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