Table Six

It is a good thing that Handsome didn't get kicked out of the wedding for not getting his tux on time, for the wedding was a fabulous time.

It would be fair to say it was the bomb, yo.

We had such a great time with our family, my Brother and Bride's family and friends, and the food (or copius amounts of food) left a lasting impression.

Table Six - you rocked, babies. And now whenever I hear the word "Wicked", I will think of poor Devon and his monster hangover. I appreciate that Devon, Pete (Shag King?) and Jeff partied like it was 1999 for the sake of celebrating my brother's marriage. Anything less would have been blasphemous.

I was terribly nervous about leaving the Bean with her Grandparents in Philly all weekend. She had the signs of a head cold coming on, and I just hated the idea of being without her. And I was terrified that the In-Laws would take her to church or something. And although I had the first-time mother jitters, my fears weren't all that out there.

My poor little Bean was forced to dress up in my MIL Christening Dress from 1948.

Yeah.

Can you believe that they actually showed us the pictures? Shouldn't this go under the "Fetishes We Shouldn't Share With Other People" catagorey? It makes me physically fucking nauseous.

Lets hope that the Grandparents didn't take her TO church IN that christening gown.

It would be a wasted effort, fo course, as my friend Kevin pointed out to me after seeing this picture. "...I baptized her first with vision of Tiaras and German interpretations of turn of the century English and American fashions. So [another baptism] wouldn't take."

Feline Family Fued

Clarence, Alabama, Blue, and Bad Cat Agnes. My four feline babies. (Bad Agnes pictured here)

There used to be six feline babes, but one went to Colorado to live with his original owner, and the other went off with an ex-boyfriend of mine. Thank God for that reduction.

So then there were four.

1. Clarence (aka The Boat or No.1) will go anywhere at anytime and be fine with life - he is the kind of cat that has remained a constant for the past ten years, and I owe him many canned tuna fish juice licks for getting me through the past.

2. Alabama (aka WeHadABamaItsAGirl) Clarence's sister, is basically a ghost...she lives behind things. Behind the dresser, behind the toilet, behind a drawer, behind the stairs. I feel sorry for her, but the other cats kick her ass so badly that she has resorted to a more hermit kind of life. I don't know why the other cats hate her so much, she really is as sweet as an animal can be. Even if she does drool and smells like poop all the time.

3. Blue (aka Baby Blue Marine, Blue FACE, Blueper, Meatwad) once had a near death experience after almost suffocating on horse manure. Although he didn't meet his maker, he came away with a few less functioning brain cells and has lost his depth perception and short term memory. But he is the most awesome little soul with the most butch walk you will ever see out of a cat.

4. And then there is Agnes. Freakin' Bad Cat Agnes. First off, Agnes is really a boy, but I didn't know that when she landed in my life and I didn't change the name after I learned the sex. She was never beaten or mistreated, but by the way EVERYTHING spooks her and the constant attempts to get out, you would assume that she had been. She is BAD BAD BAD. Everything she does is wrong. Agnes.

I love them all in their own special way, but I was tested with Agnes yesterday.

Yesterday we were having new carpets installed in the old house in order to make it more attractive. After the installation, we were surveying the work, and gathering the cats to move them to the new house. Of course, this is the worse thing that could EVER happen to Agnes, and she/he seemed to know what her fate might be.

So, we got the other cats all situated and then went after Agnes - the thirty minute catch and transport routine.

Of course, she/he ran right into one of the rooms that just got fresh new carpet and hovered in the corner like I was the Grim Reaper making a claim.

And the she/he got so worked up that she/he PEED on the new carpet.

Agnes Murphy Law applied. Don't worry. She is still alive.

Moving Day

There are only a few experiences from my life that I can truly describe as exhausting: starting a new job, labor, biking the 160 miles from Rehobeth Beach to Baltimore, the first six weeks of the Bean's life, and moving residences.

Moving, it would generally be said, just sucks.

