Welcome to the World, Pup

The Pope and I welcomed a baby daughter on Friday, December 19th.

Her real name is Auden.  

She was born at 1:13pm.  She weighed 7 pounds, 13 ounces and was 20.5 inches long.

She is without a doubt the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  

I can't stop staring at her and telling her I love her.  

I have never done anything in my life that made me so instantly and completely happy.  

Birthday

Posting very quickly to say that in four hours we will check into the hospital to have the Pup.

They will be inducing me at 7:00am tomorrow morning.  

The next time you hear from me, I will be a mom.  

How exciting!!!!!

Love,

Sal, Pope and Pup

Goodbye Seattle

Our house sold today at 10:45am.

For real, and true this time, we are free of that burden.

I wish I could tell you that I'm whooping and hollering with joy, and dancing around the house like a maniac, but in reality it was pretty anti-climatic.  The Pope says it is because the house just pales in comparison with the impending birth of the Pup.

I would like to believe that the birth of the Pup is impending, but I'm actually getting fairly discouraged that it will never happen.

And please don't comment and suggest I have sex because honestly, NO.  

I would rather have a root canal than get funky with it at the moment.  

I have never been so lumbering and huge.  

I know exactly what sex does to the cervix, and all of that, and still, there's absolutely no way unless I was drugged into a coma that anyone will be getting their freak on with me.

And so, having used the last of my hip hop analogies for sex, I will go read my book.   

Three Days to Go

Until I'm officially pissed off that this baby isn't born yet.

I am hurting, y'all.  The latest discovery is a shooting pain in my left wrist.  Like a sciatic spasm of my carpal tunnel.  It has been happening all night.  

This is in addition to the true sciatica pain that shoots down my left leg upon occasion, those occasions growing ever frequent these last few days.  The pain is so sharp, so intense, it causes me to do a silly John Cleese walk when it happens.  

I guess that's all.  The baby pains are either not bad, not present or so familiar that they now go unnoticed.  

A couple of things I've been thinking about lately:

Memo to everyone:  Starbucks is NOT good coffee.  I'm coming from Seattle, where they first brewed their burnt version of coffee beans and made the word "latte" common in our vernacular.  But they are the WORST coffee roaster in Seattle.  They were ubiquitous, on every streetcorner, muscling out the independent roasters and building a huge administrative complex near the sports arenas (football and baseball) with their signature mermaid looking over the city.  But the smaller roasting shops were where the truly great coffee was.  Where the baristas took the time to talk to you about their life, their dreams, all while making a latte that made your toes curl, with taste and strength.  They would draw flowers in the foam on top, and the foam was something you could eat like custard, not the fluffy nothing taste of Starbucks' foam.  Once you went indie, you never went back.  For me to stop at a Starbucks, I am slumming it.  McDonald's has better tasting lattes than Starbucks.  It is true!  Do a taste test.  

At least in Seattle the Starbucks baristas were consistent in their drinks.  Down here in Sacramento, you've got essentially teenagers trying to make coffee, and the drinks are all over the place.  Some have 1/3 cup of foam on top, some have too much milk, others are lukewarm, others that I've ordered with some seasonal spicing (which is rare for me) have the spicing all down at the bottom, not having been stirred.  That's a gross discovery.  I got a hot chocolate the other day at a Starbucks inside Safeway, which is still the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of, like who needs a huge ass latte while you're grocery shopping?   Or who is going to sit at a grocery store and tap away on their laptop?  The ambiance is horrendous.  Anyway, this hot chocolate was so chocolately that it made my eyes cross.  Almost undrinkable.  Don't they have standards of how a drink should be prepared and taste?   At those indie shops in Seattle you may have waited an extra 3 minutes while someone took care to prepare your drink, but in the end you got something worth waiting for!   Down here you get rude service and a poor quality drink.  It is disgusting.

Conspicuous Consumption:  I will admit to being as bad as everyone else when it comes to shopping.  For the last several years, at least 5, I've been in a financial position to buy almost anything I wanted.  I've never been wealthy, and my tastes are pretty simple, but I rarely worried about money, never really went without something I wanted, and generally bought something every time I went to a store.  Well.  That has, shall we say, changed.   Now I am shocked at the consumption everywhere.  In this time of a serious recession, a man was killed at WalMart so that people could get in to get deals on 50" television sets.  This on Black Friday, the biggest Christmas shopping day of the year.  But who buys 50" television sets as gifts?  These were people buying things for themselves, killing someone to do it.  It was shocking.  

A side note, about the shooting of the two men at a Toys R' Us in California.  The shooting occurred as a result of a fight between the dates of the two men.  The women got in a verbal argument, then there was a shoving match, and then both of the men pulled out guns and shot each other dead.  I was telling the Pope about this one morning and he said, succinctly, "glad they're out of the gene pool, I suppose."  

This is the wild world we bring our baby into, with every intention of raising it to be a good human being.  Not many visible examples in the world today.  

I was going to rant more, I've had a few things that have been bothering me lately, but my wrists are hurting, and the three nuts I just ate have given me raging heartburn.  You'll excuse me while I go sit my lard ass on the couch and cry.  

Wish me labor,

Salome

Great Joke Courtesy of Devi

Why does the shark like to swim in salt water?

Because she's allergic to PEPPER!!!!!

Not Having Baby, Just Lazy

You know what's good?

Nilla wafers dipped in Nutella.    I have eaten almost half a box of Nilla wafers this way.

Except they're not Nilla Wafers TM, they are Safeway (tm) brand Vanilla Wafers.

Real Nutella, though, I found it one day at the Grocery Outlet.  I'm sure it was confirmed dosed with botulism in order for me to get it at $1.99, but it is Nutella, so suck it up intestines, here we go.

Well!  We are dilated 1 centimeter, which doesn't seem like much since it has taken approximately 3 days of intermittent cramping to get there,  our pelvic station is -1, which is good, and we are effaced 50%.  Which is unchanged from last week.  They tell me not to obsess about that effacement (to which I laugh, because they CLEARLY don't know my OCD with Google) because apparently you can efface to 100% overnight.

The baby is a huge monster, normal for tall people, and totally making me feel better about the whole problem quitting smoking thing I was having there for, oh, 8 months.  

Rest assured, guys, I have not had a cigarette in over a month.  I've been done.  My mom read somewhere that breastmilk of smokers tastes like smoke and when she told me that, I was done.  Well, not really.  I was done after the Pope was let go and I smoked four packs in seven days.  After that powersmoking binge, my vigorous and vibrantly moving baby stilled for two days.  I went to the doctor's office in a panic and spent 20 minutes hooked up to fetal monitoring to make sure that the baby was still happy and healthy and thank god it was.  THEN I was done.  Then I was so, so soooooooo way done. 

You know, things got so bad there, so many punches thrown, that by the end we weren't even ducking them.  We'd just look down, take the hit and then keep slowly moving, lost in our daze of what else could happen.  

Except that I've become a kind of ostrich hydra.  Every time some worry rears its head, I say to myself, can't fall apart over that, bury it.  Then the next thing, then the next thing.  Maybe one day all of these heads are going to look up from the sand and blink at me expectant-like, and I'll have to reckon with them.  Or maybe, the mountains I saw will just stay molehills in the dirt behind me, and I'll keep slowly moving.  

Speaking of my mom, she predicted the following on 10/14/08 (which oddly would have been my 8th anniversary, had I stayed married to my first husband).

Girl

Born December 6th

8 pounds, 3 ounces

21 inches long

Any predictions from the Carcharodonna readers?   

Too Much Information in 3...2...1...

So, today I received an unpleasant surprise.

It seems that checking your cervix to see how far effaced you are is NOT comfortable.  

And when I say it is not comfortable, I mean that I almost slapped my doctor.  

Eeyagh.

The baby dropped two days ago.  It felt like someone was pushing down on my stomach, these brief but strong feelings, three times in quick succession, and then all of a sudden I could take deep breaths.  My heartburn also pretty much stopped.

Let me pause and reflect, "thankyougodthankyougodthankyougodthankyougodthankyougod."

Heartburn sucked.   Heartburn sucked in WAVES of suck.  Roiling, burning, gigantic waves of suck.  I fell asleep one night last week with a Tums in my mouth, and woke up with a trail of pink dried across my cheek.

