence (just out of our reach), and tossing them back would be easier than, say, grumbling to oneself and throwing them in the trashcan. The only one he ever does say anything to is, in fact, Bender. Bender Superstar will run up to the fence, growling and doing her Elaine Bennis-like dance routine, and Cranky Old Guy will snap back, "Go away! Leave me alone. Blah blah grumble blah."

I used to be afraid of dogs, and I also didn't like them very much as creatures, for all their messy, drooly exuberance and unpredictability, so I can fully appreciate "shooing" a dog. Even one that's on the other side of the fence with no chance or history of even coming close to leaping over. However, Cranky Old Guy still kind of pisses me off. Because telling Bender to leave him alone isn't the only thing he does. That's only on certain days, let's just say Wednesdays. On other days, like Mondays, he eggs Bender on. He taunts her, and fully encourages the Tasmania. He waves his arms and gets up in her space just as much as she does his, so much as the fence will allow. He says "Get over here! Blah blah grumble blah!" and as soon as I open the door, he stops, and then she stops, and he walks wordlessly away.

Is he just having fun, in his secret Cranky Old Guy way? I can't tell. But for as much as I have to yell at Bender for the way she's acting, because it is so not right, I kind of want to go over there to Impeccable Yard and say a few choice words to Cranky Old Guy, too.

Whip It.

well good morning. i guess we can let the whole corn dog thing go now that we got a corn dog equipment ad- still how no hot dog cart or hot dog on a stick ads. you'd think there'd be more of a market but no. also i stand by the equal distribution of ketchup to mustard. and i have no idea what grey's anatomy has to do with anything, although last night i got caught up in the PBS special of Charles Dickens "Bleak House" which friend Cath and I read a few months back. Quite enjoyable. the series is beautiful if a little too narcissistic- and of course can't do his subplots justice. already we're thru 1 w/ 5 to go and it's moving at a fast clip. i think they're saving all their hours for the tragic ends and spiraling of main characters. mmm. drama.

this morning the wind is still blowing- with um gale force. things are banging and clanging, i should probably take down the wind chimes... and all my plants are occassionally trying their hand at 45 degree angles. most are succeeding. of course the 15ft sunflower decided to laydown completely and think about whether or not it wants to live until spring. and i'm most worried about the hummingbird nest we have in the back, bcs there are two babies in it- and i very much hope they are protected and are not instant cat treats but will live on into perpituity or however long it is that hummingbirds live till. they're so fricking cute.

besides that the day yawns before me as i watch the plant in front of my window swing and twist like an absurd marker to time- never stilling completely.

wow, that was a little to literary for me just now, i think i have to go. and maybe write about how in moments like this my heart siezes and beats: escape, escape, escape. with furtive glances, and fidgety hands that fumble and twitch with every lapsed cause and purpose. and feel assuaged with fuitle guilt at my lack of productivity- out into the sun, to be consumed by the wind.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

What we really want is CORN DOGS.

My most favorite corn dogs are from Hot Dog On A Stick. And I hope for all of your sakes that these are available in malls everywhere and not just in Cali. Their crisp battered shell. So tasty. Their prices have gone up unfavorably however. Just the mention of having a combo meal will bring your cash contribution to over $6. But the corn dog is worth it. On my last trip I totally forsook it and i regret it. With all this talk of corn dogs I almost feel compelled to drive the 12 min to Glendale to get my very own stick of tastiness. When i was young i ate lots of sticks- sticks from the center of a tootsie pop, blow pop, pixie stick wrappers sans plastic coating, sugar daddy sticks- i find that the composition of such things have become sturdier- and whether the extra roughage is healthier or not, i can't say. Perhaps you can blame my rampant oral fixations- if I had the DSMV4 I would totally quote from the section but alas. Yes, i would just chew on it down to the nub. And sometimes in an effort to be thourough, I would consume the entire stick in all its strange deliciousness. When I was three or I'm not sure what age but I would bite entirely through Golden Books and eat shocks of paper, and apparently Marie Callendar dinner napkins. Maybe, as might be guessed, i was either a very normal child, a very strange child, or just suffering from a common mineral deficiency.

But how do i love corn dogs- after a day of trudging the mall, would sit down for a snack of corn dog sensations, before the heyday of creditcard transactions and a world buffet made to your order... it was a simpler, quieter time, and one that we must all pay homage to onceinawhile- with an even distribution of ketchup and mustard.

