Baltimore's Devine

From 2007 to 2008

2008-01-03T10:43:00.000-08:00

HOLA! It certainly has been a ridiculously long time since I last added anything to this poor, neglected blog. In fact, it was sweltering hot at Handsome's birthday party when I last made an entry, whereas today, the windchill factor is at (fucking) 9 degrees. 9! I have missed contact through seasonal changes and the holidays...which really says how okay life has been lately. I haven't had much to bitch about or whip into a humorous entry just to survive my way through it.

*side note to Uncle John who has learned that I do have a blog and has probably found it by now. Cursing in a blog is fun. I can't do it at work, I can't do it at home or my Bean repeats it at school. This is a great outlet and I know you want to curse to! You have been warned, and enjoy.

The announcements forthcometh:

The Bean turned 2 like a little Champ, entered pre-pre-school, and is becoming bi-lingual, speaking in English and Spanish - even enough to have created her own Spanish word "Co-LACHA" which she says with some Latina Flair. This child is so freaking smart it is unnerving. She is totally bossy too, which she may or may not have gotten from me.

I survived another semester at Hopkins - GPA 3.7 (woot!), however, I will be taking some time off in 2008 to grow our SECOND CHILD OF FABULOUSNESS, Devine Ala Dos Bambino, due July 4th, 2008 (please, bambino dos, don't come out all patriotic and republican - sorry again Uncle John, if you are reading this) . This pregnancy is totally different from last time - I have hardly had time to even care about feeling nauseous or tired - the Bean has kept me literally running after her. Which is probably why I feel so great most of the time, and why many people told me that the second pregnancy is so much easier and happier. I hope this trend continues. I no longer hate those women who flap on and on about "feeling great" during pregnancy. But I am eating like its my job though, and do have that FAT-ASS fear lurking in the back of my mind, far behind the food-cravings part of the brain, but there nonetheless. So now I just hate those women who get those perfect little basketball bellies without the Fat-Ass or Fat-Necks. Those bitches are unfairly lucky. Bitches.

We traveled to see my family for the holidays for the first time in about 7 years. It was really amazing to roll the car windows down and bask in the 75 degree weather on Christmas Day, and to take the Bean for a walk with my Mom and enjoy the sunshine. I truly miss living in Florida. We had the good fortune of enjoying the company of our California family members as well, and Handsome and I really enjoyed our visit with all of my family. Its weird, but MY family rarely stresses me out. We had a great vacation, and it broke my heart to come back "home".

The only downside to the traveling was the expenses, naturally, and that Airtran lost ALL of our luggage AGAIN. This happened last time we traveled to Florida as a pack. So this morning I didn't have a hairbrush, toothbrush, nada. I had to use an Ariel Princess hair comb designed for a barbie doll to brush my hair.

Happy New Year everyone - I am sure 2008 is going to be great. If only because fucking Bush's days are ticking away!

Happy 30th Birthday, Handsome!

2007-08-27T09:34:00.000-07:00

Happy 30th, Handsome Husband! I am lucky to be your wife, your friend, your partner, and the one who can make you laugh when its 107 degrees in the house. I love you!

Living in Wild, Wild West

2007-08-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

8/25/07 - Robbery About 9 p.m. Saturday, a gunman entered Kenn Tenn Tavern in the first block of N. Chester St. and fled moments later with more than $100.

8/27/07 - Police, who said they did not have an address for Dwight McDaniel Baker, 35, said they were unsure whether he died of the gunshot wound or drowned after his out-of-control vehicle crashed through a concrete wall and into the pool at Brown's Northwest Baltimore home early Saturday.

8/27/07 - No arrest had been made and police knew of no motive for the city's latest reported slaying, the 204th of the year. About 2 p.m., police found the victim, believed to be in his early 20s, lying in the 1900 block of Cecil Ave. in the city's East Baltimore Midway neighborhood across the street from the cemetery. Police called an ambulance, and the victim was taken to Johns Hopkins Hospital, where he died shortly after arriving there.

Christmas in July

2007-07-03T18:53:00.000-07:00

Ho Ho Ho.

Its a good thing that only my sister-in-law from my mother's side of the family reads this as we are planning our family's night at the Family Reunion to be a surprise CHRISTMAS IN JULY party.

the email I sent to my homies in the clan:

Here is a list of what I just ordered - Mom is getting melting snowman bean bags to decorate the table, Christmas kazoos (to do the xmas songs with) and inflatable xmas balls for the pool...

Prefix	Item #	Description	Personalization	Qty.	Units	Shipping	Price
IN	4/699	JINGLE BELL NECKLACES		2	DZ	Est Delivery 7/16/07	$4.95
IN	4/3841	CANDY CANE FOIL BURST		2	PC	Est Delivery 7/16/07	$2.29
IN	4/1689	PLASTIC SNOWMAN HOLIDAY TABLECLOTH		2	PC	Est Delivery 7/16/07	$1.29
IN	4/3836	CHRISTMAS CUTLERY		3	UN	Est Delivery 7/16/07	$2.99
IN	4/3276	ELF HATS		1	DZ	Est Delivery 7/16/07	$2.95
IN	4/3476	SANTA HAT W/FELT BEARD		1	PC	Est Delivery 7/16/07	$1.49

We are going to get ham and turkey for dinner, mashed potatoes, corn, green beans, rolls and gravy for dinner.
For dessert we are going to buy pre-made cookie dough and let the kids make xmas cookies.
I would like to serve the adults a Christmas cocktail called Poinsettia - triple sec, champagne, and a little cranberry juice. And serve the kids Shirley Temples (with cherries, add to shopping list)
I am going to copy some songs and hand them out per family to perform via kazoo.
We are NOT doing gifts. Thank the wallet.

** the Santa hat with felt beard is for BURRO DEVINE. Burro Ass! The Bean can wear tights and her silver shoes...and probably, that's all. And maybe some interpretive streaks from the washable markers. And my lipstick on her ears and knees.

Grocery List
5 bottles cheap-ass champagne
1 bottle Triple Sec
1 bottle cranberry juice
(note to Mom - bring the Ibuprofen to combat cheap-ass champagne)
1 big-ass can of cherries
2 turkey breasts
1 ham
1 huge-ass can of corn from Sams -ginormous.
1 huge-ass can of gravy
3 cans of those poppin-fresh whatevers for rolls
7 tubs of Country Crock Garlic Mashed Potatoes (and you know that E is there just for Dan Quale - VPs can change the world, I tell you. And get you in jail and then pardoned if yr name is LIBBY)
onion
2 boxes of butter
At your discretion tubes of cookie dough
2 bottles of Sprite for the kids drinks

Man, I can't wait for to get the F out of this ghetto and spend some time with my family this year. What a KLASSY grocery list!

One, Two, Three, Nose, Five, Thirteen

2007-06-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Bean Girl - You are just shy of 21 months old. How is it that in such a short amount of time, that I can't recall what life was like before you came. Your Dad and I often remark just how bored and silly we were.

Lately you are extremely interested in bellybuttons, shouting NUDE BABY IN THE HOUSE, although when you say it sounds like NUDE HOUSE. When focused, you count up to 19, but almost always, you say NOSE instead of FOUR. You call all of the cats Boat. You are very attached to anything that resembles the Baby Bear from your favorite book, The Three Little Bears. You colored all over your grandparents TV in the beach house over Father's Day weekend. You have started to feed your stuffed animals your meals.

You have been experimenting with calling me Mama, Mommy, and Meghan - my title changes with your mood. When I pick you up from Yaya's house in the afternoon, I am always Mama, and you run with all your little gusto might to meet me at the gate for a major hugging session while shouting MAMAMAMAMAMAMA, and then you demand "Okay, Mama, juice baba Okay." You won't each much beyond apricots from Yaya's tree, spaghetti, strawberries, and cheese. I am currently wondering if I shouldn't just transition you into vegetarianism along with me as you don't seem to like meat, but I am not there yet.

I tell your Giggle Grandma everyday how amazing you are, and the little things that make up your day. You are my joy, baby girl.

My favorite phrases as of late:
"Yay, I DID it"
"Oh, okay, tank uuuuu."
"Apple"
"Hi Mama. Hi Daddy. Hi Boat"

Bean Dreams

2007-06-12T11:55:00.000-07:00

Important Random Facts

2007-06-07T10:25:00.000-07:00

USC.

USC stands for THE UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.

USC does NOT stand for The University of South Carolina.

You might need this information at some point in your life.

I sure wish that someone would have passed that little tidbit of knowledge off to me before I had 80 expensive galleys of a USC football book printed with my brilliant fucking marketing plan to include a regional tour in SOUTH CAROLINA.

Good Job, Devine.

The Devastation of Book Worms

2007-06-06T12:01:00.000-07:00

The 2007 Book Expo America proved to be everything I remembered it to be a few years ago...exhausting, thrilling, geeky, fabulous, schmooze-festy, and booze-fueled, only with many MANY more attendees and a serious lack of air-conditioning. And let me tell you, it really is unpleasant to deal with people in the book world while they are perspiring. Unless they are from The Today Show or something. But anyway, it was a HOT as well as a HOTT show in many regards.

I left my Handsome Husband and fabulous Bean girl and the Bad Cats last Wednesday, train bound for NYC at 6AM. You would think that early that the train conductors might take pity on a girl like myself, obviously exhausted and out of her mind with details, appointments, etc, etc, etc, and would NOT YELL AT HER WHEN HER SLEEPING BODY SLUMPED INTO THE ****EMPTY**** CHAIR next to her. I am not kidding - this horribly disgusting and mean woman kept waking me up any time she saw my body cross over the invisible line of "the other chair that you (me) did NOT pay to sit in." I hated her and calmed myself with visions of her fat lonely bitchy self eating waffles on a TV tray at night ALONE. Bitch. You should really get another job, one where you aren't such a BITCH all the time.

Anyway. So, I get up to NYC and the energy of being back in the City was so invigorating I chose to walk the oh, 20 blocks or so to the hotel at which I was an attendee of some marketing sessions. That wasn't the best of ideas since I was merely a sweat hog and not the fabulous Marketing Diva I planned on becoming when I hit the panels. I decided that while in NYC, it would be okay for me to smoke, too. Klassy, right?

After the sessions and a good nap, I met up with a colleague and we meandered through Central Park without any mission, really, other than to be outside in Central Park. I think it made both of us rather super-wistful about missing our respective children, so we indulged in some of the most amazing vegetarian food I have EVER had, and a drink to make us feel less sad about the absent bambinos. It was quite nice to be so low-key in a city that I almost ALWAYS get into trouble while visiting.

There was a little cocktail-party hosted by our company craziness that occurred, but nothing that a Polish cab driver found interesting when my colleague packed me into the car - hotel bound to sleep off my own silly over indulgences. She is very proud of "drinking you under the table" , though, so I can let her have it. It wouldn't be BEA without being just a little hungover. If you haven't been, you'll just have to trust me on that one. Suffice to say, my company passes out wine at 4 PM each day of the trade show...see?