From the initial packing and the petitioning for help to the actual day of moving is so mentally and emotionally draining, I can't imagine WHY we thought it would be a good idea to do so...other than the fabulous investment in the new pad, the additional room, the tin ceilings, and getting the hell out of the cookie cutter Canton lifestyle. Yes, we have traded drunken frat boy nighttime calling for something more...urban. But it is just how we wanted it.

The house itself is still amazing to me...it is noisy and creaky, it is so much bigger than any other house I have lived in. The kitchen is breathtaking. The backyard is so quaint. We have a deck! A real deck. There is exposed brick all throughout the house, the bedrooms are perfectly sized...it is just so bloody gorgeous. I have no idea where my work clothes are or where the toothpaste went, but it is all worth it in the end.

I laid in bed next to Handsome and thought, Damn, girl, you done moved on up.

*A very HUGE thank-you to Martin and Ted. I have no idea how we would have gotten the couch in the house without you. Your help was so generous.*

Imbibing 101

You know, last night was rather blogworthy, so what the hell? This entry will also give you an introduction to one of my favorite gal pals in the world, RC Science Girl, Ph.D.

I have been told that you are who you surround yourself with, and with RC Science Girl, Ph.D, I get the best of so many worlds.

RC Science Girl, Ph.D. is freakin' brilliant and understands and feeds my fetish for any kind of nanotechnology news, she invites me to all her high-falootin' fancy Technology Council meetings (for the free booze) and to Hopkins Alumni events (again, for the booze), has no problem drawing boobs on any available surface, is the kind of girl that you can make Janet Jackson boobie cupcakes for her 30th bday celebration and she actually gets it, hosts Thanksgiving dinners all throughout the year, bought the Bean a Grateful Dead onesie, will convince me to get a lap dance every now and then, and is one of the most genuine babes I have ever met IN my life.

And she is just as much a megalomaniac as I, which is why I have to mention her on here to get her to read it.

ANYWAY, so last night she got us tickets to this Johns Hopkins Alumni social thingee, which was a beer tasting with an "informative" Beer 101 lecture. We met up with other friends and included Brit Nerd Science Guy from the Office and his posse.

And before I go any further, this took place at Brewer's Art. And if you aren't familiar, Brewer's Art serves the most heavenly devilish beer in America. And it gets me into trouble more often than not. ESPECIALLY now that I don't hang there any longer and my tolerance level is at zero.

If there is anyone in the world who is out of place faking her way through an alumni social and pretending to sample Brewer's Art beers, it is this girl. I mean, come on, I think they may have named a monthly beer after me before the Bean was born. And if they didn't, well, frack, are they missing out.

So there are all these nicely dressed intellectual types sampling beer in the tiniest "beer" mugs I have ever seen. Of course, RC Science Girl and I somehow scored a pitcher and downed several mini pints before our group even knew what had happened. We did then share with Brit Nerd Science Guy from the Office and his crew, and it was right around Introduction time that I thought...huh...I wonder if that was the 10% alcohol beer...yeah, uhm, sure was. And by then it was too late. Way too late.

Unfortunately for the EXTREMELY boring lecturer, our table had more than sampled the first round of beer and were snickering at his Belgian-Beer-Hoopla-Fat-Guy-Hawaiian-Shirt before he said hello.

It didn't make for the most comfortable settings, I'll admit and apologize...but that guy, should he ever read this, should know a few things:

1. Mixing beer lecture with actual Brewer's Art beer was a stupid stupid idea. No one will be able to pay attention to you for long because they will be hammered.
2. If you are going to play at being an expert on brewing in Maryland, you might want familiarize yourself with the history of Yuengling Brewery, bitch. Mr. Yuengling came to CHARM CITY first, baby. Not PA.
3. That shirt just made you look fat.
4. We were all pretending to listen so that we could get more pitchers of the free beer. Of course I can't speak for ALL of the participants, but our table tried, tried REALLY HARD to be good and to pay attention. But dude, we were kind of bombed.