The trade-off is that I have to pee CONSTANTLY.   Two nights ago, I peed five times in 30 minutes.  The urge was URGENT.  I would hoist my body up, disentangle myself from Lucy, pad over to the restroom and tinkle out about three teaspoons.  I do all my tricks, I lean very far forward, I wait a few seconds, I sneeze (this one is a sure-fire squeezer).  When I am sure I am done, I stand up and immediately feel the urge to pee again.  At one point, in extreme frustration, I mentally decided that I would pee the bed.  I would just do it.  My husband loves me, and he feels so sorry for me, he won't mind.  Well, he will mind, but I will act horrified and disgusted, and I will try to cry and he'll forgive me.  

The belly is huge.  It has its own zip code.  It has its own laws of gravity.  Walking around trying to support it and keep my balance now requires the waddle.  The other day I was sure I'd flattened the arch in my foot, just by wandering around the house.

We signed another offer on our house today.  This is the third.

We are happy, but it is hard to let go of our doubt and frustration.  We've been happy and excited two times now.  Two times now the deals have fallen through.  This deal represents the absolute bottom of our finances.  We don't make any money.  Before we countered the absolutely absurd* offer we received, we figured out how much we owe on the mortgages, how much the interest will be, how much the commissions will take, closing costs, etc....and countered with a number that allows us to clear all this.  That's it. 

*Absurd = Offering $300,000 for a house currently listed at $334,950.  

I am resurfacing from a couple weeks now of worry, doubt and fear.  I will say that the Pope and I are having fun together, and that is so incredibly rewarding.  If I have nothing but him, and our baby, and our kitties, then I am still very rich.  

We went over to my sister-in-law's house (the Pope's sister) last night for dinner, and we just had a blast.  I sat there, surrounded by my husband and his wonderful family, and we were all laughing and laughing, and talking, and marveling at the nieces, who are spectacularly interesting, and I couldn't help but think about how lucky I am.  How blessed we are, and how important it is to realize that.  

I hope I keep realizing that.  

Aaack

Sometimes I just think things that are so mean.  So uncharitable.

I just want to crack my chest open, take out my heart and stomp on it a couple of times.  

Dear Baby

Dearest, darling baby,

Today is Monday and you have been kicking my left ovary all day.  Or punching it.  It is actually extremely painful, and I wince and shudder every time you do it.

To pay you back for this, when you are a teenager I will tickle you until you pee.  

In front of your friends.  

Or your prom date.

You're welcome,

Mom

Attempting Normalcy

In a nod to my husband, who looks super-darling sitting on the couch worrying through a football game, I am eating trail mix the RIGHT way.

I am not:

1.  Eating all the M&Ms out.

2.  Then eating all the raisins, delighting when I find a brown M&M I missed.

3.  Scrounging for and finding the cashews.

4.  Eating all the almonds.

5.   Walking over to the garbage and throwing out the remaining peanuts, because they are cheap filler nuts and bleccch.

That is all, it has not been a very interesting day and I am suddenly extremely uncomfortable.  My belly is huge and it gets in the way of everything I do.  I can barely breathe and if I eat something larger than a plum, I feel as if I've gorged in Roman times but been denied the vomitorium.

Weight Loss Secrets - Third Trimester of First Pregnancy

Yesterday at the doctor's office I found out that I have only gained 9.8 pounds at this stage of my pregnancy. I have 5 weeks until my due date. The baby is fine, the baby is healthy and happy, and my fundal measurements are excellent, perfect for the stage I'm in. There is no cause for concern, I'm told. The nurse actually told me not to tell anyone about this, because pregnant women everywhere will be upset at my genetic tranquility for pregnancy.

So I decided to blog about it, naturally, and tell everyone how I've managed to do this.

1. Overeat immediately upon getting engaged, and rack up the poundage to a terrifying state that gets you enlisted in your local Weight Watchers meeting after an unflattering photo is taken of your alarming lack of chin.

2. Drink heavily for many many many years preceding your weight gain.

3. Exercise only when in fear of death. i.e. Don't run unless you are being chased, get winded and smoke heavily when you attempt to garden, consider lifting the weekly wine purchases to be all the "conditioning" you need. 

4. Gain and lose the same 2 pounds for three weeks on Weight Watchers while introducing all kinds of leafy green vegetables into your diet.

5.  Get pregnant after almost a year of trying, presumably because the leafy green vegetables hit your ovaries first.  They certainly did nothing for your thighs.

6.  Negotiate transfers to be closer to family now that you're pregnant.  You have stopped drinking immediately, which surprises the hell out of you.

7.  Lose your job when the transfer for you doesn't work out.  You are still craving and eating lots of green vegetables, although pickles gross you out, inexplicably.

8.  Have the sale of your house fall through minutes after the moving company drives away with all your belongings.  Pop Tarts subsist you through the move, which you perform alone,  four months pregnant, while your husband fulfills his obligations to his idiot company who have no sympathy for your situation.  Obligations that he cannot be excused from include Miniature Golf, and last-minute impromptu dinners for "team building."

9.  Have the SECOND house sale fall through when the buyer is an incompetent deadbeat who can't really afford the house, with an estranged wife who is taking legal advice from her friend Doofus McIdiot, who is not actually a lawyer.

10.  Get your husband's company to let him go three months after you lost everything to fulfill his transfer commitment.  It is best if they do this on the last day of the month so that your health insurance expires instantly.  

11.  Voila.  You have only gained 9.8 pounds, yet you manage to have a happy, healthy baby in there. 

Baby, I promise you that I will never treat you the way life has treated us while we were waiting for you.

Under Pressure

I wake up in pain. Every morning, no matter the position I'm in. My back recently, aching. For weeks now, my hips, or one hip, or my knee. My hands have been numb in the morning for months. First just the thumb through middle finger of both hands. Now one entire hand is numb, either hand, each hand, one per morning. Sometimes it is two hours before the feeling comes back.

But every morning, I wake up and feel like a car accident was survived during the night. For a few minutes, I grimace quietly and try to shift appendages, to release the tension and get the pain away. Usually at this time it is just barely light out, the husband and the cats have been sleeping soundly. Lucy is attuned, she knows when I wake up, and her stuttering, crackling purr usually starts up within a minute. Just saying, Hi Mom. If I look over, there are her green eyes, peeking at me over the covers, smiling sleepy at me these first moments.

Sometimes I can't imagine the love I'll feel for this child, because the love that swells and lifts me bodily when I look at Lucy is frightening enough in its intensity.

From the Universe......

A smackdown of such proportions, I cannot contemplate.
I know that everything will get better, but the fear right now is almost crippling.

I also know that we are not the only ones in this troubled time that are undergoing this type of uncertainty over our future, but I am having trouble figuring out what the lesson here could possibly be.

Idle Chatter

I have exactly 15 eatable cookies out of the batch I made this morning.
What with the first batch being undercooked (there is a difference between "chewy" and "intestinally inadvisable") the third batch having the oven turned off accidentally (wtf?) and then the makeup baking having been forgotten completely until they were brown as the bottom of my shoes, we didn't come out with many. Which is okay, because I ate the weight of my left boob in batter as I was making them. Why is it that baking cookies sounds like so much fun when you first think about it, and then by the third batch you can't imagine what sounded fun about this, and how big do I have to make them until this $@%$%#! dough runs out, and then, NO I'm not going to scrape the bowl, fuck it, I've been standing here for hours and I just remembered I don't actually LIKE cookies.

What a difference a neighborhood makes! We have a new visitor to the house, a young girl kitten named Thunder, who is enamored with the admittedly handsome Leo and who comes by to hang out, sleep on the patio and make moon faces at him. Leo is alternately irritated, scared or preening. Lucy hated her on sight and spends her time crouched in the house, ready to bitch out should the occasion warrant itself. In our old house we had nothing but butchy feral strays who came by to terrorize, intimidate and pee over everything.

I am currently enthralled (and occasionally, rarely, every once in a while disgusted) with my pregnant body.

Discovering new symptoms and then Googling them is very entertaining and is keeping my mind away from the apocalyptic future that awaits us because we haven't sold the house and tallying up what we've lost makes my heart rip itself to shreds and pound on my ribcage in terror.

Why We Moved Here

Taken today at a family combo visit to a nearby pumpkin patch.

I've been waiting 6 years to share these moments with my beloved nieces.  6 years ago I would have had absolutely no idea that in 2 years I would meet a man who would introduce me to two new little girls to lose my heart to.  Now there are four reasons why, even while almost everything else in our lives has us rending our garments in distress, moving to Northern California was the best thing we've ever done:

Overheard at the Airport Today

A woman in the check-in line, visibly aggrieved, complaining to her husband about missing the flight in Kansas because they hadn't reset their watches to the local time zone.