My company was specifically promoting two of our most recently published titles which (thankfully) both proved to be a hit. I saw many old publishing and bookseller friends...some that were more than friends at one time...some that were never friends but I still find them intimidating so I stopped by to smile funny at them...some that will be friends but they don't know it yet. Handsome and BEAN WONDER CHILD came up on Friday to join in the calendar of events, and other than her scoring PINK EYE and keeping Handsome in the hotel with her sick self almost the entire time, it was a fucking blast!

Books we scored:
- Alice Sebold - Almost Moon (fecking weird stuff)
- Tom Perrotta's new book, which he signed to the Bean instead of Handsome
- a book on the Armenian Genocide (light reading for the train ride back)
- Sebastian Faulk's new one
- a book by COURTNEY THORNE SMITH from "Melrose Place" (heehee!)

and some other random goodies. Also spotted Richard Belzer and Stephen Colbert.

It took me many days to recover, but Baltimore doesn't look so usually shitty right now. =)

Welcome to the World Baby Boy Devine!

2007-04-26T19:56:00.000-07:00

The newest addition to the Farfels came upon the scene tonight, April 26, 2007. The most beautiful nephew IN the world. Congratualtions Chris & Kate - we are so proud and honored to be a part of all of your lives. He is amazingly gorgeous. But he is a Devine, after all.

Weekend Sun

2007-04-25T18:54:00.000-07:00

The Presentation

2007-04-24T19:09:00.000-07:00

My new job has presented a plethora of new challenges - most of which I am enjoying and twisting into being humorous with my much perfected third person's view of my daily activites . Like if I was to star in my own TV show - Devine Publishing & Toddler, Inc.

The most recent of challenges took place yesterday at a sales conference in which I was to co-present my company's new titles. It should be noted that I am not a fan of presenting and usually make an ass out of myself while going through the motions. For example. the last presentation I gave in one of my classes at Hopkins (two weeks ago), I lost my train of thought and described Walt Disney's animation color schemes as "trippy" (good job devine). But the presentation for work didn't go all that badly, thankfully.

The Bean has been presenting her own challenges into my schedule - my sleeping schedule. Last night she slept a total of three hours. I quite possibly could lose my mind over this lack of sleep. Terrific crazy as a bed bug, hosting cooking contests at 3 AM or something.

I am implementing the new Household Schedule starting tomorrow. I've got to regain some kind of control of the twilight time.

But she is still cute, even at 4 AM.

Mano e Mano

2007-04-09T12:09:00.000-07:00

When there is a repetition of theme occuring in my life, I think it means I had better take notice.

Change is not easy, nor is it comfortable, but it is absolutely necessary.

It seems that as of late, the universe wants to remind me, or educate me, about growth. That loss and love are one in the same. That I cannot grow without some of the pain that comes with saying adios to an old friend, or the rough scratches I am getting when I try to move out of my comfort zones.

It doesn't feel great to shed some of the friendships and patterns that I thought made me ME, but at the same time, it does feel exciting and refreshing.

I know that separating from bad influences, people who waste my time, bad horrible jobs, people who don't appreciate my daughter, and things that fuck with my normal schedule is necessary. If I don't make these changes now, I can't imagine how much crankier I am going to get.

Not for not just my own growth, but because I hope that the Bean always can look up to me for being strong, intelligent, and fearless, and unafraid of change.

And on another separation issue, I think I am just going to throw in the towel in regards to my book group as well. A complete Devine overhaul! We have been meeting for about 4 years now, and the time has come for us to all move onto other literary conversations. I think we all just annoy each other with our own predictable behavior and blah-de-blah literary opinions.

This epiphany came when two hens in the group clucked on and on and on about the bad acoustics in my house, and how it just wasn't suitable for book group discussions. Short of booking the Meyerhofff for the next meeting, I think it would be best to let them do their own hearing challenged meeting without the likes of the Devine to block any of their squawking. I don't want to absorb any more of their discussions.

Ha.

2007-03-28T20:06:00.000-07:00

The Alternative of Reality

2007-03-28T19:59:00.000-07:00

I met with RC Cola the Science Girl and her gaggle of friends that I am constantly in awe of at Johns Stevens for a drink last night after the Bean had gone to bed. I was ridiculously excited to see them, and to have the energy to actually GO. OUT I put on my fat squeezing undergarments which claim to make you appear to lose 10 lbs in 10 seconds, and busted out the good lipstick.

The gang included a Special Guest - our dear girl Ann who left us all in her wake for teaching students in another state the many wonders of cadavers, Mr. MM whom is a staple of sanity, a girl named Krissy ("like Three's Company" she said), Laurel the Starbuck look-a-like, Mysterious D (who doesn't seem to really dig me all that much) and some dude named Keith who has the hots for RC, but was a nice dude nonetheless.

I don't know if it was the surprise attendance of the Cadaver Expert Ann or not, but it felt amazingly good to be with a group of people that I truly like, and I realized, I had never slept with. Drama-Free! This outing was especially nice in the wake of the crazy ride I experienced with my girlfriend's visit to Baltimore last week to introduce her Irish Fiancé Who Thinks I Am Not Pretty.

I am beginning to notice a little bit of a pattern though - the extreme highs and lows that come with weaning off the most ridiculous anti-depressant drug in existence: Effexor.

I was prescribed the crazy drug when I was battling a pretty bad spell of post-partum depression, and I know that it helped me to get through a rather dark emotional time so that I could focus on being there for my little Bean Footage. But I was on it for 15 months, which in hindsight seems a little long considering that my OB prescribed it over the phone, without ever discussing other treatment options or the amount of time to keep it in my daily use. I just kept taking it because if I missed even a single dose, my body would go through a series of what I can only describe as electric shocks, and at times, I felt that I was literally going to fall right through the floor - all this from missing ONE dose. I kept taking it because I was too scared to face the withdrawal.

In February, my prescription ran out, so I really had no other choice but to face the challenge.

Going off of Effexor the same week as starting my new publishing job has left me rather shell-shocked, kind of numb mostly and at times in a very bitter state of mind - a shocking state of bitterness actually, like a bad taste in my mouth.

I realize that my anxiety/anger/elation/manic/irritation are all part of the detoxifying rollercoaster. Keeping this knowledge close, though, hasn't made things all that much easier to muddle through. But last night, the fog lifted some. I found myself relaxing, enjoying, and being myself - I was enjoying my own company as well as that of the group. It felt good to reunite with all parties to have a few drinks and to still get home to Handsome by 10:30.

However, my poor RC Cola girl thought I was acting a little "cranky" and was worried that I was annoyed with her or something.

CHRIST ALMIGHTY as my father would say.

What in the WORLD is going ON with me? Did the Effexor really fuck with my sense of reality so much that I don't even have a clue what I am putting out there?

I think that I am going to mark my calendar for this Friday to be The Day This Fucking Effexor Drama Stops. I will let you know how the agenda goes.

2007-03-26T12:32:00.000-07:00

Not a Pretty Girl

2007-03-26T12:05:00.000-07:00

What exactly is a girl supposed to say when an Irish man/boy who happens to be "engaged" to the girl's close friend tells her that she "is not a pretty girl - you definitely have sex appeal, but not pretty."
(Hey! Fuck You!)

And he even set me up for the delivery of this opinion by telling me that "most people don't understand my backhanded ways of giving a compliment."
(You sure are right, buddy, I don't understand. And how about another FUCK YOU?)

Last week, while hosting a St. Patrick's Day meal that made me gag purely because I can no longer stand the sight, smell or suggestion of meat, my MIL (on her 19th glass of wine that she kept exclaiming was the Best Wine She Had Ever Had - it was the $13 box wine - love it!) thought it very timely to tell me that "leaving Hopkins, no matter how degrading the job was, was a bad idea."
(Yes, indeed. What a terrible, stupid idea. Thanks so much for your unsolicited and drunken wisdom!)

It would seem that I am getting a lot of unsolicited advice and drunken comments lately, but that kind of bravado in some people makes me smile.
Like people might think I am actually listening.

In happier family experiences, we were in IKEA yesterday in the everlasting quest for the perfect wooden box for Handsome to turn into a lamp, and somehow we bought a really ugly blue tent for the Bean along with two stuffed monkeys that she called "MON-cookies." Handsome commented that we shall never refer to them as anything else now, which is true. Moncookie. The Bean was nervous about the tent at first, but after bringing in a bunch of her toys and plopping myself in the middle of it, she joined me in the tent for some hardcore playing and rearranging of all her items.

Again, another day I wish I could just hold onto, pretty gal or not. Ah dinnae ken!

Destiny

2007-03-14T08:06:00.000-07:00

I am listening to the audio of White Teeth. It is amazing. I can't believe I turned my nose up at the book when it originally published in my judgemental 20s.

One of the characters is discussing destiny - "Our mistakes become our children's destinies."

It really has given me a great deal to think about.

Spring in the Park

2007-03-10T16:19:00.000-08:00

I don't want to trust that Spring has really arrived, but it was 55 today, and the Devines Took The Opportunity to Offer Our Pasty Selves to the Sun. It really did feel wonderful to be outside, and it would seem that the entire neighborhood felt the same. Bean entertained herself mostly by chasing after random dogs and running AWAY from the camera. She practically passed out in Handsome's arms on the walk home.

She is growing up so quickly, I just want to hold onto days like this as tightly as I can.

Tonight she imitated a rather ridiculous game I was trying to play with her - Is This A Hat? No, this isn't a Hat - and it made me realize how much responsibility we have to be the best parents that we can be...especially if she imitates us in Public. =)

The Bean Who Wears Many Hats

2007-02-13T17:55:00.000-08:00

Smells Like Snow

2007-01-30T09:14:00.001-08:00

Big changes are happening in this gal's world, and these changes availed themselves just around the same time I was remembering a statement my friend Chuck made 10 years ago:
"When you are 30, you know who YOU are and who your FRIENDS are. It is a calmer time in life."

Oh really? I said then.
And Oh Really? I say now.

That statement bears some weight of course - the chaos of dating and social manipulation is far behind me now, but friends are still a fickle subject for the most part. My friendships are not as tumultuous and devious as they once were - actually, I have some wonderful constant companions that have grown or are growing with me. My friend Rachel dubbed me her Mr. Snuffalupagus....for no one (in her circle) believes that Meghan really exists. The social monkey. I can call, write, send pictures, but ask me to go out anywhere and I start falling asleep at the thought of it! I never thought that I would develop into this anti-social dragon...its just that the wells of energy I used to draw upon to get me through a pre-Bean hungover day or through another term paper have run totally DRY. I gotta conserve, babies. I just saw the Al Gore movie...now isn't that telling you something? How far behind funkified is my pop-culture exposure?