Friday, January 20, 2006


The latest ads are about cookies? After all my corndog-plugging efforts? Come on.

Do I need to say it? Yeah, I'm just going to say it. At this point I have little to lose:

I've got a FEVER. And the ONLY prescription is an ad featuring CORNDOGS.

(Maybe it's because I was spelling it as two words instead of one. We'll try that.) Corndogs corndogs corndogs corndogs la dee da corndogs!

Thursday, January 19, 2006


Mmmm, oh so tasty...

I need to stop eating chocolate chip cookies

And chocolate ice cream, and corn dogs, and chips and salsa. Luckily the brownies are now gone--although I ate all those too. I wonder if I'm having some sort of last-minute free-for-all with the junk food or what. But it sure is tasty.

You can tell we've been in a blog slump, seeing as our sidebar ads are about blogging in general. That's pretty sad. I wonder if I can make them advertise for CORN DOGS if I say it enough.

Corn dogs
corn dogs
corn dogs
how I love


I've been trying to decide what I want to blog about over the last couple of days, but this morning my brain is so scattered, I guess it will be a little bit of everything. I've been home all week, waiting for the child to appear. Doesn't that sound magical? It's not. I spent all day Tuesday trying not to be pissy, but failing, and then realized it was because I was making the mistake of watching the proverbial pot, waiting for it to boil. And you can't do that--it's the most efficient route to insanity, it really is. So I'm trying to do other things, like:

1. Plowing my way through all six seasons of Sex & the City. I'm one ep shy of season 6. I've watched almost every episode, but I did skip a few that I had seen way too recently on TBS, or the ones I just couldn't bear--like the one where Charlotte gets married to Trey, and Aidan and Carrie break up for the first time because she tells him she cheated on him with Big? Can't take it. Then there's an ep where Carrie visits Aidan's cabin upstate, I think she wears some plaid shirt tied at the tummy--I don't really remember, but that ep makes me squirm, too, so I skipped it. I am realizing, the second time watching the seasons all the way through, though, how much I really do love Big. The first time, wasn't so sure they should be together in the end. But they should, I've decided. He's very entertaining.

2. Organizing The Filing Cabinet. The Filing Cabinet deserves a capitalized title, because this is a project I've wanted to do for years. Usually I end up shoving all the "important" mail and miscellaneous papers into a random plastic bag to be sorted...sometime. Like when I move. So I bought the actual cabinet a few months ago, got ripped off by Staples the other day on some file folders (another blog for another time), and then yesterday, attacked. I threw out a lot. I especially enjoyed chucking every little piece of paper and bullshit cheesy-ass reminder of Verizon Wireless, like certificates saying I passed "Initial Wireless," or whatever. A million little papers about the dress code and sexual harassment. It was great. I also fed my paper shredder more food than it's eaten in months, to the point where it was starting to smell funny and cry a little. Mostly it was old checkbooks that I had from five addresses ago, up to this current address. I think I never threw them out because they really did need to be shredded, with the account numbers on them and all, and I just never got around to it. It did occur to me, however, that with so many unused checkbooks, an equivalent action would be taking 2 crisp one-hundred dollar bills and feeding them through the same shredder. That's annoying.

Corn dogs.

3. Making fun of the tragic creature that is Bender. Right now she's lying on the kitchen floor, occasionally sighing because I won't get up and let her inside and outside every five minutes as she would like. Poor Bender.

4. Mentally whining that I can't go to Tom's birthday thing on Friday night. I've already missed one birthday bar get-together this month, and one would think that being the self-proclaimed hermit that I am, I would be grateful in siezing this opportunity with the Ultimate Excuse: nearly nine months pregnant--yeah, I just can't make it out tonight to a smoky bar where everyone's drinking and I'll be maddeningly sober, sorry. But the truth of the matter is that a) I would really like a few drinks. And not some pansy-ass glass of wine, or a beer. I want liquor. A few tequila shots, some rum and cokes. That would be great... and b) in typical Penelope fashion, and in my general antsiness and boredom this week, I have to take it all to the next level of melancholy and mourn the fact that we're all getting older, and I'm moving on to the next phase of adulthood or whatever, having the baby, and even though it doesn't mean we're going to be total hostages in our own home, and even though I'm super-excited to be a mom--wah. I want to turn back the clock a little, just like everyone else.