The man, obviously long-suffering, saying, "Jesus Christ, that was FIFTEEN years ago!"

"Nasal Snow-belt Honk"

Title of today's post taken from this great article at Salon.com.  

We watched the debates last night and while I was surprised (and a little dismayed) at how well Sarah Palin acquitted herself, I do think the clear winner of the debate was Joe Biden.  Now, I'm a Biden supporter, so you can take what I say with a grain of salt, but there isn't much substance in Mrs. Palin, and it was all too clear that when in doubt, she spewed her talking points, and not much else.  

I still find her tendency to be sarcastic and snippy alarming.  Out of all of the people in this presidential race, she has the biggest glass house.  I would really be careful slamming people who can think you into a corner, Palin.

I would also like to comment on this notion that she speaks for Joe-Six Pack and the "average American."  I like Joe six-pack, usually, unless he's a bigoted redneck, and I would count myself near the Average American, if not solidly in their midst.  But here's my biggest problem.  While I like and am a part of Average Americans, I do not want them speaking for me on a global platform.  I would rather seasoned, intelligent Harvard grads do that for me.  I would rather someone with extensive foreign policy experience meet with the leaders of these hostile countries.  Someone who understands the nuances a bit better than me or my friends do.

So Sarah, while you may think you speak for me, the truth is I want you nowhere in a position to voice my concerns, because frankly, I don't think you or John McCain share them.  I think you and your ticket is slapping a fresh coat of paint on a dead horse, and you'll see yourselves and your cronies get rich while you continue to make a deadly play for a military stronghold in an oil-rich region.  I think you'll destroy the coastlines of your beloved states and you'll be feted on the yachts of big oil and you won't actually do anything you're promising.  And I think it is absolutely absurd that you expect middle America to vote for your "everyday Amercian" schtick, when the leader of your ticket is married to an heiress and hasn't had a job outside of the government, EVER.

And I hope the rest of the world was as unimpressed as I was, with your singular shallowness and your inability to extemporize when the opportunity arose.  Whether that is your shortfall or the tight reins you're under, either way, you're not fit for the position and you're not to fit to represent the people you're aiming to.

It Keeps Killing Us

Yesterday we were told that our house had closed, sold, done finito.

They had missed the court's hours in order to record, so that was the final step to happen this morning.  We were advised there was a "one in a million" chance of anything happening to stop it at this point, and in a combined 30 years of real estate experience, our agents and his officemates had never seen anything happen.

Well, we should have bought a lottery ticket, so says my wise husband the Pope.

The buyer is apparently estranged from his wife, who was asked to sign a quitclaim deed releasing her from any claims on the property and an acknowledgment that she is not obligated with regards to the loan, and she signed and notarized both documents.  

For whatever reason, she had second thoughts last night and called escrow this morning to recant her signing of these documents, which she apparently has the right to do.  For whatever fucking reason.

We don't know what she is thinking, or what her problem is, but she is apparently "busy."  And no one can get a hold of her to explain that she is not responsible.

I'm having a nervous breakdown.

SOLD

Tonight at 5pm, our house sold.

Finally, this long excruciating stress is over.

In other news, I took my glucose test today and my sugar has been out of whack all night.

I feel sick and I'm sleepy and I nap and wake up with headaches.

Celebration has to wait until tomorrow.

But thank you god our house has sold.

Leo

Last night we couldn't find Leo.

He goes outside often, but always comes to the screen door to be let back in.

He usually comes when called.  Not quickly, but reliably.  

We called and called at 11:00pm and no answer.  No sight of him, even.  Usually when he is called, we can see him just beyond the fence, not wanting to come in yet, but allowing us to see that he is fine, and close.  

But nothing.

We called again at 12:00am and no answer.  No sign of him.

The Pope had to go to bed, but I stayed out in the living room, calling every 10 minutes until I went to bed at 2:00am.  I had trouble falling asleep, I was worrying.

I left the door open all night, hoping he would return.

Early this morning, the Pope opened the door to the garage to leave for his 7am dentist appointment.  

In comes Leo, protesting about the night spent in our hot, boxy garage.

His plaintive wail woke me immediately.  

The thought of this good boy being missing, or gone, devastated me.  

Welcome back, Leo!!  You will never know how much you would be missed if something happened to you, but I promise a lot of catnip tonight to make up for Dad locking you in the garage.  You know he didn't do it on purpose.

Oh God

The Pope and I had a 3D ultrasound done last night, so we have an idea of what the Pup looks like now, which is BEAUTIFUL.  I will scan and post soon.

They gave me a diaper bag courtesy of Similac, and inside was a bottle cool pack and some samples.  There is a sample for Aquaphor, for the "baby's sensitive skin," and a sample of Preparation H portable wipe, presumably for the mother's ripped apart butt.

God help me.

Will the Cats Love My Baby?

Or, equally as important, Will the Baby Love My Cats or Will I Need to Release the Baby into the Wild for Wolves to Raise?

I have had a couple of people comment about the cats, and whether I'd get rid of them if for some reason there was a problem with the baby and them, or comment that they'd be interested to see how much spoil the cats once the baby comes. It is something that I think about, so I thought I'd explain myself a bit.

If, when the baby is born, there is a problem with the cats, I will go to every length possible to sort out the issue. I will hire behavioral experts, I will read books, I will do everything I can. And then as a last resort I will keep them separated, and if that still doesn't work, I don't know what my heartbroken self will do.  

I have had Lucy since she was 2. She is now 10 years old, and she has been my best friend this whole time. There have been some hard time, some sad times, some times when I went to bed crying every night. For months. There were weekends I didn't leave my bed. There were nights where I drank so much wine, I collapsed sobbing at my computer, writing tortured poems full of self-loathing and shame. Throughout the whole thing, Lucy always cuddled up to me and purred loudly and slept right with me and always ran to see me when I got home, and spent all her time within five feet of me.

Even now, she is sitting at my feet while I type this. She is old now, and not so spry, and she sleeps more than she eats (which was a ratio I'd never thought I'd see). The thought of abandoning her in her senior years is appalling to me. I can't do it. She has given me everything she's had to give all this time. She has been steadfastly devoted to me since the moment I met her.

The way we spoil them, well that is simply routine at this point. I've given my cats wet food for dinner for at least 7 years now. It is as natural as pouring a glass of water for me. The Pope has done the litter for the last several years, so that will stay the same, and the only thing I can think that will change is the attention that they currently get. But as much as we know the baby will take everything, the cats don't actually ask for much. A lap, a leg when we're sleeping, and brushing once in a while if we feel like it. 

And they're our friends, our family members, they are as much a part of who we are as anything else I can think of.  

We have Comcast cable, which has this great feature called On Demand.  They have a pet channel, and I found a brief show called "How to Acclimate Your Cat to a New Baby."  I was extremely eager to watch this, and selected it.   To my surprise, it was about 4 minutes long.  It said that cats are pretty neutral about babies, for the most part, and as long as you make sure not to ignore the cat completely, they generally get along fine with the new addition to the family.  And that was it. 

Being that Lucy is one of the most constant and loving friends I've ever known,  I think we'll be fine.   

If not, I will change the baby's name to Romulus.   Regardless of sex.

Disgusting Pregnancy Facts

No one ever tells you that:

1. Pregnancy makes your underwear smell like a petting zoo.

2. Your numerous farts will be disproportionate to ANYTHING you could possibly have eaten. For example: I had an orange earlier today and for the next four hours I farted what had to have been gorgonzola-covered chili beans that sat in the backseat of my car for eight days in direct sunlight.

3. You will be unable to keep your eyes and hands off your own boobs.

4. That might just be me.

Attention All Television Producers

Michael Phelps is NOT THAT INTERESTING.

Awesome

Found this fabulous thing here.

Fuck

Yesterday, the sale of our house was supposed to close.
Wait, no, this is not deja vu. This is not July. This is September, and it the SECOND of our house sales not to close.

For this particular sale, we lost approximately $21k of profit. We are giving the buyer the sweetest goddamn deal of the century here, all with FHA and Nehemiah programs. And still, this fucking bonehead has the audacity to accrue SIXTEEN THOUSAND dollars worth of debt in one month, bringing his personal debt to income ratio to an untenable (for FHA) standard.

This jerk is bringing NOTHING to the table. The Nehemiah program essentially pays his closing costs and downpayment, partially through FHA's reasonable terms, and partially through a generous donation from us, the absolutely screwed sellers who have lost $21k in two months in this sinking market.