Recently, Hopkins' SPSBE program was slashed and basically burned, leaving me and the other hordes of students in the program scurrying for academic direction. Quickly discovering that if we didn't get every possible person we knew in the University to write a letter to save our collective educational goals, we were going to be FUCKED and attending the Univ. of Baltimore. Of course, I conjured up my father and launched a royal Devine stink and got my ass grandfathered into the Business Program in the Carey Business School. Yeah - you read that correctly. A BUSINESS major...its hard to type I am laughing so hard. But you might know, I really didn't have direction or a major before, so I am living with this for the time being. Considering I have had two businesses at this point in my life, it might be good to learn something about the foundations...maybe I might keep one up and running if I swallow some of the good ol' Hopkins know-how, yo.

Then, I decided When in Rome sort of and enrolled full-time, going part time at my Hopkins job.

Then I received a phone call about a publishing job that I applied for months ago.

THEN I interviewed.

THEN I got it.

So that leaves me where I am now - still heavily in school (although minus a class), and under the uncomfortable cloud of the two-week notice situation. In all fairness to the academia powers that be in the Epi Department, I have offered to literally work my ass off for the next two weeks in attempt to prepare the m for "life without Devine". However, there seems to be some "hurt feelings" or some crap going on, so the woman that I work with occasionally hasn't spoken to me since I announced my departure. (ASS.) I have reorganized my desktop numerous times, read through the majority of my readings for school, sent out pre-arranged online birthday cards for the next year and posted on this blog in the meantime. The other folks, previously main pains in the shahoos, are now my allies. Funny how that all works. The Boos seem to - *gasp* - LIKE me. Well, that is fucking new.

But despite the new love of the Boos, I am heading back into the career I never should have strayed from: Book Publishing. Marketing, no less, which happens to be a Devine specialty: Pulling miracles out of your shahoo and making literary magic.

It is going to be one hell of a ride, I think.
I can't wait.

The Integrity Issue

2007-01-10T13:09:00.000-08:00

Noun
Singular: integrity
Pluraluncountable
integrity (uncountable)
Steadfast adherence to a strict moral or ethical code.
The state of being wholesome; unimpaired
The quality or condition of being complete; pure

[edit] Synonyms
honesty
uprightness
rectitude
unity
wholeness
purity
goodness
probity
sincerity
virtue
decency

Integrity is one of the most important and oft-cited of virtue terms. It is also perhaps the most puzzling. For example, while it is sometimes used virtually synonymously with ‘moral,’ we also at times distinguish acting morally from acting with integrity. Persons of integrity may in fact act immorally—though they would usually not know they are acting immorally. Thus one may acknowledge a person to have integrity even though that person may hold importantly mistaken moral views.

When used as a virtue term, ‘integrity’ refers to a quality of a person's character; however, there are other uses of the term. One may speak of the integrity of a wilderness region or an ecosystem, a computerized database, a defense system, a work of art, and so on. When it is applied to objects, integrity refers to the wholeness, intactness or purity of a thing—meanings that are sometimes carried over when it is applied to people. A wilderness region has integrity when it has not been corrupted by development or by the side-effects of development, when it remains intact as wilderness. A database maintains its integrity as long as it remains uncorrupted by error; a defense system as long as it is not breached. A musical work might be said to have integrity when its musical structure has a certain completeness that is not intruded upon by uncoordinated, unrelated musical ideas; that is, when it possesses a kind of musical wholeness, intactness and purity.
(from: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/integrity/)

Wheels

2006-12-16T18:00:00.000-08:00

So, our car was stolen yesterday. In broad daylight. Right in front of our house. Fucking junkies.
Fucking assholes. Now I am home watching Brokeback Mountain and making Christmas cookies. Cause I am really feeling the Christmas spirit, let me tell you.

On the bright side, though, I received my acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins today, huzzah. We'll get a new car. With low jack nextime. Fucking junkies!!! But okay, I AM IN AT HOPKINS!

From the Vine

2006-12-09T21:14:00.000-08:00

Tonight I finally got around to watching the season finale of The Wire. And after having two glasses of wine, I post the following email that I composed for a Baltimorean in Colorado"

Hi- holymotherfucking shit. You know how we used to talk about the romance of Baltimore - you fall in and out of love with it like a teenager, but man, I was just BLOWN away by the Finale of The Wire. I don't watch them when they come on weekly, so we have been watching them in batches. But Handsome heard that the last episode was especially sad, and so we waited until we could have some wine and time to feel yucky afterwards. Okay, so, I feel yucky, but WOW. What an amazing series this has become. Its no longer really JUST about the ganster shit - it is so closely mirroring the direct politics (O'Malley) and current crime rates - amazing. The last 5 seconds of the finale had me still. So, watch it if you can. It is sad and truthful and hard to watch, ESPECIALLY since the honest truth is that we live right on the brink of this reality. But it has turned into a fine show. Fucking A. What is really fucking stupid though is that Ed Norris stars as a character - remember him? Big shot asshole from NYC who came here to save our city from ourselves (IE pulling people off their own porches for "loitering") and who spent city money on joy trips to the Big Apple...he has a role. And fucking Bob Fucking Erlich played a security guard in the Governer's office last week, Still - I like the way it takes a piss on Baltimore while remaining true to the harsh realities.

Today we were driving on Fayette towards 83, and the church on the corner there has allowed homeless people to literally set up camp and live there. It is a tent city. Anyway, there was a car of 6 in front of us that were literally gawking at the people and their makeshift home. Handsome and I were amazed at the amazement of the gawkers, and then I realized that we have become so desensitized to this situation - people living in fucking boxes and tents in the MIDDLE of the city, right there, in your face...we are so used to it that we don't even notice it. What kind of PERSON have I become? What kind of example am I setting for my daughter? Oh yes, honey...THOSE people...yeah, well. Just don't pay attention.

I despise and love this city.

God dammit - call me Lindsay Lohan. I just tossed off a little diddy. Maybe Al Gore and Hillary Clinton will come over for Sunday dinner tonight - shit, AND Lindsay since they are so close, and we can save the world together.

Hope you had a good weekend - I am posting this on my blog too, as I couldn't ever be more succinct and honest than I have in the above rant.

Peace and Love.

Devine on 30

2006-10-25T11:22:00.000-07:00

My 30th birthday started out as any other normal Monday, with the usual chaos of getting myself, my Bean child, and our lunches ready for the day, scrounging around the usual spots for coffee money (Handsome's pants, Handsome's night table, under the bed, in old purses), all with assistance and humor from Handsome.

I had to go into work early (as in 7:30 in the morning early) to gear up the department for a little thing called a Final Exam for my students. If anything, I needed to be sure that the exam was distributed, and birthday girl or not, I had to be there. Not only did I have the Final Exam to get into the hands of our eager and nervous students, I had MY own little midterm exam looming over the day for my Meteorology course. Oh, and I was turning 30, of course.

The walk to work was pretty "refreshing" lets say, since it was about 40 degrees and it never crossed my mind to grab a jacket before running out of the house like the witch from the old Bugs Bunny cartoons, hairpins spinning in her wake.

I finally got into my building and was (mostly) patiently waiting for the elevator, holding my ears to warm them up and convincing myself that since it was MY BIRTHDAY, getting a bagel with real cream cheese (not light) was allowed. As soon as I got the Final Exam on its merry way, that was exactly what I was going to do. Birthday bagel. You only turn 30 once.

Get on the elevator hit my floor, and wonder whether or not there will be a line of students needing to borrow a pencil or batteries for thier calculator waiting outside of my office.

While stamping my feet on the ground in hopes of getting some warming circulation, I finally noticed that the elevator had passed my floor and came to rest on the 9th floor - without opening the doors.

So of course I banged on every button possible.

The banging produced no results.

Holy Shit, I was stuck on an elevator.

Holy Shit, the exam was due to start in 15 minutes.

After some more frantic button pushing, a voice finally announced that "someone would be on the way shortly." The voice also agreed to call my supervisor to let her know that I was indeed holed up in an elevator shaft, and would she mind distributing the exam in my place?

After making human contact, I calmed down. I mean, its not like there was any mechanical groaning or swaying going on. I was just stuck in a metal box, 9 floors up.

I could do this.

Maybe this was God's gift to me on my birthday - Go on girl, you jest go on and take you a nice rest now (God has a Southern accent in my mind), and I am gonna take care of that exam nonsense fo' you. Go on now, hear?

So I whisked out my tattered flashcards for MY exam, settled in on the floor, and started quizzing myself on the Corilous Effect and the definitions of isobars and barometers.

And it was great for about three minutes. And thenI started panicking.

Well, before the true panic set in, I got mad. I mean it was my 30th BIRTHDAY after all - so what is THIS all about. And then I started thinking about all the mechanical things that could go wrong and The Bean and Handsome and the Cats and the crotcheting project I always thought I would finish. And the floor of this elevator was DIRTY. I needed to get out.

Panic Panic Panic, and then I decided no more panic, just to reflect on what a great birthday weekend it was. Yes, yes, happy thoughts, Devine. Back to the time you weren't suspended in the air in a steel box.

The In-Laws took Bean Child for Friday night, and Handsome and I painted the Charm City a fine shade of red. We partied like we did before we even lived together. On Saturday, we slept in for the first time in a year and ate bad delivery food and watched bad TV. That evening, 8 friends went out to dinner. It was such an awesome mix of personalities that it actually worked, unlike my usual pot-luck personality clashes I bring together for no good reason. Sunday I met my dear friend from Florida, who made arrangements in her life for a visit with crazy me, for coffee at the brand spanking new Barnes & Noble in Charles Village. And the coffee was FREE. Definitely good birthday vibes.

I had one of the best birthday weekends of my life - full of friendship, laughter, books, and the Bean Child. Suddenly, 30 was starting to feel quite good. Good like the end of a British Chick-Lit novel.

Yes, happy thoughts helped me get through the next 15 minutes until finally the maitenance men banged on the doors to let me know that they were going to perform some Abracadabra Open Sesame Mojo on the doors to release me.

And when I was finally free, I tossed a quick wink and wave to my heroes and made a mad dash to the stairway to get to my office.

Upon arrival, my boss began laughing and shouted HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing to miss handing out the exams. As a matter of fact, being freed of all exam responsibilty was a fabulous gift from an unknown benefactor. And now I can add "being stuck in an elevator" to my list of life experiences.

Feelings about the Neighborhood Fall Flat

2006-10-10T05:33:00.000-07:00

Lesson learned: do not bake 5 cakes, 36 cupcakes, decorate the house, clean house, plan outfits, or plan ANYTHING when it comes to having a birthday party for my child. And to use a suction thing on Bean's nose whenever she has a cold (something I thought went out of style after she was like, 4 months or something).

We are the kind of family that needs to remember that we CAN go with the flow, hold onto the promise of spontaniety, and appreciate the events that work out somehow, in some fashion. We SO totally need to never really plan anything. Our girl is generally happy with whatever we do, so I must learn not to overthink or put expectations on anyone or anything.