5. Listing off all the things I'm not going to miss about being pregnant (hopefully): swollen ankles, swollen and rusted up fingers that cannot accomodate a wedding ring, a virtual double chin, not having to think twice before rolling over in bed, ditto for getting into and out the car (ouch), not knowing if the baby's a girl or a boy, not knowing when the hell the baby is coming, and tequila.

But, corn dogs corn dogs corn dogs. I want the ads to be about CORN DOGS!

6. Listing off all the things I'm going to miss about being pregnant: having a low-maintenance, mute baby that I haven't even begun to screw up and can't afford to maintain the way I would like... yeah. That's all I can think of.

7. Trying to let go of the little stuff and failing. Like the bitch at the doctor's office this morning who has to give me a hard time, every time about me wanting to pay more than I owe. Here is our interaction:
Penelope: I switched insurance last month, and after the delivery, I'm going to owe a lot, so I'd like to take care of a little bit at a time.
Bitch Lady: Well then, I would talk to the lady in the insurance office behind you, have you done that yet?
P: YES, three or four times, because that's what you tell me to do every time, and every time the result is the same. She says to pay what I can each time, I tell you the same, hand you my card, and yet you still look at me like I'm retarded.
BL: Well, are you supposed to pay $100 today? That will give you a credit on your account.
P: Um, really, is that what it will do?


I hate her. Corn dogs.
Okay, I'm done for now. Heehee.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

But then Again

(Are you with me when I say I'm tempted to buy the Monster Ballad 2 CD set with SkidRow hits like 18 and life or so and so's November Rain?)

And with further thought, i don't know if i'd ever be one to admit that Carrie Bradshaw occassionally doled out good advice... in abeyance of SP I'm watching SintheC. and she says, in NY you're always looking for three things: a job, a boyfriend, and an apartment. So why is it that -1 and +2 equals zero?

i don't know. i'm not even going to figure out if that actually adds up to zero or one or what. i do know that perspective is always better than looking toward a tunnel that may or may not contain an oncoming train. but nevertheless, the absense of something can lead to a great many troubles and there is something to be said for the power of psychic space.

yesterday i had a conversation with B and he was on the perspective train. ie. compared to oppressed and suffering people in other countries we have it easy- so why am i complaining. well, from the cynical train, this easy life sucks us dry of meaning. it's not a high stakes game, we're not even in the majors. i think that's what i was trying to express with the life or death living analogy on a previous post. what are we fighting for? living and dying for? sometimes it doesn't seem nearly as important as people in the world who actually have to stand for hard moral choices or even just survival. but then again, that would probably get to be a grind too- of course it would, living in the ever present shadow of a despot or fearing that your life will daily be ripped from you. sitting on the sidelines is mandatory, but there's a danger that at those times you will forget what you stand for and the things that give you passion, and then life has the opportunity to leave you soul-less. so that's... what? life. so, maybe it's that and winter too- so now is the winter of my discontent... hmmm. here's to winter.

as someone in matchpoint queries: is despair the easier road? or is faith? (but that's for another post-another time)

If I were a Rich Man

I've never actually seen the musical.

i'll try to get a blog in before southpark @ 7. if i were to have been faithfully blogging there wouldve been a whole lot of crankiness. and comments along the line of why are you such a crankypants... and me flipping you off and more crankiness. i think i was able to give myself some perspective though. i checked my bank account and there is some money in there, so when i go begging to my mom for cash- again- it won't be as much- and i'm sure a lot can happen in 3wks. the EDD might send me a check, i might get a job, i might die tragically before winning the lottery.

besides that i'm tired of myself, having failed to amuse myself with sparkly objects, arts 'n crafts or the promise of leaving the country. and i can't even tap into the wry amusement i felt at gutting a 40lbs bag of dogfood at costco and watching it rain down at my feet thru the cart like i'd won a slot machine. which did happen and no one even laughed. maybe i've taken on their apathetic joyless existence that sees something extraordinary and still it fails to elicit a response. and as i shook the kibble out of my sandals and looked around, no one was gaping. i thought, why isn't anyone paying attn to me? i've just made a scene. the kibble mountain is as high as the cart for fricks sake!

the other day i saw charlie chaplin crossing the street with his oversized shoes and cane and it made me want to join the ranks of physical comedians. i have the slipped on a banana peel prat fall down... and well maybe I could go around just testing peoples patience. but then, just to once again illustrate that no one blinks at such things anymore. ah to be an attention whore. if i had it to do over again i would've leaned out my window and said, i love you charlie chaplin- i absolutely do!