But that still isn't good enough, and this idiot racks up even more debt due to "circumstances that couldn't be avoided."
Circumstances as in, you're just too irresponsible and stupid to survive a month with increasing your personal debt? I don't know.

So far, this deal is not dead. It is just......not happening yet. He needs to figure out a way to pay the debt at closing. He is apparently "trying" to do so. Our agent is "trying to find out what can be done to make this deal happen." I have tried very hard to make it clear, but am willing to spell it out exactly, that that only way more money will be given to this deadbeat is from the broker's commissions, I ABSOLUTELY WILL CUT OFF MY GODDAMN NOSE TO SPITE MY FACE.

I will not offer any more of our meager profit to this imbecile.

So, welcome to an active home sale in this market. I have bought two homes now. One a condo and one a house. Both times I was on time with my shit together at closing. No transaction has ever been delayed because of me.

What is the point of being financially responsible anymore? Miscreants and idiots are kings in this housing downturn.

I will be delighted not to own anything anymore. I sincerely hope that day is on the near horizon.

Is It Just Me?

Or do you think that in every picture of Katie Holmes, she appears as if she is lurching about in her ugly designer shoes, and appears significantly uncomfortable in avant garde designs and fashions that do not flatter her and despite her best efforts refuse to start trends?

These latest series of jeans photos that have hit Just Jared and Perez Hilton are atrocious. I've never considered Katie Holmes as anything other than a mildly interesting up and coming star. Which disappeared, of course, when she married Tom Cruise and pledged her love to Xenu. Now she is annoyingly thrust into center stage, when she has never been captivating enough to hold the attention of audiences on her own.

I just gathered the plates from the cats' latest wet food encounter. They get wet food every night, because I'm a sucker. They don't get the same wet food two nights in a row. I know what they like and I buy what they like. I know, I know. But they're my babies!!!!! Whatever little thing I can do to make them happy, you know.....

So anyway, they had flaked tuna last night. I picked up the plates this morning and they have backbones in them!!! The cats licked all the meat from the bones, and there are distinct backbones and other bony remnants in the dish. Gross! Out of all the things I feed them, I have to say I hate the fish ones the most. They stink up everything, especially the trash (the old can) and the dishwasher (the plates until I rinse them). Barf.

The only worse thing was when Finny was a kitten and lamb made him fart. THAT was unpleasant, to say the least.

Don't You Wish

That a side effect of heartburn would be to actually breathe flames?

I wouldn't mind it so much then.

Forecast: Annoyance

Note to CNN, MSNBC, and all the television news storms: Not every goddamn storm needs to be the top story. I realize that no one wants to drop the ball, Katrina-style again, but honestly. Do we need every website to scream that there's a potential disaster behind every tropical storm? Its going to be a long season.

I'm also calling out to all the media everywhere, STOP. You're waay too caught up in your own perceived importance. You believe you're critical so that we get every nuance of every comment ever spoken. This latest Obama-Lipsticked-Pig brouhaha is a completely manufactured shitstorm. Sometimes, folks, an analogy is just an analogy.

The cats are hungry, but babies, you're going to have to wait. Mama's on a roll.

I am also incredibly disgusted by the property manager of our house. He's a complete tool. I've not spoken of this much, since this blog is read by mostly close friends who knew this, but at the time I quit my job I had been managing over half a million square feet of biotech laboratory space. I had been managing this much space for over four years. My portfolio had an annual income of $21M. I was constantly overworked, it was some of the most incredible stress I've ever experienced, and every day brought an avalanche of new issues and challenges. Yet still, I ran circles around the rinky dink property manager who manages our home. He talks a good game, but never responds to any request, and has a litany of excuses as to why he doesn't return phone calls or come by to make repairs. I am seriously thinking about starting my own residential property management firm once the baby is born, because if it is this easy to charge this much for a house, I would be rich in a year.

But I digress (and yes babies, I'm coming, just one more second)....

I am absolutely horrified by the state of America's intelligence today. I have been performing an in-depth study of human evolution over the last two weeks by watching every People's Court iteration on television. And I've come to the conclusion that the rate by which America's intelligence is decreasing is alarming. I'm having tshirts made, and as soon as they are done I'm starting a revolution. If you would like to join my revolution against stupid people, you will be asked to sign something, because that is the most common thread (aside from appalling grammar) that I am seeing in our decline.

What is refreshing is that some of the judges, Judge Judy, Judge Marilyn Milian (who I love) and Judge Joe Brown, are as disgusted by today's idiocy as I am. You can see it in their derisive comments. Judge Judy doesn't play games, she called a woman an idiot this morning. I agreed with her wholeheartedly. I plan on recruiting them shortly.

Okay, they're circling me like hawks now, I'm on call for wet cat food supply. Gutentag.

I Should Have Been A Model

I was watching project runway last night thinking that being a model would be so cool. Not for the clothes or never eating, or the coke addiction or any of that fun stuff, but for the simple fact that every time you do your job someone brushes your hair first.

I love having my hair brushed, it is probably the single thing I enjoy the most in the whole world. Except perhaps for falling asleep or watching Lucy sleep in a patch of sunlight.

Wow

Sarah Palin's a real bitch.

And the Republicans apparently don't care about uplifting the country, they only care about attacking people.
And if I hear one more thing about McCain's POW experiences, I'm gonna barf.

Stop Now, Media, You Need to Stop Now!!

After the initial shock that was Gov. Sarah Palin's appointment as the VP candidate for John McCain, the media is out in full force, speculating that she pretended to give birth to her 5th child, Trig, in order to assume the child of her teenage daughter. Now the news that her daughter Bristol is indeed pregnant at the age of 17 is being vultured by the assorted media, along with the reports of her husband's DWI. I am appalled by today's media. It has long past reached a crescendo of absurdity. No one has a private life anymore, no one is judged on the basis of their political activities only. I'm sick of it!

If Sarah Palin pretended to give birth to her first grandchild, so be it. They made that decision as a family, and we should respect it. If true, it isn't the first time this has happened in the world, and save this young girl and her mother the nitpicking into it. Judge Sarah Palin on her statements, on her political record, and on her merits alone.

I couldn't watch the Democratic National Convention. The media commentary was unbearable. Same with the Olympics, the announcers would NOT shut up during the events, so that the television audience could barely concentrate on watching these athletes perform. What has happened to media everywhere is an abomination. We are left no room to speculate on our own, we need quasi-qualified announcers to shove their every inane thought down our throats until there is no room left in our heads for our own opinions and thoughts.

I could go on and on, and I might just do that, but my blood boils now.

At Devi's Request....

Belly Pictures!! I am 25 weeks pregnant today!

Discourse for the Modern Age

Although I am still amazed by Facebook, the novelty has worn off and I see it for what it is, a modern day communication system. People communicate by reading each other's typically one-line status updates, or by poking each other, sending gifts, etc. In this MTV era, where our concentration can only last past the next 3.2 seconds, this is a perfect medium. And I don't mean to slam it, because I've reconnected with so many college era friends that I was wondering about. I was able to gather more details about friends and some family through this, so that's nice. And I like that you can update at your leisure, you're not forced to have a correspondence with someone when you don't feel like it, which has always been the death of my friendships. Because I rarely feel like talking. I'm not sure why that is. I love to hear what's going on with people, but the retelling of my life stories has always bored me.

Right now, I spend my days in near silence. I talk to Lucy, or sometimes I'll turn on the TV to hear people talk, or if I'm out I'll talk to salespeople, but for the most part, I don't talk to anyone. I would have thought that would be perfect, but it is actually pretty stifling. So when the Pope gets off work, I chatter at him endlessly, until he gets irritated with me, barks at me, and leaves me crying all the way home from the store. And doesn't even notice.

I found a blog from an old boyfriend, who is in a polyamorous, open relationship. I have met his wife, who is an awesome person, a truly beautiful person, inside and out. I saw them a few times when I lived in Seattle and they lived in Portland. But I read his blog, and found entries of heartbreaks from broken side-relationships and it makes me wonder why anyone who has found a soul mate (because his reflections on his wife, child and their life sound very harmonious and special) would freely offer themselves up for the heartache and pain that encompass dating. I can't imagine the person that would date someone who is married with a child, whether or not the spouse approves. I suppose there are people out there that don't want the attachment of a mate, who just want a relationship of other determinations, and I should preface this entire comment by saying I have no idea the structure of my friend's open relationship, or what kind of relationships they each are involved in. I just remember how heartbreaking dating was, and how empty and unworthy my experiences within it left me feeling, and I can't imagine opting to continue that cycle. Even for someone who would be interested in talking to me.