Planning, I now know, was the first mistake.

Friday night, Handsome and I cleaned like professionals and I decorated the entire dining room with some pretty gaudy "1st Birthday" paraphenalia which, for all its cheesy factor, wound up looking really nice. Heck, my child only turns 1 once.

I decimated the kitchen by baking 5 differently flavored cakes that would ultimately become the catapillar body of the Baby Einstein mascot. I hoped. I baked cupcakes as back up, and completely overdid every task on the list.

Saturday morning, Bean woke up with a serious fever of 103. After some medicine, it went down and she seemed well enough, but it was clear that we were going to need to rethink the party. Whatever was happening with my daughter needed to be shared with our guest list.

After much back and forth about what to do, we limited the "party" to family and 1 friend and her fabulous child. My poor child pretty much missed her entire 1st birthday party - she had a good time for MOST of the party - she loved seeing her girlfriend, loved getting presents and eating cupcakes, but I could see how she really wanted to beg off and go rock with Mom or Dad for 4 hours. I am not sure if we did the right thing by forging ahead with the amended party plans, but at least she got her first birthday cupcake and she seemed to have an okay time.

By Sunday morning, her condition worsened, and Handome and I knew it was an ear infection, her 5th in the past year. We decided to get her out to Patient First to see a doctor, to confirm what we already knew to be true, and to get medicine to speed her recovery.

Upon leaving the house, we discovered, of course, a flat tire on the car. So I am standing there holding my sick child while Handsome is struggling with changing the tire, which is much more complicated that your average tire change thanks to the German idea of securing tires to the rims (or something like that, according to my husband). Jiggling the Bean in what I thought was a comforting manner, I would up being generally annoying to my husband by spouting off useless commands about changing a tire, and whatever else I thought was important to share with him while he was belly up under our car.

And that is when I felt like someone was looking at me...sure enough, one of the new neighbors that recently moved down a few doors from us was peeping from his second story window. My first thought was Damn, I still haven't brought over that bottle of wine that I intended to bring for them as a welcome gift...

When the Dude saw that I caught him staring at us, he back away from the window.

My next thought: Uhm, how about acting a little neighborly and getting your Peeping Ass down here to help my husband? Or is the fact that my child is practically screaming and that I am almost in tears, and that Handsome is about to perform a whoop-ass on our German car too entertaining to you?

And it occured to me that I recognized his face - it was the same Dude who smiled at me when our same German car wouldn't start one day...two other neighbors had come out to offer thier batteries if I could get a hold of cables, and this guy just stepped by us without even offering to see if he HAD cables, which I imagine he did in his faggy gold lexus-look-alike car he drives.

Seriously, what the FUCK. We obviosuly needed help. Would it really have killed the guy to offer some assistance? They can forget about my Howdy Neighbor Intentions of giving them booze. Asshole - why don't you move back to Canton? I didn't think that this new neighborhood was like that - but apparently, yuppies are moving into the most urban areas, and continuing with thier dickhead attitudes of not being neighborly.

The tire was not getting changed by us, that much became clear, so I tossed my burning child into her car seat, literally rolled to the nearest gas station, and filled the tire with as much air as I thought it could hold so that I could get her to the doctor.

It was ridiculous, but I got her there, got the medicine, got her home, and the tire didn't blow up on us, thankfully. Of course, we still haven't gotten it fixed, but that is that part of the going-with-the-flow type of situation that I am working on.

Once we get it fixed, and the Bean is fully recovered, I think that Handsome and I should kick back with that "good intentions" bottle of wine and smile.

Bottom line, Bean is getting better, and she did have a good birthday considering the limitations.

After all was said and done, the decorations and cupcakes were tossed, Handsome and I looked at each other, and I said, "damn, our girl is 1".

New Duty Assigned to Devine

2006-10-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

One of the recently passed down duties at my new job is to LIE to CREDITORS who are seeking out one of the Boos. Oh, the life skills I am learning here. What a lucky lady I am.

The Power of an Hour at the Grocery Store

2006-09-30T18:43:00.000-07:00

Recently, I heard a male coworker, touting his terribly important self to someone on the phone that he "does more than most people do in a day by 9 in the morning."

And it got me thinking. First, I thought, not for the first time that this guy is a major asshole. And secondly, I so desperately wanted to say - lets throw down, dude. Your schedule vs. mine. Lets go!

Friday morning involved waking up at 6AM to get the Bean's bottle, running upstairs with said bottle to then change her diaper and pick out her outfit for the day. Then I corralled said Bean with said bottle into her swing device so that I could shower. Run downstairs with Baby Fabulous to feed her breakfast while shoving Cinnamon Chex into my mouth while Handsome obligingly got up early to shower himself. Then dress, makeup, Odwalla bar in the purse for lunch, and then it was rushing off to work (walking), turning around once beacuse I forgot my work ID, getting into work at 7:45 AM to copy yet another five extra copies of the Epidemiology exam that was to begin at 8...rushing down to both lecture halls with the exams, helping to check the scinetific calculators of 150 students for stored answers, getting the proctor copies out, then realizing that the proctor copies had the answers on them and running back to both halls to warn my baby proctors of this error....all by 9. So uh, yeah. I win.

Then I used my lunch hour to review possible furniture purchases with Handsome. Planned more of my baby's first birthday extravaganza, respectfully declined an interview with the Baltimore Business journal to dish about the "unexpected" departure of my last job's Director, collected graded exams, yadda...............

And today, yet another whirlwind of motherhood and wife-ness...Woke up with an unusual migraine, began the morning by dropping Handsome off at Home Depot for two hours while the Bean and I went shopping for party supplies and a winter jacket for her. Then back home, lunch, diapers, husnad sawing wood on my $30 dining room table, Bean nap, I nap, and then I ran off to the grocery store, despite Handsome's protests to stay home.

Ah the fucking mental therapy of my grocery time. I don't really know what it is, but come payday, I can't wait to get there. It makes me feel...validated as I shop for healthy alternatives and bargains for my family. It makes me feel useful and smart and invested. And I fucking love every second of it.

It is my hour on sanity and purpose before I give back over to the wonderful world of my family. It has now become my "ME" time.

Funny how life works out.

The Boat and The Goat

2006-08-11T07:51:00.000-07:00

Clarence the Cat is a rather large feline vessel, therefore he was nicknamed "the Boat" some years ago by a friend who loves him as much as I do.

Out of all of our cats, The Boat has succumbed to a strongly developing interest in The Bean.

Either he has figured out that he needs to sit near her in order to lick scraps of attention that both Handsome and I beam her way, or it could be that he likes her attention alone.

If it is her adoration that he is lapping up, then my old black cat now enjoys the screeching and banging of spoons that build whenever The Bean spots him.

He also must enjoy the way that she manuevers her "car" (walker) to get as close as the plastic barriers will allow, and then digs her hands into his fur or yanks his tail, her mouth as wide as it can possibly stretch revealing her utter amazement that he doesn't sprint away.

For all this mutual affection they have been sharing, The Bean said her first words outside of the Mama/Dada realm.

She called The Boat "Goat".
She also decided to also say "Cat" on the same day.

Hot like Hell

2006-08-03T07:41:00.000-07:00

Baltimore reached a high of 102 yesterday...the "feel-like" temp must have been above 110. It is insane. Our car broke down at the grocery store. The heat drove it over the edge. BGE started rolling brownouts, which affected us from 1AM - 6AM, leaving us sweaty and sticking to our sheets. Even the poor Bean was knocked out of her sleep by the rising temps in the middle of the night. I had to rock her back to sleep, which had us both miserably sweaty. It is supposed to break tomorrow, but I think it is high time we purchase our child a baby pool already. And I am getting in with her.

In a Da Da World

2006-08-01T13:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Sophia - I am blogging this since I have the best intentions of putting this into your baby diary, but know that I probably won't.

I love that you call everything Da-da. You call your father Da-Da, the window Da-Da, Grandma is Da-Da, and when you see your relfection, you whisper Da-Da.

Your other accomplishment that makes me smile is that you have learned to screech - which is currently still amusing. When you roll up to me in your car (walker), you screech at me with a wild smile, so I get down on the floor with you and we scream at each other until you are so overcome with laughter you can't.

By the way, you do not call me Da-Da. You know that I am Mamamamamamama, which you whimper when you want to get out of your crib.

Genuis Bean.

I love you.

Sun-Dried Bean People

2006-07-31T10:50:00.000-07:00

Family reunion 2006, St. George Island, FL.

This year marks the 9th reunion, and as each reuinon passes with its own personalities and challenges and memories, I have begun to appreciate the role that I have in my family.

For me, I consider this an accomplishment to acknowledge that I have a role and a place in the family.

For many years, I believed that I was adrift from this group of people, separated by age (the youngust adult 12 years my senior and the oldest child 12 years my junior), by political opinions, by extreme differences in income, education, and personality.

But after this year, I have finally come to some middle ground on the issue- maybe by accepting both sides of limitation and not trying to push those limits - and found a deep sense of appreciation for the people who have been a part of my life since my beginning, and now part of my little bean's life. And it only took me (almost) 30 years to give myself some credit for being a part of thier lives as well. This understanding comes as a huge relief.

I can attribute most of this newfound sense of place to birthing the most gorgeous little child and therefore opening the door to bonding over motherhood with my Aunts/Grandmother/Mother. Or perhaps that my marriage has finally allowed my Uncles to relax with me, as I am now claimed and someone else's responsibility. Or that enough time has passed that we can all laugh at my cheese-colored hair and raincoat that I sported to my Grandparents 50th wedding anniversary in 1996.

Time may not heal all wounds, but it gives a bit of room for humor to wiggle its way into memory, and that means that time is on my side in this instance.

Here Ye, Here Ye, Four Stones and Cranberries and Yes, Father, It Has Been Four Months Since My Last Confession

2006-07-17T11:12:00.000-07:00

Bless me, for it has been four months since my last confession.

*I* had decided that blogging was too much self-serving, psuedo-ballsy-diary way of trying to express what a fucking wonderfully interesting person I am, and aren't you all clammoring to read my entries?

*I* was above all that nonsense. Bloggers, the fucking stream of conciousness nonesense from all the Hunter S. Thompson wannabes, *I* saw the light before you all did.

*I* am just so much than a myspace.com hoebag, boiii!

But recently, *I* had a reason to revisit this blog in order to share one of my Bridezilla stories with a coworker, and scrolling through a few entries made me realize how much blogging like *I* am a Rock Star with Bean Child has taught me about who I am becoming as a woman, as a mother, as a friend, and as a wife.

So here *I* be.

Since the last shout-out, Handsome and I have made a few changes, the Bean has become a little person who likes to rip glasses off one's face and hold them for hours, says mamamamamamamama when she wants to get out of her crib, and dadadadadadadadadadadada for everything else.

My inlaws have gotten into family therapy. Hell is now at subzero level, I have heard.