Monday, January 16, 2006

Baby says "hi"

I had an ultrasound today, my first since September. I know if it's not your own kid, it's generally a) boring and b) confusing to look at an ultrasound picture, but too bad for all of you, I'm home from work and these are the things that fascinate me. You're looking at four fingers here, and we have confirmation that the baby does indeed have a thumb on that hand as well, so that is a good thing.

The doctor was a little concerned that the baby might be on the small side, so, even though my brother apparently thinks I look ginormous and ready to pop three weeks ago (yeah, thanks for that), I went for the ultrasound today just to make sure everything looks okay and that I don't, in fact, have a runt child. (What they planned on doing if it was--have me keep my legs crossed for a few extra weeks?--remains a mystery.) He or she is a tiny bit runty, it turns out, but only 6 1/2 lbs runty, if you consider that small, and frankly, I'm not arguing. I'm already terrified of having to get that large of a child out. Yikes.

Meanwhile, I'm just home, waiting. Watching the Monk Marathon tivoed last Friday, cooking French Onion soup, and wondering if I'll actually have an Aquarius as originally scheduled, or this baby intends on being a Capricorn. Hmmm.

Saturday, January 14, 2006


it was all i could do to stay up this long just to fall asleep before the 11pm southpark episodes. all i can say for myself is that i'm distracted. over what? i have no idea- things i want to write down maybe. 2 birthday parties were wonderful distractions and i was glad to be a part of them- i actually have 2 more to go next week. how nuts is that. but that's not really what it is. i feel that i'm on the edge of a swimming pool and that water looks so cool and inviting- sweat is building up in unpleasant places- my navel for one, and well "other" places- and too many m'n'm's and carrots and i'm a digestive step away from bulemia, but i really want to dive in. but i just stare into the water instead.

Friday, January 13, 2006

uh, currently...

there's much to blog about- but um, i'm too busy watching tv and researching the 12.5% of my geneology to do something about it. currently on my moms dads side- we've got a solid 6.5% bohemian... and a possible 6.5% austrian- but that's just german isn't it? i think? we shall see.

things to look forward to: dog food and coaches... not the horse-drawn kind though.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Louisa May Alcott


Good Morrow.

Hello. Yes. It's wednesday. woo. Postoffice (check). Laundry (check). Living (that's next). Anticipation of future events (on-going).

Pen and I were talking about jobs just now, seeing as how I'm more or less out of one. For 4 months you guys had to hear non-stop about the quest for job-dom and a couple leads have come in but nothing concrete yet. So get used to it. And because I was "fired" the EDD (unemployment office, where oddly you don't have to stand in lines), wants to have a conversation about it. Scheduled on the 18th anywhere from 12-2. It's like worse than waiting for a repair man bcs I didn't even order the conversation, but they want to have one anyway or I don't get my free money. Bah. Not working for my director is like not having cable. Blows.

So Pen says she still gets nauseous at the sight of job bullitens getting emailed to her and I'm the same way. It's some sort of phobia I developed, literally. Literally- my heart rate increases and my chest tightens the minute I click on my "favorites"- subcategory-"jobs". Rarely I'll be able to just click, click and I'm fine, and there's a couple that perk my interest and I actually apply. But usually a forlorn childishness sweeps over me. And my internal meter points, to NO. NO FUCKING WAY. I don't know how i got this way. When I was "young", which was probably the problem, I thought not at all about working or the future. I remember once when I was 12 thinking being a secretary might be cool and the only credit i will give to my asshole of a pastor was that he said i was probably made for better things- but maybe that was the worse thing he could've said- it's like automatic condescension. So the idea of working my way anywhere is utterly repellant. (I was most likely born with this sensibility however.) I think my life would be better spent off the radar. It would make for a better story. But for the same reason that I'm not freakishly intelligent, is that I'm skirting the edges of normalcy. Thus, forever tortured by my saner socially-normed self, and my hermit- explorer self. And I know few people in our sphere of existence have the chance to contemplate such things, and yet there it is. So maybe in my darker moments I'm not so much yearning for death as another life or another time, when it was just as simple as work the land or you'll die or I actually had a social excuse to be a woman with prospects waiting for a man to rescue her and itching away in the attic trying to find a way out myself. Nevermind the clock in the corner that reads: now. Grandmother would be very displeased. I will perhaps have to continue, as I did before, with all the things grandmother and I disagree upon.