Maybe that's the reason they seek outside company, to keep finding people that are interested in their old stories and observations, to make them feel beautiful and mysterious again.

The main thing I notice about my old college friends is that for the most part, they stayed in the area I knew them in, and they seem happy. And although I am happy about the upcoming baby, there isn't a whole lot else about my life that makes me happy at this point. Although I like our house and love the fact that family is close by, Sacramento is not the place for me. I don't like not working, but the thought of going back into commercial property management again at the end of this makes me a little sick to my stomach, I truly do not want to do that anymore. There were things I was interested in at one point. And out of most of my friends, it seems like only I have abandoned them entirely for stability, money and god knows what else I abandoned my dreams for. Influence of others? Probably, as ashamed as I am to admit that.

Faceous

I joined Facebook yesterday morning and subsequently sucked the whole day dry of any potential.
I sat on that damned site all morning long looking up random people from my life and.....I FOUND THEM. Totally odd weird people that I would never expect to be hooked up to an internet friend site. Bizarre. I was also found by people, within an HOUR of logging into the system, high school friends found me and asked me to be their friends. Wonderful feeling.

Today I am going to be productive.

Just as soon as I get done posting this and drinking my coffee. ;)

Hot Time In the Old Town Tonight!

It is 12:22pm in the Sacramento Area and the temperature is 75 degrees.
For the last three weeks, there has been an endless blue sky and shining, hot sun.

What a change from just over one month ago when all we had to look forward to was perhaps a few hours or a weekend of sun from our rainy home.

Today is Saturday, August 23 and I am 34 years old today.
My husband, the Pope, has turned 37 today.

A shared birthday makes for somewhat odd bedfellows. I recognize so many of my own traits in my husband's decisions, outbursts and general way of life. Luckily, we are also very different, he is far more temperate than I am, and not as prone to anger or anxiety as I am.

He is usually depressed about getting older and grouchy on his birthday, while I am generally happy and content on mine. My twenties were no great shake, I have no desire to hold onto youth, and I am (so far) welcoming crows feet (because it shows I laugh) and creaks and groans (because it makes me slow down a bit) that accompany getting older.

We also received some other good news this morning. For the last week we've been negotiating on a new offer on our house.
The last go-round of the counter offer was accepted and we have a deal.

Although we are elated to have the pressure of this house off our backs, we have lost a significant amount of money on this deal. We will walk away with a small amount of money, but overall lost almost all of our equity and down payment. Down here in Sacramento, however, most people are living in houses which in the last year have lost over $100k in equity. The market in Sacramento was hit harder than any other area in the nation (to believe the newspapers and homeowners). I believe them. There are hundreds of new developments, most neighborhoods sitting empty or being overrun by renters. Beautiful, brand new homes turned into rentals for more than one couple. We rented in a nice, more expensive neighborhood to avoid this trend.

We spent more money so that we could see things like we saw last night: A woman walking with her just barely toddling daughter. We waved and she waved back. The neighbors next door that we haven't met have a tiny baby inside, as evidenced by that tiny baby cry we hear.

So things are good, and looking up on the start of this 34th year of my life. We have a new baby coming in four months, which we're delighted about. We have a nice house with friends and family very near by. We have plans tonight with a couple that we love to see.

I am feeling good.

Better

Yesterday we got internet and cable. Today we get our washer and dryer.
I am slowly climbing back into humanity, it feels.

My mom arrived yesterday and the sight of her lifted my heart like you wouldn't believe.
It is impossible to be unhappy with my mother around you.

She is just joy encapsulated.

So she is here, and Sears for some damn reason called me at 7:26am to confirm the delivery of our washer and dryer, so I am up drinking a cup of coffee and watching Women's Gymnastics recaps on Comcast's On Demand feature.

I love television.

I love internet and I love my Mac.

I'm BACK.
And I'm retired, so I'll try to blog every day. And hey, I'll start trying to make them interesting again! Woo.

Sort of Back

I'm sort of back.
That is, I can get online after my husband is done working for the day.
But by that time I feel as if I've missed the day.

I've been tired the last two days and my dreams are still full of anxiety.
I wake up feeling worse than I did when I went to sleep.

My mom has booked a ticket to come out to see me this weekend.
At the age of 33, nearing 34, and expecting my first baby, I can safely say that I need my mom.

Tomorrow I'm off to babysit my darling nieces, who always cheer me up.
I'm lonely and stressed and tired. I'm very very tired.

The heat in Sacramento is unending. It saps the very soul right out of you.
As much as I wished for no rain, I did not wish to be fried everytime I walked outside. We've let the cats out and they usually come right back in. They are obviously still Seattle cats.

Although Lucy senses that something is wrong with me. She doesn't leave my side, and spends every available moment clinging to a part of me, purring and squeaking at me. I think she's trying to tell me that everything will be okay.

I certainly hope so. It is time for some things to start being okay.

Maybe once the baby is born I won't feel so desperately lonely.

Battered

Writing to you from Sacramento, where our world has fallen apart.
A week ago, more than that, Tuesday the 15th of July, three days before closing, my agent called me to tell me that the buyer was backing out. WHAT? I said.

The buyer officially backed out the next day. We were leaving on Saturday with the house unsold, vacant, and now we are two states away.

I can't even get into this. I can't think about it too long without bursting into tears. How do we rent a place down here when we still carry the mortgage payment on our house in Seattle? How will we ever find another buyer when all the news is full of banks closing, stocks dropping, economy sucking???

I am not even on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I'm in the middle of one as we speak. I'm deep in the throes of my private little nervous breakdown. With that one phone call, everything we hoped for busted right out from under us.

Out! Done! Woo!

My last day of work was yesterday.
Everyone expected me to feel poignant and sad.

But did I? Nooooooooooooooooooooooo.

The joy I felt threatened to blossom over into hysterical giggling by 2:40pm.
By the time I drove out of the garage for the LAST TIME IN MY LIFE, I was laughing.

Goodbye and good luck to you. I'm off to be happy again.

And pack, dear god, we are moving in 5 DAYS!

Hello triple digit heat with family.
Hellooooo Hellooooo Hellloooooooooo!!!

A Special Message

XELA!

You wrote me the greatest email, and I am going to write you back.
I wish I could sit down with wine and do it, but alas.

Although I've heard there's great non-alcoholic wine, JLohr actually makes one, called Ariel.
Maybe I'll get a bottle of that and sit down this week.

I will write you back, love you for sending me such an awesome letter.

Scattered

We are packing!
We have procrastinated beyond all procrastinating and now we are really doing it.
Packing always reminds me of things I've wanted to do with little bits and bobs that I've been keeping.

So I pack, find bits and do things with them.
Like tiny corners torn off of cards I've received in the mail. Addresses I wanted to keep somewhere.
I just entered them all into my computer.

I am so organized.
And this is how packing starts.

Packing ends with me up in arms, sick of all my crap and piling things into random boxes, sure I'll never open it again.

And typically, I don't. And about four years later, on some other move, I'll discard that stuff.

But for now, those things are the priceless artifacts of my life. Required so I remember who I was and where I've come.

Freedom

Yesterday, I lost my job. I didn't get fired, they just accepted my pseudo-resignation. I had tried to move with them to Northern California, but they didn't have anything for me there, so they said that and then there were these long pauses. They were willing to keep me on in Seattle, but the Pope needs to get to Northern California as soon as possible, so that wasn't an option for us.

So, effective next Friday, I am no longer an employee of the company I have worked at for 9 years.

I feel ELATED.
I feel like I was just paroled. I have been so unhappy for so many years, and then the February Scotland explosion burned me to a crisp.

And with that brief update, I am going to pack.
Because my new life is waiting for me.

Waiting for the Pope, waiting for the Pup and waiting for a happy Salome to come down and remember that life shouldn't have to be so hard, and you shouldn't have to work yourself into a chronic hive condition in order to live.

Happy Independence Day.

Wow

SK and Julie, you guys are too cute. By the way, you live near each other. :)
I don't actually CARE what anyone thinks about the names. I just kinda wanted to see them in print.

But I am bowing to the stated advice of you guys and taking down that post.

:)

I guess everyone hated them, because no one said they liked them!

I'm not entirely sure, myself. We like them, but I'm not 100% when I see them in writing.

