On lovies

Sophie: I put Blue Blankey in my mouth. I go to hospital and doctor have to take it out of me and I have Blue Blankey again.

I realized she was describing the extraction of Blue Blankey from her surgically.

Amie: Why would you put Blue Blankey in your mouth?

Sophie: I just like him a lot.

Alone again or...

Yeah, said it's all right
I won't forget
All the times I've waited patiently for you
And you'll do just what you choose to do
And I will be alone again tonight my dear

Yeah, I heard a funny thing
Somebody said to me
You know that I could be in love with almost everyone
I think that people are
The greatest fun
And I will be alone again tonight my dear

* * *

The lost cause of words walks away with my nerves
'Cause I'm gay as a choir boy for you

* * *

You are so hot.
I would like to steal your digits
And I am so hung up on it
I would like to move away from it.

* * *

Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop
Talking to me

* * *

I want a bit part in your life.
A walk-on would be fine.
I just want a bit part in your life
(A bit part in your life)

I want a bit part in  your life
Rehearsing all the time
I just want a bit part in your life
(A bit part in your life)

Little more than a cameo
Nothing traumatic when I go

* * *

(You know who you are.)

With credits to Love, Two Gallants, Modest Mouse, Foster the People, and the Lemonheads, respectively.

The spotless mind

Joel: I can't see anything that I don't like about you.
Clementine: But you will! But you will. You know, you will think of things. And I'll get bored with you and feel trapped because that's what happens with me.
Joel: Okay.
Clementine: [pauses] Okay.

You see, I've already waited too long.

Shut your mouth
How can you say I go about things the wrong way?
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does.

(Oh, Morrissey.)

Getting worse all the time

Recently, I was at the Wells Fargo at 19th Ave. and Geary Blvd. I stood in line trying to be patient and also to avoid looking at the little television that shows you what you look like standing in line at the goddamned bank. I hate those things.

When it was my turn, the teller who was helping me was a young guy who's been working there for awhile. He has always been friendly and has a penchant for smart little bow ties. On this day, he looked tired and his smile wasn't as big as usual. "How's your day going today?" he asked as he took care of my deposit.

"It's going okay," I responded, "how about yours?"

"Yeah, that's about it. Okay. But getting worse all the time." He smiled ruefully.

This caught me off guard and I wasn't quite sure how to respond. I kind of liked it, though. I have a special fondness for people who don't always give the run-of-the-mill "fine, thank you" answer. I commented on it to Ivan when I returned home.

A couple days later, a voicemail was left on my phone. It was a representative from Wells Fargo wanting to talk to me about my interaction with that particular teller on my visit to the bank.

Poor guy. When I go to the bank today, I have a feeling he won't be there.

Made out of loss

...Memory is what people are made out of. After skin and bone, I mean. And if memory is what people are made out of, then people are made out of loss. No wonder we value our possessions so much. And no wonder we crave firm answers, formulae, facts, and figures. All are attempts (feeble in the end) to preserve what's gone.

Bill Roorbach

On bruises that go away

I knew why he was a little less than crying. I knew very well, and I wanted to go to him and tell him that I had a little less than cried too, just like him....And look at me, Little Igor, the bruises go away, and so does how you hate, and so does the feeling that everything your receive in life is something you have earned.

Everything is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer

How socks have to be like

This morning when he emerged from getting dressed, I giggled at how Darius was wearing his socks rolled up in this fine fashion:




He glanced down and explained: "I saw this movie once. When I was little. Um, and a kid, um, had his socks like that. Rolled up. And, um, and that's how socks have to be like."

Future tense

A: "Voy a preparar su ensalada en diez minutos."

(P.S. My Spanish RAWKS!)

(P.P.S. Is that right, Cindy?)

I'm wide awake; it's morning

This morning while having my coffee and flipping through the TV channels, I became intrigued by the speaking style of female television minister Joyce Meyer. She has sort of a gruff, dykey, folksy, no-nosense kind of style--it's fascinating. Having just done my taxes last night, I was willing to listen. I was sort of rooting for her to convince me until she said this:

"You can't dwell every day on the sins you committed in the past. Jesus took them. You say, 'Oh, Lord, but when I was young I had that abortion.' Well, one day you'll meet that little baby in heaven and have good times together."

The peas for a second

I: Can we talk about the peas for a second? The ones we're having for dinner? With the chicken and mashies? The frozen peas? Let's actually cook that shit. Not microwave shit. Like, I'm talking BOILING. I'll be in charge of that.

"There is no sign of land..."

A couple of decent days followed by a couple of shitty days. I guess this is how things are going to go.

Comfort

I: I might not be the smartest motherfucker. I might not be the prettiest motherfucker. I might be a hairy motherfucker. But I'm your motherfucker. And you're mine.

Idiots and granola-crunchers

Recently I complained about some of the ladies that annoy me on www.i-am-pregnant.com. I still visit the site regularly, though. I think that talking shit to the computer is theraputic for me when I can't sleep in the middle of the night.

A popular feature of the site is the ability to ask questions of other expectant and new mothers in an open forum. I do learn things on here--some I didn't even know I wanted to know and some that make it impossible to imagine eating for the next several hours given the degree of detail they go into. But one popular line of questioning involves variations on the question, "Do you think I could be pregnant?" Here is an actual message someone posted:

I have a friend that hasn`t gotten her periods just yet. She is never late and have her period marked every month. Her boobies are sore as well as her nipples. she has been off the pill for the past 8 months. Do you think she could be pregnant? Its hard for me to say as I never got any symptoms at all and found out late in my pregnancy that I was. Please help

What is your major malfunction? Take a pregnancy test! Some women say they don't want to "waste a test." What are they? Made of fucking gold? Take a pregnancy test!