I lost the baby weight, put a few natural pounds back on.

Ah, and I took a new position at work. However, as much as I hate to admit this, the switch to this position was a HUGE FAT BIG FUCKING MISTAKE.

HUGE fucking mistake.

In the five weeks that I have been here, I have taken 200 foreigners to DC for a day trip, lost three of them but somehow managed to pied piper them all back into Baltimore, I make a LOT of copies, and have been forced to listen to my office-mates, as I don't have a choice in the matter.

They call each other BOO all day long and tell me how bad they are trippin', which has nothing to do with drugs, I was happy to learn. Oh, and shop for shoes all day, talk about baby daddy deadbeats, or look at pictures of their Exes. I am learning quite a bit.

At first, I was shell-shocked. Now, I am entertained by Boo 1 and Boo 2. I am starting to like them depsite thier constant gabbing. Yesterday, Boo1 called ME Boo (which makes me Boo 3), which made me feel kind of warm and fuzzy, like I made into the club.

I am back, babies. Back in Boo. Back in Shoes. Back in a size 12. Back and feelin' a little black.

True dat boo, word.

Growing Pains

2006-03-14T08:22:00.000-08:00

I have been spending a lot of time trying to "live in the moment" by slowing things down a little, trying not to conquer the world on a Saturday morning, letting Handsome call more of the shots, and just allowing myself to enjoy all that I do have.

Having this child smile and kick her legs crazily when she sees you first thing in the morning pretty much clears whatever schedule I thought I had, and pajama party morning ensues. And I am totally okay with that. If the Bean wants to spend the morning talking to her Whale Toy Boyfriend, I am not going to miss out on that.

This change in me has come on slowly, steadily, and somewhere along this journey, I started to grow up - mainly because I didn't have a choice, really, but the transition occurred regardless. I still have my crazier than a bedbug moments and an occasional beer(s) at lunch with friends, but the difference is that I can temper that side more often than not. Hell, the difference is that I don't really want to be anywhere else but with my little family, and I don't want anything to compromise that (alcohol, etc). Having that control has given me a new lease on all areas of my life.

Funny though, I don't know why I am surprised at the occasional line that becomes more pronounced with time, or surprised by the total exhaustion that hits me at around 3PM everyday - I spent the majority of my twenties drinking and smoking and partying and pushing all my limits. Evidence of my youthful choices and experiences seem to have scarred me both physically and emotionally, and my recovery is a constant work in progress.

And now I am 29. Funny how 30 ain't really looking all that bad from this angle.
5 years ago, this undeniable progression scared me.
5 years ago, I was an invincible superhero.
5 years ago, my life was out of control and scary.

Last night I took an inventory of what is happening in my world: I have a beautiful daughter, an amazing husband, a new house and a mighty mortgage, my little brother got married, my relationship with my family is finally starting to gel, and my hair is turning gray too fast for me to keep up with it. I see laugh lines when I look in the mirror, I see a woman starting back at me. And I think - how the hell did this happen to ME?

But then I sort of like it.

I am proud that I made it this far. I like who I am becoming, I love being a mother and a wife and my job and my new set of goals. I still fucking rock, at times, which is just enough now.

Weird to admit, but damn, life is good. We may not always have enough money to get through the two-week pay period, and Ramen CAN be good for a few meals, but LIFE IS GOOD.

And check out that beautiful bean footage above.

End of the Chapter

2006-03-07T12:21:00.000-08:00

Three Birds Used Books officially closed this weekend...not that we were open much in the month of February. Honestly, we thought about opening, but what is the point really? It was just really depressing and a waste of time. Once we decided to end this journey, we should have packed up and moved on right then. Dragging it out for a month and a half was just heart-wrenching.

Avoidance could only last so long. We had a landlord to answer to if we continued on our path.

Saturday morning I forced myself into the sad store, stuck my signature emotional song on the computer (Sia - Breathe Me) and cried my eyes out while packing up every available receptacle with books to donate to The Book Thing. It felt like an appropriate response, so I went with it. I cried, I tried to mourn. Until "Hollaback Girl" came up on the iTunes queue, and then I was serving the nation with my lip syncing rendition of Pre-Pregnant Gwen and using the coffee creamer as a microphone spelling out B-A-N-A-N-A-S with a punctuation of my hips. That felt good too.

Had I had more energy or foresight, I could have hosted a party in which whomever came could walk away with whatever books they pleased...but of course, I treated the closing of the store like most other big sad events of my life...like it just wasn't really happening.

So instead of thinking ahead, I plunged deep into the task and went rather manic on the task of purging the bookstore of its existence.

First round of books were packed into the car, taken over to the donation center....that went okay. I called Handsome to let him know that I was okay and would handle all the cleaning out of the books. That I would finish the task. Mind you, I was in full on crazy Meghan mode, grunting and tossing books into boxes and bags and tying stacks up with whatever available string we had around. I was quickly building up my fortress. This. Will. Not. Affect. Me.

Second round was a little more depressing...especially since at this point I stopped caring. Or maybe I stopped thinking about what I was really doing and just got seriously pissed off. I did pause to think about what it feels like to close on a dream...and that is what I was doing really...choosing to end a dream and knowing that I did a shitty job of trying to turn a dream into reality. But I didn't let it last too long. I wanted to get this over with already, so I dove back into it.

Third round was by far the most emotionally and physically taxing. I could have asked Handsome to do this, but once I came this far, I had to finish it. In some way, it felt almost like a penance. I was cramming every last book into the car, not leaving any literature behind.

I went to lock the door to the store, and was stunned by how empty it was - the bare bookshelves, the lack of literary chaos. Gone. Like that. All those books that Handsome and I so carefully hand-picked to stock. All of the work of getting the business license and petitioning the zoning board to let us open up in this space, the failed block party, the people we met, DONE. Its over. That is that.

Of course, the trade-off for this ending is that I can spend the entire weekend with the most beautiful Bean ever to sprout...she is growing so quickly that I hate to miss a second of her awake moments. Odd that I don't mind getting up at 5 AM just to hang out with her. As a matter of fact, it is the best part of my day. Singing about bananas and oatmeal and cookies is just as fascinating to me as it is to her. So really, I can't be all that glum. That is that.

And after dumping books thrice, I came home to a very loving Handsome who wrapped his arms around me and let me cry it out. Reminded me of why we decided to go this route. And asked me what my next dream was. What I was going to accomplish next.

To channel Lois again, I thought, Fuck YEAH! I DID something, at least, that was really hard to do, that outwardly expressed who we are and what we are all about, that everyone told us NOT to do. And we learned so much from this experience, even if we did it improperly. We certainly did what we could within our means, and I am proud of that.

Next dream: to finally get my fucking degree. I am halfway there, babies. And now I only have to take one night away from the Bean to take on that goal rather than a whole weekend away from her.

I think it is going to be okay. I can't believe that I moved every book in that store by myself.

I wonder what the reps for Effexor would have to say about THAT.

Table Six

2006-02-27T13:26:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-21T12:58:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-20T13:09:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-17T12:18:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-17T11:59:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-15T12:46:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-14T06:09:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-02-10T08:51:00.000-08:00

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

2006-02-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

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.

Girl Power

2006-01-27T13:34:00.000-08:00

The Bean officially discovered her right hand.

Happy New Year, Ya'll

2005-12-30T09:22:00.000-08:00

Handsome and I both despise New Year's Eve, which is why he chose this holiday to propose to me at this time last year. His logic: Every Future New Year's Eve will be a-okay as it will be the anniversary of our engagement.

And wow, man...wow when you consider the magnitude of events occurring in the last year to my recently reconfigured family of three humans and four cats. I am amazed that Clarence the Cat still graces my pillow area with night-time snuggling. I am sure that he spends the majority of his waking hours dreaming up ways to escape this house of really bad songs and never-ending change.

But aside from my old cat's crusty protests to the whirlwind of activity, I gotta say it: We were truly blessed with a fantastic 2005.

I am not all that big on New Year Resolutions, but they can work on me for at least two weeks out of the year.

For 2006, goals/resolutions:
1. To read at least one book to Bean every night. Not that hard, since I think this is the best part of my day other than when she first sees my face in the morning and gets all kicking and revved up.
2. To practice more patience. Especially with the overzealous Christians in my office.
3. Walk more, drive less.
4. To dive back into biking again. Now that the belly is out of the way and all.
5. To quit smoking. I know, I know...I look at the Bean and curse myself for this habit. I can't beat this monster, but for her, I will try once again.

I know that I can keep at least 3 outta 5. You can guess which ones, I am sure.

Not the most Silent of Nights

2005-12-28T12:04:00.000-08:00

Everyone has their gripes and grunts about family time during the holidays, but my daughter has already taught me the value of patience and keeping your sense of humor handy. Even if it is retarded to experience, someone will laugh about it later. Go ahead, slap those knees.

*A side note to the Bean, should she read this in the future: You slept through all of this. Not to worry, these events will not scar you for life. Next year, you may not get off so easily, but this year, you were zonked.

Because my in-laws insist that the family must somehow be in each other's presence for every holiday on the calendar (and sometimes not on the calendar), we spent this Christmas Eve having a "traditional Polish dinner" in a hotel suite off the Beltway in Towson. Now, it isn't entirely my fault that we were sharing a holiday in a hotel with Handsome's family, but I will accept some of the blame. I would have offered up my place to convene, but Handsome argued that we just don't have the room (which we don't), and that we couldn't handle the cleanup with a newborn. My sister-in-law flat out refused to host anything at her house. So there you have it...hotel it is.

To her credit, my MIL decorated the suite to present a holiday theme, complete with plastic Christmas plates and utensils. To her credit, the Parental In-Laws did pull together a holiday meal in a hotel suite. To her credit, we were all sufficiently buzzed from champagne before she made us sing "Silent Night" in place of the usual "grace" before chowing down. I tried not to giggle, but I did. I blamed it on the champagne. I should have blamed the "are you kidding me???" comment on the champagne too, but thankfully, everyone seemed to let that go.

After trying to choke down several bites of various kinds of fish (I HATE fish - in all forms) and scarfing down several biscuits in an attempt to fill up my belly, the MIL decided to lay her Christmas wish on me: That she would like Handsome and I to give her more grand babies. Handsome immediately retaliated with the announcement that he would be having a vasectomy in 2006 (news to me, until I figured out that I was to play along). After the many protests out of the MIL, I told her not to worry, because I wanted to adopt in the future, a situation much like Angelina Jolie's family...I wanted to adopt the next Zahara.

I swear, I think I saw a blood vessel burst in the left eye.

But that conversation was at least laid to rest for the hour. It resurfaced a few times, but at least everyone was drunk enough to let it go without such dramatics from my team.