I will NOT keep you posted on this. Hee Hee.

People Fucking Bug Me

Do you ever have days when the only thing that can be counted on is that people are idiots who screw things up and do a half-assed job ALL OF THE TIME?

I can't even tell you the number of times I'm faced with someone being a complete dipshit.
Brick walls don't give, I swear that I'm surrounded by the thickest, least sharp tools in the shed.

I'm trying with 3/4 of my brain tied behind my back and I still outperform you.

That is so sad, and you're gonna be completely screwed when I leave.

Oh, and THIS

Good Enough

My daily efforts are a study in Good Enoughs.
Appearance in the morning? I shrug and say, Good Enough.
My reaction to work stress? Couple my already irritable nature with some serious hormones and if I don't cry, if I don't burst blood vessels in my eyes and if I don't break out into a furious sweat? Good Enough.

Work product.....well, I've been doing "good enoughs" for many a year now. What is astounding to me is that no one has noticed (not so they'd comment, at least) on the fact that I care so much less these days and I go above and beyond just about not at all anymore.

I got rebuked about my absence from posting, so obviously that is not good enough.

My (in)ability to quit smoking? Not good enough.
Exercising consisting of walking to the refrigerator or snack drawer? Not good enough.

I haven't packed - closing date is July 18th, we have a signed agreement, yah!!
I don't know where we're going, the escrow papers asked for a forwarding address today and it sent me into a panic.
What's the abbreviation for 1265 Nowhere To Go Street, Hyperventilating, CA?

I'm reading books like they're blood transfusions. I need to swarm my thoughts with the polished prose of others, calm me down. I don't do anything because the very act of starting something makes my throat constrict and my chest start to heave, because where do I start? How will I ever finish, where am I going to go? How do you fix a leaking instahot and how are we going to drive three cats for two days down to California when Lucy screams in the car unless I let her on my lap.

I remember moving from San Diego to Los Angeles. My ex-husband wouldn't let Lucy sit on my lap, and she cried and the drugs made her third eyelid stay permanently halfway over the surface of her eyes. She stumbled and fell, drugged but frantic, trying to get to me. I finally snapped at him, as he pulled her wailing away from me to just let go of her. Take your hands off of her. He let her go and she curled on my lap and passed out, exhausted. She didn't make a peep for the three hour drive. Because have you ever noticed that unless it is 2 in the morning, the trip from San Diego to LA takes forever and the traffic is miserable?

I found a photo album of my first year in college when I was home in Ohio this past weekend. I had forgotten so much about that year, but what I felt when I looked at the pictures was the PROMISE I felt that whole year. The sun and the ocean and the music and the people and the youth!

And inevitably I screwed up opportunities, I chose poorly and boxed myself into places that make my skin itch and my histamines freak, and now here I am, four months pregnant and nowhere to go and not sure if I'll have a job in a month.

Because being pregnant for the first time wasn't enough to think about. Not nearly enough to worry about.

Forgive Me

I sit down almost daily to write something to you, but I agonize over what I would say.

There is a lot going on, and I'm nervous and stressed out, although all of it is joyful.

We are going home to my family's house in Ohio next week. That always brings forth great stories.

If I can break this strangling writer's block sooner, I will tell you how I feel about:

1. The offer that we signed on our house. Once they accept, we will leave on July 18th.
2. The widget that continually shows me my baby looks like a baby, we're having a baby, oh my god I am so unprepared!!
3. Finally leaving the job that has made me miserable for over three years. The joy that threatens to pour out of me sometimes is incalculable.
4. My recent distaste with the pretentiousness that is NPR. That is Celebrity Gossip, that is almost everything around me.
5. How much I hate Hillary and wish she would go away and never come back. As a side note to that, how much I resent being lumped in to her supporters, just by being a woman. She does not speak for me. She never carried my vote.
6. The fact that making a list seems to have helped my writer's block. Hmm. Interesting stuff.

Now, off to make breakfast and pounce on my sleeping, darling husband!!!!

For Your Consideration

I have eaten almost one loaf of sourdough wheat bread in three days.

Toasted.

Hello, my name is Salome and I am a sourdoughaholic. With Hummus.

Gag

I had a wretched moment of GAG this morning.
I was barreling down the street, merrily barreling, as you do, when I saw a crow plucking at something. I figured it was some of the fast food trash that the fast living trash in the neighborhood eats and then promptly throws on the ground, preventing good upstanding citizens like the Pope and myself from SELLING THE GODDAMNED HOUSE, so I didn't think much of it at first.

As I drew closer, however, I realized that the crow was beak-plucking the dessicated, destroyed, bloody area where the head of a now dead mouse had been.

A crow was eating the head of a dead mouse.

I haven't previously thought much of crows, I find them to be thuggish and ugly, and their caw sounds too much like arrogant bitching for me to find it charming on a Saturday afternoon. But THIS. THIS is a reason to buy a BB gun.

Who knows when they will graduate from mouse to cat? And when that happens? War will be declared between Salome and Crows.

I will murder them in murders.
Mwah.

LOOKIT

How PERFECT is this??? On sale at Fred Meyer today!

Also on sale, and conveniently, because that is EXACTLY what I stopped for:



Ask the Pope, we totally stopped for Milk Duds!!!

10 am

I wake up at 10am regularly now (on the weekends).

If my life were a movie, this time would be a portentous sign that something truly awful had happened at this time, and only I can find out what it was.  

But alas, the only ominous thing about 10 am appears to be that it is time to pee and I need to eat something.  

In other news, I'm dreaming again.  I haven't been dreaming since I found out I was pregnant.  I'll spare you the details of my dream, but suffice it to say that if I ever find myself with my closest friends in a sex club/casino, I will feel a strong sense of deja vu.  Oh, and I will know exactly what promotional material from Lindsay Lohan's early career will make great collectors items.  

I bought a toaster yesterday.  It has been approximately 5 years since I have had one.  I'm serious!  You can ask SK and CLP, who made toast for 7 using a baking sheet in the oven!!!   I finally got tired of flipping bread and standing by the oven while it broiled.  I bought it yesterday and today, I have toasted and it is everything I remembered and more.  Watch my bread intake skyrocket and remind me why I haven't had one in years.

We have located many many areas that were peed on by the errant cat.  We discovered who it was, too.   A feral boy in the neighborhood apparently decreed that this was his house, came in through cat door one work day and sprayed several places in every room.  You can mostly find them by scooting along like a bloodhound and sniffing corners, or objects with corners.  We are enzyming them as we see them, to eradicate the smell.  Even outside, where he marked the actual house.  Hoo.   I tell you, if I get my hands on him, I'm going to ensure that little fucker never pees again.   If you know what I mean.   

This spring we have experienced a weed explosion the likes of which I've never seen.  Every spring dawns anew with weeds, but this year it is exponentially worse.  I think back on our first year here and how I wanted natural remedies to everything.....because mah kitties were going to be outside and I needed to protect their delicateness!!  Mah babies!  

This year I am so tired and there are so many more that I find myself online looking for residential-grade napalm.   I bought concentrated Round-Up and mixed it in a deck sprayer and sprayed areas vigorously.  I don't even care if PLANTS DIE, because I get tired of them, mostly, after I plant them.  I should be a landscape designer, because I love to select and plant them, and then wait one year to their next active stage (i.e. flowering) and then ......I'm done.  Ready to change it about.  

Tired

I'm very tired.  

Not tired enough to get off the couch where I obsessively watch episodes of Bridezilla (who ARE these people who act like this?  I fear Middle America will eat itself) or Jon & Kate Plus 8.  I now know all the kids by sight, or voice.  I think they're adorable.  Cara, Leah and Aaden are my favorites.  

I'm too tired to do anything at work.  Or is it ennui?  Probably a serious case of pregnancy ennui with regards to work.  I'm having a baby, so I don't care that the locker rooms are out of towels or that you lost your third quarter in a row in the tampon dispensers and now you are so pissed that you are going to send me a snotty email, railing about a building that has the temerity to charge 25 cents for low-quality tampons that should be free.  Hey, try remembering to carry some in your purse!  That's what I would do.  

And let me let you in on a tiiiiiiny secret.  The building is made of concrete and steel.  It doesn't think, it doesn't feel, and it doesn't go out of its way to make your existence miserable.  But I do, so be careful about the tone of the emails you send to me.  

Well, we had some banner weather in Seattle over the weekend.  88 degrees on Saturday!  Woo!  No air-conditioning and a resident who hates all noise and general sounds of other people's joy....not so woo.  