In other news, I recently watched a documentary called, "The Business of Being Born." It "explores the history of obstetrics, the history and function of Midwives, and how many common medical practices may be doing new mothers more harm than good." In general, I have always imagined giving birth in a hospital and having an epidural, but wanted to educate myself about other ways that giving birth might look. I have already gotten comments like, "You want a home birth, right?" and snotty advice from women who haughtily state that "a natural birth experience" (i.e., without my much-coveted epidural) is the only conceivable option.

Well, I feel like I know more after seeing this documentary and that I am getting increasingly sensitized to important issues to consider, but I still feel like I want the hospital and the epidural even after viewing and considering.

I had a friend who had her first child about three years ago, and decided she wanted a doula. When she went into labor a few weeks early, she and her partner called the doula who was out of town and unwilling to return. She assured them that she "probably wasn't in labor" and advised her to "light a candle and take cleansing breaths." So they went to the hospital. This is exactly the kind of hippy bullshit I want to avoid.

Commiseration

"...And I really hope he has someone in his life right now who can make him feel a little less judged by this giant, jeering audience..."

(From www.dooce.com)

Jan is going to die.

During my summer jobs in college, I worked for numerous camps for kids of varying ages. One of these was Energy Express, a six-week reading and nutritional enrichment program for rural children in West Virginia. Because we spent so much time immersed in children's literature--reading it, writing about it, drawing scenes from books, acting out our favorite stories--I developed a real appreciation for kids' books at this time. I started accumulating a small collection I wanted to save for my own kids around 1996.

These have come in very handy since Darius spends so much time with us, and we generally read at least one book together before bedtime. He tends to pick the same stories over and over, so last night it was a pleasant surprise when he chose a book we hadn't read before: How Smudge Came.

It had been at least a decade since I'd read the book, and I honestly didn't remember much about it other than a girl finds a stray puppy. We snuggled down in bed under the covers and I began reading. Darius likes to ask a lot of questions about the story and the illustrations, so it ends up being a slow process. As we read and discussed each page, Ivan was moving around the room, getting ready for bed. Then I got to a page where another character is introduced and read:

Here's Jan, who isn't very old, but he is ugly with disease and he is going to die.

Ivan froze and said, "What the hell are you reading?" Darius turned to me with wide eyes. Apparently unable to muster any sensitivity and compassion at such an unexpected turn in the story, I burst out laughing.

As it turns out, the story is about a girl with Down's Syndrome who lives in a group home. She rescues a stray puppy in a snow storm and tries to hide him in her room. She cleans for a nearby Hospice facility during the day, and takes the puppy to work with her to meet the residents. The story ultimately has a happy ending, but it understandably brought up a lot of questions for Darius. We ended up having a conversation about death, dying, and Hospice right before turning out the lights for the night. Lovely bedtime topics for a small child.

Oh, yeah. I'm really a natural.

Excerpt

"A Radically Condensed History of Postindustrial Life"

by David Foster Wallace from Brief Interviews With Hideous Men

When they were introduced, he made a witticism, hoping to be liked. She laughed extremely hard, hoping to be liked. Then each drove home alone, staring straight ahead, with the very same twist to their faces.

The man who'd introduced them didn't much like either of them, though he acted as if he did, anxious as he was to preserve good relations at all times. One never knew, after all, now did one now did one now did one.

The remains of the day

All in all, today can suck my left nut. There are a few things worth mentioning, however.

As he does most every weekend, Darius spent the night with us. This morning when he found me crying over an email I had received, he studied my face, reached up and touched a tear that trickled down my cheek, and then hugged me. It is really something to be loved by a child.

This evening, a very thoughtful friend asked to knit a hat for the baby after I'd mentioned how much I enjoy looking at the little owl and hedgehog hats on Etsy.com. She said she couldn't promise it would be without flaws, fit a newborn, or even resemble a woodland creature, but that she was up for the challenge. Her kindness meant so much to me, and I (shocker!) cried again. (I have to meet my hormonal quota of at least 27 cries per day, after all.)

During my recent bouts of insomnia, I have been enjoying listening to music on Playlist.com as I catch up on reading friends' blogs; research pregnancy, health, and nutrition; and generally sit in the dark basking in the glow of the computer. At present I sit here listening to Alice Cooper's "Poison." I am taken back to a very specific summer day around 1990 when I sat in the bathtub shaving my legs ankle to hip and singing along with that song on a mix-tape I'd made off the radio.

I want to love you but I better not touch
I want to hold you but my senses tell me to stop
I want to kiss you but I want it too much
I want to taste you but your lips are venomous poison...

I remember thinking how terribly exciting such sensations sounded to my 13 year old ears, and imagining the the best kind of love was like that: desperate, wild, clinging.

I was so wrong.

It is a partner who knows *exactly* how you like your coffee and makes it for you every morning. It is snuggles and sleepy murmurs of 'I love you' under the covers in the middle of the night. It is someone who always washes the dishes for you. It is the person with whom I can spontaneously burst into singing Kool & the Gang's "Joanna."

This. This is the best kind.

3rd Planet

"Well, a third had just been made
and we were swimming in the water.
Didn't know then
Was it a son? Was it a daughter?
.
.
.
The universe is shaped exactly like the earth.
If you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were."




4/9/11 update/key to my inner psyche: This was my way of announcing to the world that I was pretty sure I was pregnant. Even before I took a test.

Bread

"Nobody else could ever know the part of me that can't let go."