After dinner, opening our stocking gifts was next on the agenda. Now, just note that stocking gifts were my most favorite part of Christmas before sharing it with Handsome's family. Now this pastime fave has become a torture...the individually wrapped stuffers have to be opened ONE AT A TIME, and the majority of these items were give-a-ways that MIL picked up at conventions throughout the year. Stress balls, mini packs of m-n-ms with advertisements for drug companies on them, mini flashlights, key rings...I didn't get it. I still don't get it. At least my two-year old nephew enjoyed stealing all the flashlights and the stress balls for his own private agenda. We certainly didn't put up any complaints about our stocking gifts being shoved into his pockets. I would not let the fold-up comb/mirror combo slip away in his hands, though. That one was my keeper. And in all fairness, I did score a Starbucks giftcard in the frenzy as well, which would have been enough stocking stuffer for me at square one.

Christmas Day involved a lot of driving, and in the pouring rain, no less. Out to the suburbs to meet up once again with in-laws and then another round of pre-planned gift opening time slots, and then we were on our way to a friend's house for Christmas dinner. Again, more rain, and a perfectly timed phone call requesting that we stop, on Christmas Day, to get 6 C batteries for a grandson's toy.

Getting batteries of any shape or size on Christmas Day was no easy task, but for $15, you can get almost anything you want in Baltimore's ghetto. Even on Christmas. Aside from being yelled at by a fat cop for my poor parking job while Handsome went on the scavenger hunt through the seedy Rite Aid, we were victorious and still made it to the set dinner time.

And Christmas dinner was amazing. A-MAZE-ZING. Good friends, good food, good family, good baby. Good.

Little could we all know that a virus lurked beneath the surface of one of our skins, and we soon would all be sharing its violent nature. I am talking hands-down, smack you in the gut until you cry for your Momma, praying to God for relief kind of flu. The kind of sickness that rips away your dignity...you stop caring about what your spouse thinks of your attractiveness level as you puke on the floor of the hallway and then slide in it minutes later when trying to get up. Or throwing up into the closest thing that can count for a bucket near the couch, like the plastic bag containing some of your convention-style stocking gifts. Or that I puked so violently at one point that I also peed all over my festive monkey-with-candy-canes pajamas.
But it was a memorable holiday, perfectly mixed with tender and frantic and insane moments. What other kind of holiday magic is there?

And another note to the Bean - when you are old enough to start remembering all this, it was you who taught your Dad and I to keep our humor up, so you had better retain that sense of irony or we are in big trouble.

Snow Day

2005-12-09T09:54:00.000-08:00

The time that I spent with Handsome and the Bean this morning during the snowstorm of the week will surely become one of my favorite memories.

Sophia decided that 4 AM might just be the perfect time to join the waking world, and Handsome and I huddled under the blankets for as long as we could, trying our best to be silent so that she might forget about waking up and fall into yet another round of arm-flinging, animalesque grunting sleep sessions. It worked for a bit, but finally we pulled her Beaness out of her bassinet and cuddled her rockettes-style kicking self in between us.

It was snowing - big time - and the idea of a snow day was becoming more and more of a reality. The news reports confirmed that we could all stay in bed until at least 10 AM before trekking into work.

I forget why I dragged myself out of bed, but upon returning to the bedroom, the vision of my husband and my daughter giggling at each other, the windows a perfect backdrop with the snow swirling like a snow globe, made me pause. I had to thank the universe, the gods, all higher powers for this moment - it was pure joy. We are so lucky to be a part of this, to be a part of her life and each other's.

Snow days are now the new favorite surprise.

Stella, why does thou deceive me?

2005-11-19T11:33:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-13T09:50:00.000-08:00

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!

2005-11-06T07:11:00.000-08:00

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.

The Bean Has Sprouted

2005-10-29T09:55:00.000-07:00

Gosh, so, SHE'S HERE! And at 20 days of life, my little perfect Bean has rocked our worlds.

Funny, reading through my previous posts...I really had absolutely NO idea what we were in for...not the overwhelming love, the constant worrying, the zombie-like sleep deprivation mask I now wear, not the amazingly tender emotions I have watching Handsome care for our girl...and certainly not the deep satisfaction of holding her and watching her take in her new world, wanting to simultanously share it with her and save her from it.

Of course I remember what my life was like 21 days ago before in the middle of making a spaghetti dinner for Handsome my water broke and everything changed, but WHO CARES? That life seems fine, okay, I had an amazing year before she got here full of great moments, but WOW I cannot express how much more EVERYTHING means now. And hell, I think I have morphed into a gusher! Huh.

14 hours of labor, three rounds of attempts to keep my epidural wokring (which continuosly failed), screaming at the hospital staff regarding thier obvious mistake in screwing up my epidural and to get it working 'cause what the hell else SHOULD they be doing?, bargaining with the various Gods for relief, two very long hours of pushing the Bean out into the world, screaming at Handsome that he was COUNTING TOO SLOWLY during my pushing efforts, and one hell of an episiotimy (sp? regardless, it was a bitch) resulted in only what I can describe as the most perfect little girl I have ever laid eyes on. Wouldn't you agree?

Lucky for me, my Mother was able to fly from Florida a week later, and she saved me from my household chaos of cat hair and unprepared attempts at arranging things to accomodate the Bean. She made sense of our small rowhouse, helped me to realize that I can care for the Bean and that I am doing okay, got my post-partum blues in check, sent Handsome and I out on a date for my birthday, convinced us not to mix formula with TAP water (duh?), and taught us how to bathe the poor dirty baby. And we have had other visiting members who have given Handsome and and I ample breaks from changing diapers and mixing up formula.

As I type this, I am sitting in my bookstore, wishing for a customer or two, but thrilled to be here. I miss my Bean quite terribly, but it is nice to restore some kind of order to my world, even though I remain prepared that this semi-false sense of security will be shaken up in a few hours.

Handsome's parents are in town and want to host a dinner at our house tonight for the family...which means 8 of us (and three felines) playing musical chairs with the limited seating we can offer, not to mention the total lack of dining space (as in, a total lack of a dining table or any kind of appropriate eating space). I couldn't really say NO when the suggestion was made (No, do not feed the family? I just didn't have it in me!). So it will be interesting, as my adventures with my in-laws usually are. Hopefully the baby will not get too over-stimulated with the company and the cats won't shit in their box until after the meal has been consumed by all.

And I will survive this dinner thing with a smile on my face, because in two short days, I can resume my 24-hour pajama parties and will have Handsome and my Bean all to myself again.

12 days, or light at the end of the tunnel?

2005-10-08T08:46:00.000-07:00

CRIPES! I am still pregnant.

The bean isn't officially due for another 12 days, but this has GOT to end.

I know that everyone advises to "enjoy" this quiet time before her arrival, but how is that possible when I have to roll myself off the couch every 15 minutes to pee, when my dreams are focused on Paris Hilton's engagement breakup (I have no excuse or explanation for that one), when my cats think it is the new game to stay up and play with me all night long, and when I have eaten us out of every food item??? Please, have mercy!

Okay - and eating spicy foods, having sex, and walking long distances has done NOTHING to naturally induce labor as we all have heard. Nada. The Bitch doctor - who has since apologized for listing me as a druggie with Baltimore City and another tox screen (clean one, obviosuly) has been submitted to the city - even tried to thin my membranes this past Tuesday, which supposedly sends her patients into labor within a day. NOT ME! Nope! Still here with 35 lbs of preggo self silently screaming for relief and maybe some pancakes with whipped cream?

And my face is fat. I swear it is.

Handsome and I have decided that we would like to try this bringing home baby thing alone, without the barrage of family and friends for the first couple of days...I want time to be with my new family, and although help will be MOST welcome and needed in the coming weeks, I want to really cocoon myslef into our little rowhouse and marvel at this new beginning with the two of them, even if my dream of warm and fuzzy moments are stomped on by crying and sore nipples and sleep deprivation. I am not sure it will feel real until we bunker down and figure things out a bit before bringing in the troops.

Well, if you are reading this, please send me a positive thought or two, and wishes for labor.

Opiates and the City

2005-09-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

Although it has been a month since the last posting, I am blowing the dust off the keyboard and getting back to the usual. Apparently, people are actually reading this, and the MESSAGE IS RECIEVED folks: I should do some more of this with a more dedicated sense of committment. I agree with you, and I am glad that at least some of my circle finds my life interesting enough to check into this blog every once and a while.

And so much can happen in a month, don't you agree? Gosh, where to start? With the confinement of bed rest? The hit-and-run car accident Handsome experienced in front of the bookstore (he is okay)? The tale of the asshole doctor who misread my tox screening and accused me of smoking MaryJane during my pregnancy? My impression of the latest Murakami (that could be its own posting for sure), Kafka On the Shore?

Well, I am sure that you are thinking that drug conspiracy theories would be the most interesting of the listed options above.

Handsome and I are quietly raising out fists in victory in successfully making it to week 34, which means that should the Bean decide to debut today, she is "technically" no longer considered premature. Right on little girl - keep on keepin' on. We want to keep her in there for as long as possible, obviously, which is why my then-nice doctor confined me to bed rest for a few weeks upon the discovery of some minor dialation.

Anyway, so bed rest: mixed bag, boredom, frustration, secret elation at not having to work, cats hate me being on thier couch all day, and I still suck at all Xbox games even though all I have to do is try to hone my skills right now...typical complaints. Until this past Thursday when my "nice" doctor morphed into an incompetent bitch.

While still experiencing the wonders of the dialation internal exam, Miss OB mentioned that there was something that we needed to "discuss" after I got dressed. Assuming that she is referriung to some possible problem with the Bean, I encouraged her to divulge the situation immediately, while my legs were still in the stirrups.

"Well," Bitch began, "your tox screening revealed that you have pot in your urine".

Excuse me? Wait - "Pot?" I asked.

"Yes, THC, in your urine."

"Uhm. I know what THC is. And absolutely no way, missy, you got the wrong urine. Lets run that again."

Bitch suggested that I put my pants on so we could discuss this further.

For a blind three minutes I sat alone waiting for the Bitch to return and ran through the list of ways that MJ could have made its way into my urine. I don't think I even KNOW anyone who smokes pot anymore - could I have eaten it somehow? Was it concealed in the mac-n-cheese that I had for lunch? Was the Arizona Iced Tea laced with THC and that's why I crave it so?

Bitch returns and laughs her way into the room as I realized that I still hadn't put on my left shoe and was holding it up like it needed to be examined for MJ as well. "Oh, sorry. It's not POT that we found in your system, its OPIATES!"

I looked at my left shoe and neither of us were exactly comprehending what the hell was going on here. Is this going to be like the Seinfeld episode where Elaine got fired for having opiates revealed in a drug test because she ate a poppy seed bagel? Does that really happen? I haven't had bagels in some time anyway. And what is an opiate exactly?

"Lets talk about the drugs that you have been putting in your body."

I stared at the Bitch and ran down my short list of Flonase and Sudafed. And coffee, if that counts. And probably an illegal amount of Tums.

"No, I am looking for something else here...like prescription drugs?"

