Does Anyone in America Agree With Me?

I have a few confessions to make.

I liked the new Harry Potter movie. I really did. Maybe more than any of the other movies. It's a movie made for fans. My husband has not read the books and he had like a billion questions at the end of the movie because he just didn't get many of the important plot points. I like that. He should have to read the books.

I recently read Some Girls: My Life in a Harem by Jillian Lauren and I know I shouldn't do it, but I got really pissed off, yet again, by reading a book in which the narrator does something morally repugnant to me and I desperately attempt to find the motivation of why a sweet suburban child ends up as a sex worker/drug addict/general asshole (see Candy Girl and Orange is the New Black) and the motivation is nowhere to be found and then I get pissed. I'm always really interested in the logistics of becoming a sex worker, but I think I have to stop reading this genre of literature because it's driving me insane.

Today I had an entire two hours to myself, alone in our apartment, and I did not work out, as I probably should have. Instead I played Word Bubbles and reread a trashy J. D. Robb novel. While I was reading, I was halfheartedly coming up with plot ideas for new books that would enliven the series, including having a book written from Roarke's point of view, killing Roarke (it's a dream of mine - I really kind of hate that character), and sending Roarke off planet for an entire novel so Eve actually has to solve a case on her own like in the good old days of the series. Anyone in the Robb camp listening to me? I'm giving you ideas here for free!!

It was below zero today and I still haven't taken my winter coat out of storage. Since tomorrow it will officially be December, maybe I should get my lazy ass down to the storage unit to do so.

Freak Outs and Freaks Ins

Several Thanksgiving Days ago, I broke the toilet in the upstairs bathroom at my future inlaws' house. I crept down the stairs, whispered into my now husband's ear that THERE WAS AN EMERGENCY upstairs. I'm not sure, exactly, what he thought it was that was THE EMERGENCY, but he promptly went upstairs and as I told him the story, he laughed, told me he could fix it, and sent me back downstairs so people wouldn't think we were engaging in hanky panky on the upper level of the house. Long story short(er) he couldn't fix it, my future FIL was called in, a part needed to be procured from Menards ON THANKSGIVING DAY, and I was forever the girl who broke the toilet on Thanksgiving until I was the girl who didn't invite children to her wedding until I was the girl who was Baby O's godmother.

Then on Thursday I became the girl who broke the chair when she came back to the table with a second plate of deliciousness.

I'm never going to Iowa again for Thanksgiving.

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I woke up Thursday night in a panic, screaming. The boy managed to calm me down before I woke up the neighborhood, but here's the deal, there's too much going on right now. I handle it fine when I'm awake and I can joke the shadows away, but the way things are going right now, it will be a small miracle if I have a nightmare free night before next June. And then things will inevitably take another turn for the ridiculous.

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I don't talk much about my husband's health here. It's not my story to tell. But the variety of diagnoses and medicines the poor man deals with on a daily basis are enough to make any sane person's head spin.

In early 2009, we went to the Mayo Clinic for some workups on my husband. The news that came out of it was not great, but not awful. But now everything is wrong. He is a walking skeleton, a bundle of nerves, and his immune system is not serving him well. He tells me not to worry. He tells me that he will deal with this, as he has dealt with it in the past.

I am scared.

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My sister-in-law and brother-in-law really want a baby. They have their names down on lists for several adoption agencies. She is on all kinds of fertility drugs. The fertility drugs are not interacting well with her diabetes medications and her insulin levels are up and down and up and down in no recognizable pattern. She wants a baby so badly she is quite possibly killing herself.

I am scared.

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Baby K is eighteen months old. She can not sit up by herself. She can walk for small stretches at a time using the most adorable baby walker you've ever seen. Contrasted with her brother (20 minutes older) and her younger cousin (three months younger) who are running around unsteadily on their little toddler legs, she is less strong, less coordinated, and less motivated to move.

They throw around terms - cerebral palsy, neurological damage, and delayed motor function - as if we know what they mean for our little girl. Would we change her treatment? Should we do something different?

I am scared.

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It was a fun Thanksgiving. The food was great. Our nieces and nephews were hilarious and made us laugh until our sides hurt. But now that I'm home and I'm processing all of this, I don't know what to do. Or what to say.

I am thankful for my life. I am thankful for my family. I am thankful that tomorrow we will all get up and do this again.