I had to walk to pick up the ever-failing car.  It was probably just under a mile from our house, mostly downhill.  I stepped outside the house and immediately had to pee.  I went back into the house, peed and then retraced my steps.  I got about halfway out of our street before I had to pee again.  Sure it was just the phantom pregnancy urge, I kept walking.  I was almost in tears by the time I got to the auto-dealership, every step threatened to force me onto the side of the road with a small weed for privacy and a couple of poison-ivy leaves as toilet paper.  

I have now been stone sober for over two months.  I have just one thing to say:  it is seriously overrated.  

URGENT LETTER

DEAR GODDAMNED CATS:

Now is NOT the time to start marking the bedspread and bedskirt.

And somewhere in the living room, although we do not know exactly where.

For fuck's sake, we ARE TRYING TO SELL THE HOUSE!  

Urine in the proper place is appreciated during this important time.

I swear to God, when I find out who is doing this, I am going to take you into the backyard and pee all over you.  

YOU THINK I WON'T?

Mom

Letters Letters Letters

Dear People Who Are Looking At Our House,

Buy our house.  Please?  Please buy our house. 

All the neighbors are being quiet.  Nice of them.  Of course, I'll egg their house if they aren't, but in general, everyone is behaving themselves.  Like they do, you know, until you buy the house, move in and find that they blast their oldies rock station over the sound their lawnmower and/or bitch at you the first day you're moving in because you parked in front of the mailbox.  Because the moving truck was in your driveway.  And it was a Sunday.  And you're right that I could block the mailman.  Who delivers on a Sunday.  In an alternate universe. Take a chill pill, Terry, fergodsake.  

Anyhoo, where were we?  Oh Yes!  Buy our house.  Please?  Please buy our house.

I am Tired of Making the Bed,

Salome

Dear Constipation,

Ohhh my gosh you are killing me.  KILLING ME.  You will be the death of me.  In a relatively easy early pregnancy, the fact that I cannot go to the bathroom is making me want to lie down on the floor and cry.  Metamucil (tastes like Tang!) doesn't seem to work.  The Feast, which I once memorably blogged about, also doesn't work.  Nothing works.  I've been warned not to strain, for fear of the grapes, but it is hard not to!  When you finally lose your patience after 5 straight days of ABSOLUTELY NO ACTION HAPPENING and you feel like you've eaten two beachballs for dinner when in reality you ate the spiciest thing you could find in the hopes of manufacturing Montezuma's revenge, sometimes you have to just sit there and strain and make all kinds of Cinemax noises and finally pass something that looks like an inch of concrete.   And it makes your whole day.

Chronically Over-sharing,

Salome

Dear Library Books,

Please take yourselves back, you weren't any good.

Disdainfully,

Salome

Boobs, Glorious Boobs

A couple people have asked how I'm feeling.
I'm actually feeling pretty much fine. I experienced early nausea, which prompted us buying the test, which gave us the news, which caused me to feel every first trimester symptom in a matter of three days. And then I came to my senses and realized that I feel mostly fine.

By all accounts I am in my 6th week.
I have low to mid-grade nausea, exacerbated if I don't eat frequently.
And if I skip breakfast for any ill-advised reason, the nausea swells up and lasts throughout the day.

Vernor's soda is my friend.
I need to eat frequently. Tiny portions, because I feel full almost instantly.
My boobs, which have been the bane of my existence, are now these gorgeous globes.
They are also about 92 degrees each, they weigh 7 pounds each and they are so exquisitely sensitive that if anyone but me touches them, I'm liable to smack the person. Taking off my bra at the end of the day causes me to wince. Rolling over onto my boobs causes me to wince. Hugging someone causes me to wince. Forget about the cats climbing all over me, the agony would be impenetrable.

I am easily distracted, if I get mad I get rushingly, staggeringly mad, with crescendos of blood pounding in my ears and the precipice of tears rushes on me suddenly. I haven't gotten sad, but if I'm touched or heartwarmed over something, I could just about sob about it. I watched a Baby Story on TLC this afternoon and welled up with tears over how cute a couple's four year old son looked, sleeping. It is goofy and silly.

Today I put on an empire waist blouse and turned to leave the bedroom. I caught myself in the mirror and had to change, it would have given me away completely. Funny how when your uterus expands to the size of a plum, all that excess fat I've been snuggling it with makes me look like I'm 4 months pregnant.

I am most definitely pregnant with the Pope's child, because I crave chocolate, I salivate over chocolate, and as many of you know me well will remember, I'm not actually all that crazy about chocolate, but it is the Pope's favorite sweet.

So far the only thing making me feel sick is the damn candle in the bedroom. I need to throw that thing out.

I wake up like clockwork at 3am to pee. I am a frequent pee-er, but I have almost always slept through the night about it.
I am actually noticing a fair decrease in my trips to the restroom to pee.

So that is how I'm feeling.
And then I'm feeling the other things, harder to describe. Like I want to hold this baby tomorrow! I want to meet this baby in 5 minutes. I want to tell it how much I love it already. How much we hoped for it, how happy its dad and I are that it decided to come to us. How much fun we're going to have, what laughter, love and joy we want to show it, how excited we are to meet this little person created out of the best things of both of us.

At least we hope it gets the best of both of us. I flunked the genetic roulette with my parents, getting none of my mother's slender limbs, lightning metabolism and placid demeanor, getting most of my father's ass, bad skin and frighteningly nasty temper.

Dear pup, please concentrate on the chromosomes carrying your father's calm demeanor. Please get his long, skinny legs, and his thick curly hair. But I hope you reserve some of your mom's for a chance at blue eyes and the ability to raise some serious hell when and if life warrants it.

Cat Saga (Part Boring of 1 Trillion Parts)

Leo has definitely sensed that there's a little kitty in the oven. He is very attentive. Must be on my lap. Must snuggle lovingly whenever I sit down. Stray, (she who was named Cleo but is now called Sheba) stomps flatfooted around the house. She stands, and I swear she is duck-footed. The CUTEST. It is just the cutest. She chirps and squeaks at us throatily. She's a DARLING.


Lucy missed all indicators, then must have suddenly felt left out. Now she's dragging her baby (a ripped up stuffed rainbow mouse-thing whose sticker eyes are hanging on by a thread, she has had it since I adopted her, 8 years ago) around the house and mournfully calls us to it. This mouse she alternately bites, places gently by her bed, leaves next to the food bowl, and once, memorably and instantly washed, in the litterbox.

Wasn't as funny as the time Finny dragged a magazine into the litter box, then looked up startled, while I gasped with laughter in the doorway, but still, touching that Lucy wanted to teach her baby good manners.

All she really wants you to do (I think) is come up to her and ask her how her baby is. She will look up at you with these sad eyes and if you pet the baby then she seems to be ok. She will happily come with you and curl into your legs to sleep.

I find myself most mornings with at least one of the cats snuggled up to me.
This is different in no way than usual, I'm a cat magnet while sleeping, but I'm more touched when I wake up.

The Pope says I'm way more mellow, too. I hope to keep that with me. He says I'm definitely driving differently, although I reached over him and honked in frustration while he was driving today, and that is way not mellow. ;)

It is early to tell anyone yet, but I would sit down to blog with this huge, happy elephant hanging over me, and everything else just paled in comparison to what I want to talk about.

A Baby Shark is Called a Pup

As some of you may know, the Pope and I long for a child.
We have been trying, on and off, since January 2007.

We have both long held fears and suspicions that some vital part of our bodies wasn't working.
We've spent our lives being afraid of contraception failing, fear of unplanned parenthood.

Then you try to get pregnant and you realize that there are only about 3 days a month that it is likely.
And even then, you could try for months and months and months and months without ignite.

So much to our wondrous relief, much to our teary heart's desires, it is with great joy and pleasure that we announce the existence of our little Pup, due December 15th of this year.

Thank you God and all our loved ones in the heavens, for allowing this miracle to happen for us.

Love,
MamaSal and DaddyPope

He Was So Proud

This weekend the Pope bought himself a straight razor.
He tried it out Saturday morning:

He walked out of the back of the house to where I was on the phone with ScaredMamaBear and asked how he looked.


He looked like he'd been on the receiving end of a weedwhacker kiss.
For the rest of the day he said people looked at him funny.
He would say, "you should see the CAT!"

This man cracks me up. I love him to bits.

ScaredMamaBear doesn't write very often (she's got two wee boys) but when she does, it is worth reading. Check her out when you have the time.