And it dawned on me then, in a wave of relief, that this screening must have something to do with the Tylenol 3 pills that this stupid Bitch doctor approved for my personal ingestion when I had a wisdom tooth extracted a few weeks back. And which should clearly be a part of my chart, that's right, the one that you are holding in your hand, Bitch.

"Oh, right! How ridiculous that I wouldn't have remembered." Bitch bit her lip. "Unfortunately, though, this screening had to be reported to the City since you tested positive. A social woker will be visiting you in Labor & Delivery to discuss this, but don't worry, no one will be taking away your baby."

I'm sorry, what the FUCK are you talking about?

So I said just that, three times, I think. Two for sure.

Bitch assured me that she would note on the report the misunderstanding and that this should be sufficient for the social worker.

NO really, what the FUCK are you TALKING ABOUT?

There was a bit of storming out of the office on my part, cell phone in hand furiously contacting my sister-in-law who works in a law firm to get advice, my mother, and anyone else who would listen.

After much freaking out and a Twix bar (okay, and a Peppermint Patty), and two hours of sleep, I registered a complaint with the office, and got copies of the "amended" tox report, in which Bitch scribbled "Meds taken for tooth extraction pain" and her curley-que type initials.

Unfuckingbelievable, truly. And I am supposed to be on bed rest, to be avoiding all types of stress...thanks, Bitch! Your inability to properly read the tox report or to research through my chart before accusing me of inappropriate drug use during pregnancy are doing wonders for my stress levels.

And really, folks, I don't feel the slightest bit of regret for calling her a Bitch. Even if it is juvenille. She is a bitch.

banana

2005-08-07T08:20:00.000-07:00

Handosme was kind enough to direct me to bookslut.com's recent interview with one of my all-time favorite authors, Banana Yoshimoto. I found this below Q&A to be perfect:

You don’t write a lot about motherhood, but clearly it is a big part of your life. How has it changed you? Has it affected your writing in a noticeable manner?

In essays I write about my son, but not as much in stories. The change for me is that I tend to think I want to live longer. Before, I was just in a hurry to live.

For the rest of the interview, hop to: http://www.bookslut.com/features/2005_08_006254.php

Can there be a substitute for the Brewer's Art Pale Ale?

2005-08-06T13:00:00.000-07:00

Can I just say, before my friend Richard coins it as his own phrase, that:
Acupuncture is the new Beer.

In the never-ending quest to alleviate the mounting uncomfortable pregnancy sypmtoms (week 30, ya'll!), I stumbled across a mention of prenatal acupuncture therapy in some totally richy-rich pregnancy mag at my doctor's office...the article promised that should I venture into the land of needle pinching happy qi land, that my back/hip/pelvic pain could be admonished...at first there was a lot of Huh in my brain, but I also reasoned that thousands of years of practice really must hold some weight in the all natural method of pain relief.

So, what the hell?

I went through the various channels with my complicated insurance plan to discover that this kind of alternative therapy IS covered - right on. So I made an appointment with a man who spoke faster than I tend to do whenever I get within 5 miles my hometown of Brooklyn, NY, and I was booked for the next day.

The idea of having needles inserted all over my swollen body definitely caused a bit of anxiety as I entered into the fragrant office - but the man from the phone, the official Acupuncturist - whom I will now refer to as Dr. A because he speaks to quickly to catch his name - stayed true to the fast-talking self I met on the phone and we raced through the paperwork and onto the needle part.

Okay - it really ISN'T that bad. The needles in my back were pretty much painless...the ones in the face were pretty odd, and the arrangement of needles in my scalp were pinching. But nothing that made me flinch. And after the rush, rush, punch in needle, rush rush, where do you work, punch in, rush, when is your baby due, punch in, rush, rush, Dr. A left me alone in a room to do whatever it is I am supposed to be doing with needles inserted all over my body.

After five minutes of trying not to giggle or move for fear that I would lodge one of the instruments into my body forever, I started to feel kind of groovy - just like you do when you finish off a Brewer's Art house ale after working all day. And within mintues of the initial grooviness, I was in a complete state of jelly-like euphoria.

Before I knew it, Dr. A whisked into the room to wiggle the needles around, which again was weirid, but didn't affect me in my new perfect state of mind...Dr. A could be friends, but at that moment, I just wanted him to stop talking so I could go back to vegging out, which I did for about another ten minutes before the needles were removed.

People, I am not exaggerating when I say that this treatment was pretty incredible. My back/pelvic pain was immediately gone, my usual levels of stress felt like a distant memory, and my mind was more focused on being just in a damned good mood than I think I ever have been.

I immediately booked another appointment for later that week, convinced that I had found my new religion. My enthusiasm propelled me into scheduling an appointment for Handsome as well. For all that he patiently deals with during my pregnancy (last night, I apparently had hot flashes in my slumber that may or may not have resulted in flailing slapping and screaming at him - I remember nothing).

The second appointment, joined by Handsome, proved to be another successful journey, although an entirely different experience than the first one. Handsome came out of his treatment blinking and looking more relaxed than I have seen him since he proposed to me.

Later that afternoon, Handsome emailed "I feel like I have spent all day at the beach."

So obviosuly, we are sold on this new avenue of me me me pampering. The Bean responded to Acupuncuture with her usual kicks that occur whenever I start to relax, so we are all converting to shaping up our qis.

Belly Dancin'!

2005-07-26T07:19:00.000-07:00

After waiting and waiting and waiting for the physical proof that the Bean is growing in there, whoops THERE it is.

Now the public can assume that I am pregnant, not just fat. But this added 20 lbs of bambino goodness is a hell of a thing to be lugging around, especially in the record-breaking heat in the Charm City. A "feel-like" of 109 today...which in my world feels-like I have ingested a watermelon whole and that I will sweat like I have just returned from an aerobics class.

But this assumption from the public has brought on a ton on nonsense as well. Never before have I really let other people's opinions or judgments really affect me, but my raised level of hormones has me consciously aware of the grapevine's wrath...and in Baltimore, it is the inescapable. The Mayor might as well weigh in on how I am handling my pregnancy, and it can be debated as the "water cooler question of the day" on WBAL's morning news program. It wouldn't surprise me, honestly.

There has been the "concerned" effort of a bunch of bar people that used to be "friends" of ours that were up in arms because I had two glasses of wine at a friend's going away party. Really, you would think that I birthed the baby in the restroom and left it in the trash or something. For fuck's sake an occasional wine is recommended to some of us who are a tad high-strung or dealing with insomnia, so fuck off already. An old lady in the grocery store shoved hunks of cow meat in my direction as a reminder that I need to get protein. Mo' protein! Then there is the constant reminder from people in my office that my ass is getting large and did you know, you can take cycling classes up until your 38th week?!. But the star of these situations pretty much lies with my most recent trip to Starbucks: The 18-year old employee there informed me that they would no longer serve me any caffeinated drinks, and that I should know better.

Again, for fuck's sake.

2005 has been a whirlwind of absolute change for Handsome and I, from getting engaged to racing through a wedding, to opening a bookstore, planning for a baby, giving up our social networks since we don't drink or smoke anymore, muddling our way through Summer courses, and trying to figure out how we are going to survive through the next six months. We have had to accept that the friends we thought we had invested in are really not, well, friends anymore. And that really, we kind of LIKE being home just with each other, not having to deal with other people's drama, cocaine binges, drunken fights, and lost dreams. We have had to entirely shift gears on all that we knew.

So if I am going to indulge in a fucking frappacino or get it on with a REAL latte to survive the four hours of math class that I attend twice a week, eat beans instead of meat, lay around on my ass reading instead of shaking it at the gym, or god forbid I have a glass of wine, please PLEASE keep your opinions to yourselves. I am kind of done defending my pregnancy choices to the world.

Half-Sour House of Leaves

2005-06-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

Reflecting on another weekend of Week 5 of our used bookstore, I have to admit...I am getting awfully tired of people walking into the store - not responding to my greetings but looking over my head at the back wall - and immediately asking:

"Wow, is there another room or level to this place?"

No, asshole. Hello to you to.
Does it look like there is?

Perhaps I have activated the cloaking device to hide from the real bookstore from you, JUST so that YOU can't get to the other sections?
It is such a rude question, honestly, and it immediately makes me want to smack you for your awful manners.

The other rude question "Is this the only coffee you offer?"

Its free, mofo. Fucking shut it.

Sure. Our store IS small, but instead of starting off our encounter with such negativity, I wish people would take a look at the BOOKS, the REASON this store is OPEN, and realize our selection, not the size of the space, is key.

I am amazed when people actually spend time in the store WITHOUT buying a book...it may sound cocky, but our current inventory has so much of a unique selection that I honestly believe that no one who spends more than five minutes in the shelves should leave without a book!

And if you can't afford it, I will make you a deal, dude. Just be NICE. I want to share my books with you. Be HAPPY that a bookstore exists in a neighborhood.

On the flip side, though, there has been a ton of positive compliments from the locals, who seem to be genuinely happy that we have landed in the neighborhood. Most folks have been sure to tell us that the space is "cute" - which is a hell of a lot nicer than pointing out that it is a shoebox.

Since this area is sort of one that Handsome and I have only recently come to know, we really have the opportunity to meet new and interesting Baltimorean, which isn't easy to do outside of a bar in our fair city.

Size, in this case, might matter. It usually does when it comes to bookstores, and that is one of the reasons that there are only three independent bookstores in the city limits, and a smattering of used bookstores. I am holding out for the nice people to hopefully continue buying their books from us, enough so that I can continue smiling at the jerkies who care more about the size than the content.

That whole judging a book by its cover thing.

Sympathy Cravings

2005-06-24T14:04:00.000-07:00

Either I married the most amazingly sympathetic (and empathetic) man or Handsome is under the mythological spell of the Sympathy Craving Beast. Whatever the means of getting him to the point of fun food adventures, it is only to my preggo benefit that the man understands the power of needing pumpkin seeds at 8PM. And beyond.

In a flurry of emails traded back and forth with each other yesterday afternoon, the seed of a Carvel Ice Cream Cake was somehow planted. Both having lived in NY, where Carvel stores are a frequent sight, we panicked a bit when we realized that we might have to drive to one of the five Burroughs to satisfy the need for the delicious ice-cream, Oreo-crumb drenched, cake-like wonder. And we may have done just that if I didn’t will a frozen stand in the grocery store to distribute a small selection of very particular and expensive Carvel cakes. I almost wept when I realized that we actually were going to successfully purchase the real deal.

I think it was entitled “Sinfully Chocolate” something. It felt like a sin. The best kind of sin that requires giggling and a total focus on the bad deed. And worth all the effort. (Do other pregnant couples eat like this? I don’t even know why we bother to visit Whole Foods once a week to encourage healthier eating habits…why, when you can eat an ice cream cake for dinner??)

And I am proud to say that Handsome devoured the majority of the cake.