There's a perfect quote from LittleWomen about writing from the foreign guy that Jo meets later in the book about the stories she writes... it would seem to fit at the end of this quintessentially... but I don't have the book and I can't find the quote. Anyone out here know which one I'm talking about?

Monday, January 9, 2006

Brake it- 30!

So yah screeech. There went all our fabulous communication. It was sort of terrifying to not want to blog. Suddenly all my thoughts, revelatory of course, were passing into oblivion. I became afraid.

Resolutions seem to be a bit late at this point but i was reminded of them on saturday as herds of runners rumbled by and there was no spot to be found in the archery parking lot. I have my own soon to be precarious resolutions- spelling better isn't one of them. Today I spelled the word "discreet" this way> discrete. nice. i think i'm just going to get worse as i get older. which reminds me also, that i'm turning 30. I don't know why I care but it's sort of like that societal trigger- aren't i suppose to? like where's the midlife crisis, the panic, the wonderment, something? i'm excited to be done with the 20's and ready to move on to something I hope? definitive? non-specified. something. that is definitely one of my top 10.

1. move onto something definitive within the year, preferably in the first 4/5 months or it doesn't really count.
2. #1 prayer: God find me a man. (the car and a new job, i'm sure, will come eventually.)
3. buy presents for people when i think of them and not just at predetermined holiday sale events.
4. keep going to the gym. note the keep part, opposed to start. go more maybe, is a more apt resolution.
5. travel or die. (i'm a high-stakes girl, this year or else. although certain therapists might call this "all or nothing" thinking, and what's wrong with that i ask you? and your answer better not be a shade of grey.)
6. think about writing a novel, decide to do nothing until ready.
7. hold onto vestiges of education and do what it takes to stop slipping into stupidity.
8. read.
9. be wistful about the following things: learning french, nascar driving, figure drawing, being thin, living in a new house, having a husband, being out of debt, traveling the world and not having to work, living on an acre of land.
10. attempt to sell my art and put the website to work. ignore it's complaints at slave wages and long working hours. vow to run away with the mysterious man on horse back as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

Future blogs: picture of the 30pound pumpkin, and the new garden art.


Normally I wouldn't be trying to reference The Wizard of Oz, because it's a creepy movie that I will rarely watch. C'mon, the flying monkeys, the scary trees, and the alleged shadow of the guy hanging himself on set when the Wizard comes out? CREEPY. Well all right, it's one of those movies that I claim to love, and sort of do love, particularly Munchkinland and the music they play for that bitchy lady on the bike whose name I can't for the life of me remember right now. Which brings me to my point.

I've been feeling lately like a walking combination of the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the Lion. Someday whenever I write a book, it might be a book about pregnancy in real terms, with many references to pop culture. Kind of like "The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy," except not quite so...girly and Cathy-comic-esque. (There are one too many mentions of the morbid fear of being weighed in this book, for my personal taste--what the hell do you expect the scale to do while your body manufactures a human being, go down? That is what we call Not Healthy.) Probably I won't ever write this book, because being honest with myself, most of the things I'm interested in writing on are happening Right Now, so as soon as I get to writing them--which in and of itself is rare--I'm bored. Which of course is why the blog as a form is so fantastic.

The ninth month of pregnancy, so far, is quite a joy. I'm to the point today where every time I stand up, I feel very very creaky, like the Tin Man, pre-oil treatment. A lot of times I'll wake up in the middle of the night to find that some of my fingers won't move, and my hips, legs, and lower back are all kind of a mess, like a rickety construction of popsicle sticks. Then there's the Scarecrow thing, the lack of brain. If I had a dollar for every time I spelled my name wrong in an email, or constructed a sentence with the wrong word, or left a word out, or just said something completely random and wrong to the context of the conversation, being stay-at-home mom would not be a financial issue. And finally, there's the lion. The lion is the giantest dork, in my book--something about his cheeks, I don't know. But I can kind of relate to his proverbial lack of courage because I'm real terrified of this whole labor thing. There's a lot you can do mentally to prepare, like reading over and over the stages of labor just so you know what the hell is happening when--that's helped me a little, because I was honestly clueless before. And breathing, don't forget to breathe. But give me a break--when the doctor is checking for dilation and already my eyes are rolling back into my head as my back spasms like the Pain Button has just been pushed? Not asking for advice, not trying to whine or pretend I'm the only one to ever go through this. But it's a hell of a lot scarier than the flying monkeys.