Although slightly tipsy, I realized that I probably was not going to get invited to another alumni anything for a while. Nor was RC Science Babe. Brit Nerd Science from the Office had the good sense to pretend not to know us for a while, so maybe He will get invited again. Not to worry, though, for when I clocked RC Science Girl drawing boobs on her menu and writing out an entire paragraph to me about her new bra purchased from the Gap, it seemed only natural to be banned from the intellectual crowd along with my favorite gal with a Ph.D.

It was so good to hang with my girlfriend again.

The Boat

Sometimes, on a Friday like mine...and after a debaucherous Thursday night with the Johns Hopkins Alumni folks, all one Devine girl can do is post a picture of THE most wonderful cat in the world. Even if this gorgeous cat has traded my dedicated love of ten years for the slightest bit of attention from Handsome.

From Good to Great, or L-5: Down & Dirty on the Dance Floor

There is a new manager (who has been referred to as Ned Flanders by my favorite ex-temp, appropriately) at work who is drilling the book "Good to Great" into the minds of the Administrative Staff.

Every week, in a full-on hour-long staff meeting, we are subjected to "exploring" the book's lessons and themes on how to turn our organization into a "great one."

One of the lessons hones in on what the authors coined as "Level 5 Leadership".

How, dear employee, do you exude Level 5 Leadership every day?

L-5, as I have come to call it, is all about "looking in the mirror, taking the blame, being humble, yadda, yadda, yadda. The content of the book definitely has good points, but every week, each staff member in our office is supposed to share a professional moment with the group in which they exhibited L-5 Leadership.

Considering that we are all lower-level employees who spend the majority of our days filing and putting out fires for the people in charge, it isn't any easy task to just toss off a little diddy about what a great leaders we are.

I have nothing for tomorrow's meeting. I used up all my kiss-ass-L-5 crap last week.

While pulling out my hair trying to come up with SOMETHING to "share," I zoned in on the word humble. Well, certainly could use that. Since having my child and returning to work, I have been eating a lot of crow.

Yesterday's personal lesson in humility would be a great example...during my lunch hour at the gym, I was absolutely embarrassed and made to look like a big white girl who ain't got no moves. What is even better about this story is that is true. Nedster couldn't deny me that.

Salt-shaker? Cabbage Patch? Jazz Hands? That's right. All these and more in an aerobic workout class. And I couldn't get one of them right. No, literally - not one.

Maybe I should tell the Administrative Staff that yesterday I impulsively joined into a "Body JAM" class rather than hitting my usual spinning lunchtime class. I thought mixing up my workout routines might just accelerate some weight loss and would could ward off any boredom I might be feeling. (Shows initiative and spontaneity? CHECK!)

And was that ever a mistake. (Eating Crow/Being Humble? CHECK!)

Not only did I totally wear the most inappropriate gym outfit that only accentuated all of my body flaws as I was faced with staring at myself for the entire class in the mirror, I seem to have totally lost my ability to dance or even mimic dance-like moves. (Looking in the mirror!? CHECK!)

And "Body JAM" is all about shaking your caboose. Which I certainly can do just by walking - adding gyrations and twist, step, TURN to the mix only made me feel like singing Aretha Franklin songs.

Wiggling and jiggling and trying desperately to remember the combinations, I wanted to cry. All of that motion while trying to look somewhat sexy as the instructor kept telling us to do.

For all my effort, I succeeded only in slamming directly into the instructor when miscalculating my turning distance and accidentally bitch-slapping this old woman next to me when we were instructed to "raise the roof."

(Does that make me humbled enough for an L-5 session of the week?)

Going Bridal

My little brother, who is not so little anymore, is getting married in 11 days. And I love him dearly, but he has had some bitchy bitchy bitchy bridal moments reminiscent of my own. Weddings make people insane. They truly do...

The most recent upset centered around Handsome's and my inability to get our heads wrapped around the deadline date for a tuxedo rental from Men's Warehouse. We have no excuse for not getting this done other than a demanding little Bean and limited time for anything else, but my poor brother was PEEEEEEEE-OED that we didn't get this taken care of on time. Can't say I blame him, but I did get a little pissy with him when I got the email spank of "Well, if *Handsome* didn't want to be in the wedding party, he should have said so". Boo hoo!