But today we are back to the gyro craving…why this particular food I can’t really even try to explain. Why can’t I crave oranges or non-fat yogurt or raisins? I went nuts for watermelon for weeks upon weeks, and now the sight of the pink flesh sends me running off to the next carb item to devour on my list. But I gotta have the lamb-ish sandwich, it must occur.

So Handsome once again is indulging in my demands and we will be popping ‘round to SAMO’s (http://baltimore.citysearch.com/profile/4990041/?specialty_id=10&) the gem of Greek food, tucked away blocks from the main strip of Baltimore’s Greek town. Gyros are heavenly here, and both the atmosphere and the price reflect more of my kind of B’more than anything else in our corner of the City.

Of course, after blissfully stuffing our faces, we will have to suck it up and run all over town on errands…including finding his mother a birthday card, picking up the coffee air pots and delivering them to the coffeehouse that brews our weekend coffee for the bookstore, shopping for avocados and balloons for our friend’s going away party tomorrow, and then we really must clean our abode. And commode(s). We cannot put these things off any longer, so this will be the exciting activity start to our weekend.

Aside from chores, being married and pregnant with Handsome is truly still the tops.

Grocery Lists

2005-06-23T11:25:00.000-07:00

Today, I craved a gyro.

At first it was French fries…oh, how I wanted to run right over to the evil fast food chain located practically right next to my office. But I held out, stuffed my mouth with trail mix, and eventually the craving switched gears to a gyro. Since I found out during my 23 week checkup last night that I have officially gained 15 lbs with this pregnancy, I was hoping to avoid such big ticket calorie items. Like the Taco Bell that has been my staple. Something about that 7-layer burrito speaks volumes to me. The occasional ice cream smorgasbord activities with Handsome while kicking back to reruns of Law & Order. The Tostitos and salsa routine. The four granola bars a day.

So, instead, I walked. I walked right past the gyro place that I adore feeling completely in control of my eating habits. I told myself that I was enjoying the sunshine. Some old man called me pretty lady despite the protruding belly. Who needs a gyro? I marched right on through a good fifteen minutes, made a full circle back towards my building, and stopped into the buffet place with the intention of piling a small salad together. Wouldn’t you know it – the gyro platter was a special there today. I didn’t even know that they had gyros.

As eating is one of the few things that keeps me happy in this pregnancy, I really have to give into my cravings every now and then. Munching down on whatever item my heart desired can result in almost orgasmic euphoria…and hey, didn’t I just walk 15 minutes? I kind of almost earned a gyro!

And damn, was it good.
Damn, I could eat another.

IT’S A GIRL BEAN – by the way. Not that I was surprised…I sort of had decided the bean would be a girl, and now Handsome and I spend a lot of conversational time hashing out the finer points of names we are attracted to for the bean. Harper, Emily, Maille, Maia, and his latest addition, Nora. (NORA??) I actually like Millicent as well, but haven’t brought that one up with Handsome just yet.

Nora? Yeah. Sounds like a nun or something.

belly-poppin' biegnets

2005-05-16T13:14:00.000-07:00

It's over. Handsome and I survived one of the most bizarre experiences of our lives...the idea of actually getting hitched was odd enough, but publicly doing the I-do-I-do and planning a party for 80 people is something that I cannot say we survived without a few scars. If there hadn't been a honeymoon to wisk me away, I may still be decked out in a very dirty bride's dress, hiding out in my guest bedroom while smoking and continually drinking champagne in an attempt to recover. The honeymoon was the saving grace, reminding both Handsome and I why we decided to get married in the first place.

The morning of the wedding started out with a very hungover Handsome (my Uncles spontaneously decided to throw Handsome another bachelor party, and headed down to The Block for the strip joints and kept him in booze until 3 AM). Of course I wasn't prepared or packed or really with it much, so I was furiously grabbing wedding items at random and dumping them into shopping bags for transportation. The MOH and I went for our hair appts, and $150 later, we were driving to her apt, absolutely raging about the stupid hairdo that the stylist gave me. It was a horrid, helmet looking style. Rather than have me walk down the aisle looking like a Harley enthusiast, we downed a glass of wine and risked re-styling it ourselves. Luckily, it worked out well enough. Ah, and then the panic attack set in for me, literally. My poor MOH had no idea what to do with me, and her mother insisted that I take a Valium, despite the bambino, to calm down. I complied, and things were a little more smooth sailing from there.

The ceremony was really beautiful...what did I hire that cello trio for? I don't remember ever HEARING them. I am sure that they did perform but I can't recall. The officiant showed up three minutes before we were to begin, and although he was a nice fellow, he addressed me during the ceremony with the wrong name. It was pretty funny, actually. My dress immediately turned black on the bottoms from the dirt on the walkway. The photographer seemed to be tripping on a weird booze-induced creative streak and we could not escape her. The seating arrangements were completely screwed up, the band set up in the wrong location, our first dance was timed all wrong, and my mother-in-law actually asked my two girlfriends who are a couple to stop dancing together since there were children in the room.

HOWEVER.

Tons went wrong, but so much went right.

Handsome looked so handsome that my heart ached...he actually DANCED with me, which until the reception, was not something that he could do. My entire family was there, and I felt so blessed to look out from both the ceremony and the head table to see them all enjoying our celebration. My MOH gave one hell of a tear-jerking speech that will go down in history. The band ROCKED (long live the Swingin' Swamis)! My mother and I shared some very special time together, which will forever warm my heart. The cats didn't pee on anything in our absence. My friend from LA actually made it! And really, everyone had a great time.

I had no idea we could throw such a great party.

The wedding itself was beautiful - almost perfect.

2005-04-29T13:25:00.000-07:00

Officially one week from the wedding that will happen. it will it will.

I spoke with Handsome's mother last night and tried to express my appreication for the family's trouble right now, and to tell them that I do love them, but I need to remove myself from this situation, as this is between THEM and HANDSOME. I thought I had saved at least my own day, but no. Nope. Nada. Whatever. I am out of the loop. I really hope they fix it or whatever so that I can get onto being an excited bride.

kneejerk name change?

2005-04-28T14:50:00.000-07:00

So, truth be told, the whole name change announcement went over pretty poorly with Handsome’s parents…sure, I can understand that – momentarily. But I hardly think it deserved the campaign of hysterical phone calls (to me) and incoherent emails (to him), all attempting to get him to change his mind.

Honestly.

This isn’t the kind of announcement that a grown man would make to his parents without a ton of previous consideration.

Adding more to the fire, they seem to have also forgotten that I told them that the baby would have my last name. In their world, they have decided that the jumping bambino would be far more confused by the parents sharing the same last name (Devine) than by having two separate last names (Devine and Handsome’s last name). (Say What?) I hardly think the bean is going to be all that confused by anything having to do with names throughout his or her future. Really.

So, assuming the parents are still going to allow this wedding to continue, I will meet with my wedding planner – yes, too gay to sit on the furniture just the way I like my wedding planners – tomorrow evening to review the final details and get down to the full payment of the entire gig. I forgot that we said we wanted pomegranate sherbet ($1.75 per head) in between courses. I say yes…and boy, were we just so creative back then before all this madness! Pomegranate sherbet, huh! We have since cancelled a cheese platter ($4.25 a head) and the chocolate truffles to accompany the mousse ($3.75 a head). It is amazing how things add up. Cheese platter? AFTER dinner? Where did that come from? We may have been creative but a tad overzealous.

8 days. 8.

DEVINE

2005-04-27T15:01:00.000-07:00

Apparently, Handsome has just told his mother that he has decided to take my last name. (Well, wouldn't you?) She isn't happy, I don't think. I can't imagine the mountain of phone calls we are going to have to avoid for the next nine days.

Good God.

Monster

2005-04-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

Funny - I always thought that I would be a calm, collected, funky, and headstrong kind of bride...Maintaining my identity and personality while professing my love to my dearest with a bit of humor mixed into the vows. Right. That dream is so far from my hell of bridal anxiety that it does give me some room to laugh at my former, innocent self. I don't even have the energy to WRITE my own vows - we are settling for the "I do" variety, a 5 minute ceremony, and I can't even recall the music I chose for the cello trio.

I have finally gotten my dress out of the clutches of my tailor, who was quick to tell me that I "look beautiful in that dress...Not pregnant at all! A little thick, but not pregnant. Not like you was the skinniest to begin with." Nice, thanks.

I arose at 5:45 this morning, washed down my bitterness and anxiety with a Diet Coke, and loaded up in full bridal gear (dress, jewelry, gloves, veil). THIS is what I am talking about. Nothing like a crazy-ass bride prancing around at 6 AM in her wedding dress in raccoon mascara eyes lingering from the prior day's makeup application, trying to dodge the Bad Cat Agnes who was terribly interested in riding along my train by digging in her nails and surfing along.

9 days. I can't imagine this hell ending. But I still love the Handsome Fiance. He is my favorite.

Wedding with jumping beans

2005-04-25T09:24:00.000-07:00

I recently spent a Sunday afternoon with a pleasant and hip group of folks who all knew each other either from a blog, from online discussion boards, or from the successful grouping of "Rock and Romp" events that have been taking place for the past few years. This rocking and romping idea was something that my fiance had tapped into through his own adventures in blogging - and found this group of people who were setting up shows in their backyards to promote a party to include parents AND their kids in a safe environment, full with keg and cool attendees as well. Meeting these folks was a relief to me: There ARE people out there who make this parenting thing work while maintaining their own identities and social groups. Right on, right on, right on. Heading into month 4 of my pregnancy, I was scared that I may never taste a margarita or sing kareoke again. But this is still possible, and these folks were making it happen.

After unsuccessfully trying to contribute to a conversation regarding blogs and whatnot with the ladies, I mentioned that perhaps I didn't have a blog as I didn't think my life was interesting enough to share...one of the girls responded that perhaps I just wasn't self-absorbed enough. So here is to giving it a shot, as I am no longer spending my time pontificating about my life on a bar stool. And I am absolutely sure that I am self-absorbed enough to post on here at least once in a while.

There are 12 days left until my wedding...12 days! I thought for sure that this would be a more exciting time, but really, there is more panic and weird shout-outs to people asking for help than I imagined I would be doing at this point. It is freezing here, I am worried that in 12 days it could be snowing rather than the typical 75 degrees Baltimore has in May. My dress seems to be in a hostage-type situation with my tailor...she had to add six inches to the dress (SIX INCHES!) in order to compensate for the growing bambino. SIX INCHES. Can't say I ever thought that would be a part of my wedding preparations. And she has had some trouble in meeting the tailoring deadlines. We still haven't mapped out the ceremony. We finally picked a song to dance to...HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WORK ALL DAY AND PLAN A WEDDING...we have a schedule planned out by the catering company which has now become my bible. So so much to do. I just want the party to get here. And can I just say that being pregnant is amazing but I am so VERY upset that I can't drink at my wedding. It just doesn't seem fair.

Well, that felt good. Maybe my life is interesting enough to blog out.