Friday, January 6, 2006

? que es la problema?

We haven't blogged anything of note in the entirety of this week. We promise though by next week or when you least expect, we'll give you something substantiative to read. Possibly cliched resolutions or what we ate for dinner (chinese food) or the book we're currently reading (electric michelangelo) or what we're going to watch next (gilmore girls, secret of inishroan)... so stay tuned.

Wednesday, January 4, 2006

Quote of the day

"Didn't I say this was going to be exciting?"

Tuesday, January 3, 2006

The Curious World of B.

It's best to start the new year with fond reminesce. (I will say though that the stellar accountant George @ Mandalay got my check out to me today. And once paid I can officially stop thinking about "them" except for the fact that the crew still emails me for help. And I mercilously delete them. At these times I feel cruel.)But I want to bring you back to a simpler time- Wednesday, and my director's surprise birthday party. 'I miss you', I said, 'my bosses are wankers'. (A fortutous telling.)

I sat across from Danny Bonaduce and his wife Gretchen, her brother, his girlfriend... There I said it. No monikers- no alias. This is my life. Muhahahahaha. I already got an email from B, on Thursday last, wondering what I might 'say' or 'blog about' in connection with my dinner conversation with them. And the telling phrase, "you have to be careful what you say in front of a writer". Gee. Thanks B. (Passive armtwisting? Quite possibly.) And I told him quite simply that it was persumptuous to say, that what we talked about- was worth telling. I'm not salacious. I feel bad about deleting emails from a hapless crew. How would I feel about being an asshole? Trust is that important to me. "Some" "people" still don't ""get"" that. But then again I'm not obsessed with image either or what people happen to think of me- most times. Let people walk away with their impressions- all I can be is who I am. I don't want people to think I'm anything else. We can all make people think one thing or another- lie by omission, skew a detail here or there- even dressing a certain way creates the record of the character you are to them. But I guess if B thinks I'm a prick or could be then I suppose it does matter. Friends and non-wanker bosses are my only exception. Kelly thinking I gave her computer a virus on purpose, like I was a renegade hacker- yes, mattered, and pissed me off greatly.

Needless to say, I was even conscious about the intergrity of my decision to sit across from them. I could've chose left or right and I remember analyzing the situation. Buster from Arrested Development to the table on my left or D/G to my right. But they were short people on the right and a talkative friend was already staring at me and waiting for me to sit down. So I did. And I bit my tongue everytime they said something that triggered a memory from the show, bcs they're people. And riotously funny. And smart. And it was just rad. Plain rad. I loved them in the show and I love them in real life. They're just that cool and I pray and hope the best for them. We talked about Chicago, our love of LA- family history, world traveling... and anything that you could imagine from good conversationalists. Which is what they are and I appreciate.

And this is the random world of herr director. He tries everysoften to include people in this little trip he's on. I shake my head and say, this is all you B. And if I didn't know him or myself I'd say this is pretty typical Hollywood. But it isn't. I certainly never expected it. And I can't say that I knew Bono went to my old church the 10 years that I was there, but he did. I guess. When he wasn't on tour, or so that's what people tell me.

I appreciate this world precisely bcs of events like this- and to obscurely touch a world I want but not really. I think about it more and more and I just want to travel or be a mom or not work. I don't need to do anything. I am a dilettante. But watching and loving the world I have to inhabit is what makes me a writer- and things like this are gold. And it makes me know I want to be along for the ride, and know what happens next.

Support the penelo-baby!

Yes, I'm shameless.

Please check out my new online store, Bender Mania, and pass it on. Especially all you kids out there who love 80s movies as much as I do. I'll be adding more designs over the upcoming days:

Bender Mania

Monday, January 2, 2006

Sunday, January 1, 2006

New Years... Yes, Yes it is.

Mom's sleeping on the couch; I'm watching a rerun and my lips are chapped. I can see the dawning of a new day already.