Nah, I get it. We screwed up. And we DID get the tux fitted and rented all for only a $20 RUSH fee. So here is what Handsome and I are sending to the Bride and Groom this morning to hopefully lighten the mood. We faked an email address from Men's Warehouse too....

Dear Mr. (Brother) Devine of the Linton/Devine Wedding Party,

Thank you for contacting *Handsome* Devine to secure his fitting arrangements for your party's tuxedo rental.

Unfortunately, *Handsome* made it quite clear that he thought the style of the suit was "faggy" and stated that it made him look "like Pee Wee Herman". Even after explaining to him that all of our suits were designed to have our customers "love the way you look" and attempting to boost his self esteem through flattery, we were unable to calm his homophobic outburst.

Being a homosexual myself, I was highly offended, but for the sake of my company I tried one last time to assure him that he did not look like a "sissy fag on holiday"or "too gay to sit on the furniture" in your choice of suit rentals. He then snapped his fingers in a Z formation, called me "Mary" and stomped off in a huff.

I do believe that Handsome may not be interested in being a part of your wedding...I, however, would be more than happy to fill in for him as I truly believe in customer service and love to party hearty.


Yours Truly,

George Zimmer, CEO and Customer
Men's Warehouse

God, I hope my brother and his fiance find that funny. I certainly do.

No, really. No. REALLY.

Here's my initial email to the In-Laws...notice how I am trying to nicely say we cannot deal with you this weekend, do not show up:

(Dear Mom & Dad)

"We are making our plans to move on Sunday, and we are fortunate enough to have some friends signed up to help. We are getting the U-Haul truck rental at 9AM on Sunday morning and starting to load up then. *Handsome* and I talked about it, and if you guys want to skip coming down to help, it would be okay with us. We don't really need any additional help."

I suppose I should have been more direct?

The response I got today:

"I'm glad you have your help lined up for Sunday. I will make a pot of spaghetti sauce and bring it along."

God Help me. Please, help me. Help me be more direct.

Bean Madonna

Creating and establishing relationships with your in-laws is most likely one of the trickiest experiences of adulthood - especially for women.

It has been my experience that women serve the emotional synapses of family structure - and not only do we struggle with the responsibility to maintain all these relationships on an even keel, we have to remain a constant for our husbands (or partners) as the tie between mother and son is severed even more.

Despite all her insane and ridiculous behavior, there was a few moments during this week's visit that I felt compassion for my MIL. That's right - I felt some kind of mothery weird bond thing perhaps that seemed like it could develop into more friendly feelings down the road.

I can see how hard it is for her to let go of her children - and I looked from the MIL to my sleeping daughter and instinctively knew that one day, I would be in a similar position. I understand her need to desperately cling to whatever she can with Handsome, to try to remain on some level of importance with him - to try to retain some sense of control.

I *understand* it - emotionally. I think.

So back to the warm feelings:
I felt kind of bad for her this week when the In-Laws came into town to assist with the closing on our new house, and the mixture of pride they felt for their son's success and sadness that he has his own life apart from them had them in tears.
Literally.
It was a little weird.

Of course, there were a few cups of champagne tossed in there as well...which tuned into a bottle of wine and martinis at dinner...which turned into MIL yelling at the waiter that she wants to have SEX with her husband tonight...AND....AND....
and that she has secretly baptized the Bean already since she was "worried about her soul".

That would probably be the point at which I stopped feeling any compassion. Or tolerance. Or hope.

God Help Us All if that really happened. God Help Me for feeling like I might be able to have a real relationship with this woman. God Help the Bean for having such a crazy grandmother.

If Mr. Ecko can perform a baptism on a stranded island, what's to say that my MIL didn't use toilet water or something in the restaurant to bless my Bean?

Perhaps I shouldn't have ended my therapy sessions just yet.