By the way.......I am to call Santa Fe at 8:30 tomorrow morning, and I've got two more calls tomorrow regarding what San Jose can offer me. Or what I can offer them.

Believe me when I say that all our prayers got stuck in a queue somewhere.
They're being answered, one by one by one by one.

Unbelievable

I have suffered from chronic hives for over a year.  A powerful prescription antihistamine taken every night keeps them in check, but I have been very frustrated, wondering what was making my body crazy.

I AM ALLERGIC TO CATS.

AND DOGS.

AND DUST MITES.  (like really seriously allergic, my arm wealed up in linear welts at the dust mite test).

AND GRASS.

AND WEEDS.

AND......slightly......to peanuts and shellfish.

I have been lying about being allergic to shellfish ever since I was a kid, because I hate the taste of it.  But now it has been confirmed.

I was in an impotent itching furiousness, waiting for little dots of oil pricked into my skin to show some action.  Then four did, and the itching started.  Then six more picked up.  Then the dust mites exploded in welts and weals all over my arm.  

They had told me to stop taking my RX at least three days before my appointment, so I was primed for a fit anyway.  The tests got my arms itching, which made my right shin itch, which made my right armpit, side of the next, inner ear and left palm itch, and from there, my whole body inflamed.  

That is what a fit of chronic hives feels like.  And if you scratch any of these above itches, they all of a sudden feel like bees stinging you, they itch so furiously.

Sigh.

I have a new prescription and some tips to keep the allergens at bay in my house.

Lucy not supposed to sleep with me at night, but she makes me so happy when she does that, I don't have the heart to stop her.

We'll have to get used to taking these pills.

You Have To Understand The Way I Am

We went and saw Cabaret tonight.  MY SECOND FAVORITE MUSICAL EVER.

First is Evita.  Thank my parents for playing showtunes when I was a kid.

We are a theatre loving family.

Except maybe my brother, but he has good taste in music, so we let him stay.

I once saw my very reserved brother sing along to Grease with a wooden spatula as a mic.

He was very good.  It was Greased Lightning, in case you were wondering.

We heard today from our broker that the people that toured our house today are interested and with a few questions answered, will most likely make an offer.

And that's great, but with so much in arms, where will we go?

We also:  bought a $400 vacuum.   We are thrilled beyond measure, and thus our decline into boring adults has been consummated.   AARP membership, NEXT!  Woo.  Deals at Denny and our own special menu.  This one is a DYSON.  It is the ANIMAL model.  Made for us.

We found a breakfast place today that reminded me of Sacramento.  

But without my family, it was no match.  :(  

Plus my potatoes were cold and not thoroughly cooked and the hollandaise sauce wasn't lemony enough.  Or buttery enough.  If you screw up both, it is basically just yellow gravy, isn't it?

Tomorrow I'm going to see that psychic that last year told me I am God's best friend.  She told me that my friends considered me to be like Gandhi or Mother Teresa.  And, have you ever met me?  

Obviously she's insane, but there's something about her that tells me she knows something.

And there's something about the current level of unsettledness in my life that tells me I'll go to anyone, I'll pay them anything.....

Just tell me what I should do.

Postmodern Life

There was this band I followed during college. They were called Headcase O'Matic.
They were absolutely fantastic. One of their band members played various metal pieces against chainsaws and different instruments, throwing showers of sparks out over the crowds. But it was music, too. The screech and wail of the instrument fit with the songs. Truly they were awesome. You can't find their music online, but if you can, definitely let me know.

One of their members formed a band called The Dont's. They're a SF band, and they have two albums out, both of which are on iTunes. They are also awesome, and I'm a fan.

This is a short post. I'm meeting quota, and telling you what I'm listening to.

April One

Well, I've decided to try and post the entire month of April.

I got word from that awesome, awesome lady CLP that she gets sad when I don 't post, and so.....actually, hang on a second.  I'm going to go call CLP back!

Okay, CLP, you were not answering.  It is, after all, almost 10pm and you're a BANKER.  So probably you are asleep like good bankers are.

I have a letter, one in mind.  I've been working it these last few days, wondering to myself who I would most like to write a letter to.

But.  I am on Weight Watchers and I have had a cosmo.  So I am drunk.  Because apparently, a pack of brussel sprouts and an orange aren't enough food to stave off 4 one-thousand counts of vodka, regardless of how much mix you put in them.  Hee.

I'm in a good mood.  I think this might just work out.  If an opportunity comes along, sobeit.

If one does not, perhaps the intended recipient of my soon-to-be-written letter might come along.  If not, devastation, but perhaps an MFA in creative writing would be in order.  I've always wanted one, you know.

No, you probably don't.  You probably don't know that I've been seriously considering going back to school for a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing.  But I have.

Just for me.  

But perhaps all my unhappy troubles would go away if I were engaged in something that mattered to me.  Perhaps.

'Til Tomorrow,

Salome

Don't You Ever

Today one of the banes of my existence tried to sympathize with me about the last 8 career-flaming months I've just had.

The concern on her face so pronounced that my stomach flipped.

How are you?  she wanted to know.

I said I'm fine, how are you?

I'm great, she said, but I just feel so sorrrrrrrrry for you.

Listen.  I don't need your sympathy.

Don't you ever fucking feel sorry for me.  Don't you fucking dare.

You are about as deep as a puddle on the street and I'm a fucking ocean over here.

I've got life forms no one's ever seen before and I will fucking DROWN you.

At the end of the day, little miss, I'm absolutely fucking amazing, and you are who you are.  SO. DON'T. YOU. EVER. FEEL. SORRY. FOR. ME.

Woah. I Like Me.

You are Strength

Courage, strength, fortitude. Power not arrested in the act of judgement, but passing on to further action, sometimes obstinacy.

This is a card of courage and energy. It represents both the Lion's hot, roaring energy, and the Maiden's steadfast will. The innocent Maiden is unafraid, undaunted, and indomitable. In some cards she opens the lion's mouth, in others she shuts it. Either way, she proves that inner strength is more powerful than raw physical strength. That forces can be controlled and used to score a victory is very close to the message of the Chariot, which might be why, in some decks, it is Justice that is card 8 instead of Strength. With strength you can control not only the situation, but yourself. It is a card about anger and impulse management, about creative answers, leadership and maintaining one's personal honor. It can also stand for a steadfast friend.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Getting an Early Start

April, as I've mentioned, has decided to be themed - Letters. 

Well.  I think I've just seen the Holy Grail.  

I've been known to write a few letters.  If you come across a post that is labeled LETTERS, you can click on it and it will show you everything I've ever labeled that way.  

Now, to flex my correspondence skills, I will write to someone who has an apology coming his way....

Dear Leo,

Oh, my boy.  Oh, little buddha bear.  We are so so sorry that you've got such a burdened life.  We both know that the only thing you need is your dad to hold you, and your mom to remember to give you the wet food every night.  That and the top of a couch in the sun is all you've ever asked for in life.  And then we introduce you to Lucy, and boy, are we sorry about that.  If cats could go to therapy, we know Lucy would be a test case for aggression.  She's a raving lunatic, and this we know, and we apologize for bringing her into your life.  Mom is sorry, because I'm sure you know that Lucy goes wherever Mom goes.  

Then we get you the Prozac.  We did this because you were peeing in the dirty laundry, and do not think that it escaped Mom's notice that you never peed in the clean.  There was that one time you peed on the bathmat, but I think the exits were blocked and I can't tell you how much I loved you for your sensitivity and your highly developed sense of what is easily laundered.  You are a champ.  You make do with what you have, and you try not to be a bother.  

And you're such a good boy with the Prozac.  You take the pills like a champ, you eschewed the chicken-flavored liquid, but even in that you were a gentleman.  You did not swing your head side-to-side while making a noise like something dying, which is what Lucy did.  Did you see her with full claws a-blazing, shredding mom and dad while she sprayed us with chicken-flavored liquid Prozac?  

I'm sure you didn't, honey.  You would have been aghast. 

What I want to apologize for, dear boy, is that your dad and I have been forgetting who is supposed to be giving you the Prozac, now that we have the treats we can slip the pills into.  And as a result, we've determined that you were double-dosed at least three times last week.  And still, you are alive and there was no drooling.

We celebrate the fact of you, Leo.  We love you dearly, we love you within an inch of your hyperesthetic life, and we would be lost without you.  Your dad named you from a Shakespeare play, Leontes, and you are the gentleman he was imagining.

Peace and much affection,

Mom