Stella, why does thou deceive me?

Damn, Handsome takes a good picture...if he can make me look this normal just a five weeks out of the delivery gate, then the Man is a genius. AND, if you happen to find yourself in the fine Hon-a-licious sector of our fair city, the lovely HAMPDEN (hon) on November 22, pop into Holy Frijoles for the Baltimore Flickr Show Opening Reception to see more of his talented work (7-9PM).

Last night a friend of ours offered to watch The Bean so that Handosme and I could go out on a date. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to hang out alone with my super-stud, I immediately accepted. Yay, date! I love a date. A date that involves Stella Artois and pub grub.

Now, back in the day (only two years ago), when Handsome and I were just departing on the love train, we could drink each other under the table, convincing bartenders to get us another round, even though last call occurred twenty minutes prior. We could stay out until 2 or 3 in the morning, fool around until 4, and still make it to our jobs, acceptably cleaned up, by 8:30.

But now? Now we were slightly snappy with each other while trying to decide where in the hell to actually "go out" to. A destination that:
(1) wouldn't have too long of a wait for a table
(2) wasn't heading into the downtown traffic that looked like it was swallowing SUVs whole
(3) wouldn't require walking in the pretty damn cold weather too far
(4) wouldn't make us chant any prayers to the Parking Goddess
....don't we sound fun? We were like to crotchety old people with sleep deprivation, or new parents who haven't had a good night's sleep in almost six weeks.

Finally, in an attempt to just GO to somewhere, we decided on the faux Irish bar up the road from our babysitting friend's place. Two blocks of walking, and we were riding the wave of a Friday Night Happy Hour in a wannabe Irish bar that reminds me of something we could have experienced in Epcot Center or on the Its A Small World ride. But whatever, they have beer and french fries - table for two please!

Handsome had a beer and then opted for a Martini, I downed four beers and a Caeser salad....we tried, we really did, to forget that we were in a freaking yuppie frenzy, shouting at each other in an attempt to have normal conversation. I smoked almost an entire pack of cigarettes on my own just to keep from staring at the 40-ish older man with a combover and his trashed date as they tried to make out with each other. And we both yawned like it was our job throughout the $80, three hour tour of our Date in Ireland.

Finally, it was time to go, and we bundled up and headed out into the Stupid Winter to relieve our dear friend of Bean Watching. Handsome and I walked quickly, probably trying to avoid admitting to each other that the Ireland Date sucked ass, that WE sucked ass right now, but then my Man said, "Lets not do this again...I would rather stay home with you the Bean and a bottle of wine."

I freakin' love him. And I love that a bottle of wine would cost a hell of a lot less than our night out at the yuppie bar did, and I could wear my fuzzy pink socks while sitting on the couch with my little family unit.

Now, that sounds like a date.

Breathing Room

It has become almost terrifying (read: socially paralyzing) to run into people I know from Before The Bean. I have no idea what to say to them other than:

"I KNOW! Crazy, huh? They did indeed let me leave the hospital with this child...ME! I KNOW!", folllowed by some head shaking and appropriate chuckling.

I got nada for these folks in the way of the grapevine or anything beyond baby talk...at least I may be providing them with some fodder for thier late night bar conversations, "Boy, ran into Devine today with her new baby...kid is ADORABLE, but wow did she get fat!" Or something to that effect.

Point is, I want to run and hide from the Devine That Was and the Devine that still can't put money in the meter in Mt. Vernon before running into two or three old acquaintances who most likely reek of beer and cigarettes from the night before...cripes. I didn't have any idea that this would happen to me, ME, I KNOW. Now, I just want to be the Devine Mother That Is - not nearly caring that much about the spare tire left behind by pregnancy around my middle, not caring that much if Girlfriend may or may not like me, not caring about much else other than whether the Bean is properly covered up in this Fall weather...Not that the people I run into are bad or wrong or even all that offensive in the body odor area, it is just that I have nothing in common with anyone other than my Handsome, who is as equally smitten in baby land as I am. I have no grounds for even trying to conjure up the Devine That Was in order to fake my way through friendly conversations. It is just going to embarass all involved. So this has to serve as my apology...I hope that I return to a more socially acceptable state of mind in the near future, but until I do, give me some room. Sleeping in two or three hour spurts has left my family hibernating in the smarts department.

And please, do see the Family Guy Movie that just came out...it was really working with my own insanity and has to be one of the funniest movies I have ever seen. Especailly since Lois is bombed in the opening credits and shouts "Fuck Yeah!"

Your Break-ah my Fiestaware, I Break-ah Your Face-ah!

Oh, Bean. I think she is sporting a gang sign already in that third photo...thatta girl! True Dat, Boo. Baltimore loves ya, baby. My Uncles' girlfriend said these pictures make my baby look like an alien, but she recently had brain surgery, so I won't take her opinon to seriously. (Love ya, P! Baltimore loves you, too).

UPDATE: Dinner last week was an absolute fucking disaster, of course. Trouble almost amounted to a few broken Fiestaware dishes by a semi-drunk MIL who was slamming them around my kitchen to let us know that she was MAD (wah!), which would have been UNFORGIVABLE in my mind.

Those pregnancy book warnings are real: there are some guests who help when they come for a visit post-baby, and those who bring you pre-packaged smoked trout (say what?) and leave your kitchen in a state of turmoil and it takes hours to clean up after them, newborn in one hand, scrubber in the other.

God, I am glad that is over.

And perhaps writing about them on-line where the potential that they could find this blog might be my passive-agressive attempts of spewing out my frustrations that I cannot share with them in person...and it might get me in trouble. But I think you would do the same. I do. Especially when the pretty Fiestaware gets involved. You just shouldn't fuck with another woman's carefully selected dishware.

As some of you are aware, my mentally challenged cat Blue knocked a glass of water onto my keyboard at home (Handsome thinks it was me - but I promise, the Retard did it), limiting my space bar use and therefore curbing all emailing and blogging efforts. The only opportunity I have to post on here is when I am hiding out at the Bookstore (otherwise known as Only-Place-In-Town-To-Seek-Refuge-from-Formula-Stains), which can be as short as a few hours a week. But considering my life has warped into a mode of changing diapers, feeding the Bean, changing more diapers, making sure Handsome still likes me enough not to run off to Arizona for good, doing her TONS of laundry (this child makes a point of defecating and urinating on anything other than the diaper should the opportunity arise, and it does...too often), and trying to maintain a clean house, I have little to write about other than my Girl and her amazing kicking abilities. So you haven't been missing much.

My disability benefits will be officially over on November 22...I am already experiencing minor panic attacks about leaving my Bean in child care...we decided a few months ago to sign up with a really nice Greek woman named Debbi (Debbi? Greek?) who runs a small day care situation out of her home. She seems perfectly capable and her family is very nice...but the idea of leaving my Girl for 9 hours a day with another woman evokes strains of green jealousy in me that are reminiscent of my dating days, knowing that the man I was dating decided to tap the ass of another chick. It is intense! I am already jealous that Debbi will watch my Bean grow while I am at my mundane job, counting the hours until I can reunite with her...GOOD NEWS, though...Handsome and I have decided (mostly) to shut down the Bookstore for the winter and look into expanding our space back a few feet and installing a coffeehouse situation. The community has spoken...they "love" that we are here, that we have brought this funky little business into thier community, but really, REALLY, they want coffee. Not literature. Espresso double latte red eye caffeine pleasures...and I think that Handsome and I have agreed to finally listen. Only if they still continue to occasionally buy books - or I will secretly serve everything decaf, like that Starbucks chick threatened me with way back when.