Deep and Meaningful or I Fucking Hate Best Buy

The biggest consumer purchases I have ever made are my laptop and my bicycle.

So when our television set, a high school graduation present to my husband, began flickering and throbbing, we knew it was only a matter of time before a new television would have to be purchased. So one Sunday afternoon, I was getting really upset because I wanted to know the score to the stupid Lions game, but our television set was throbby, throbby, throbby, and let's not even talk about how since we had an old skool television set without HD or widescreen, the scores were cut off anyway, and I blew. I turned off the television, turned to my husband, and told him we were going to Best Buy and buying a new television.

And we did. We'd been doing research for approximately eighty bazillion months and we knew what we wanted and we went in there and we purchased a television set.

As I was digging through my purse, attempting to find my wallet to pay, the cashier was babbling on about extended warranties, and Dr. BB was systematically shooting her down, I felt a wrenching in my gut. A little piece of me, the piece that is sort of proud at how frugally and debt free we live, just broke off.

(Tangentially related: I fucking hate Best Buy. The television we purchased has a manufacturer's one year warranty. The cashier asked us to buy a two year warranty. We declined, saying that catastrophic failure would likely occur during the one year period. She then proceeded to say that was true for some products, but not always and then she nodded at the box holding the television we were purchasing!! I stared at her and said, "Do you know something about this television?" She merely responded that she had training about the electronics they sell. I pushed. "So you are telling me that this item is going to catastrophically fail within two years?" "No, no," she said, slowly, as if I were an idiot. "Then why do we need it?" Anyway, Best Buy is for suckers. Next time I buy a big electronic item, let's say approximately two decades from now, we're going to Target.)

Friday we're going car shopping. Our pickup truck, Monster, is ridiculous for the city. Dr. BB is going to be commuting 80 miles a day soon and Monster, while he is reliable and cheap to maintain, is killing us in gas and driveability, a fancy way of saying that Monster tends to fishtail like mad when there is so much as a trace of snow on the ground and it snowed eight inches on Saturday and...well, let's just say that while I survived Saturday, my trust in Monster did not.

I find myself wondering 1) if anyone will give the two of us with our spotty employment histories a car loan and 2) what it will be like to drive a car for the first time in my driving life. And also? How much of my soul will be lying in a showroom floor when we commit to a car payment each month?

It's Clear We're From the Midwest, Isn't It?

It was quick. We were in California for barely 48 hours and a good four of those hours were traveling to and from the Burbank airport and LAX. But we didn't waste those hours, oh no. We went to a wedding, we went to the beach, we walked the pier and the promenade in Santa Monica, and we went to Trader Joe's and Von's to get food approximately ten times. Thank goodness we had a full kitchen in our hotel room.

Differences between our friends the Californians and us, the loud and proud Midwesterners:
1) We had jackets (and hats and scarves).
2) We failed to bring sunscreen to the wedding, assuming, naturally, that the wedding would be indoors because it is freaking November. Someone has a red neck.
3) I was interested in the Lions score and he was interested in the Bears score. They cared about the Chargers (seriously, the Chargers have fans?!).
4) I had no idea those plants were called "succulents" and that there were entire gardens devoted to them.
5) We stared in amazement at the cheap price of avocados, but recoiled because the price of a carton of yogurt is 25 cents more expensive there! Seriously, grocery shopping almost caused our heads to explode.

November! It's November! How decadent to be outside in a dress with no hose in November!!



The one on the left is Phoby. The one on the right is Chubby. If you travel with mini plants, be prepared to leave yourself plenty of time to get through airport security. And be prepared for those plants to look a bit dilapidated by the time they arrive home.



The mini Polaroids were an inspired idea. I think they got most people, if not everybody, who was present at the wedding. I'm not sure what they're going to do with those pictures, but I contemplated stealing them all!!

Pages, pages, pages

Here are some thoughts on books I've read recently.

I reread the last four books of the Harry Potter series. The books are still genius. I still think Dumbledore was an idiot.

Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb: Riveting. I was spellbound by the world and by the main character. Sometimes I get flack for reading a lot of popular press fiction, but this was good stuff. I read a different Robin Hobb book (Dragon Keeper) that I absolutely loved and I love this one, too. Unfortunately, the waiting list for Hobb books at our library is incredibly long, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to get another one!

Lady Killer by Lisa Scottoline: I had a different Scottoline book on my list of recommended readings, but this was the only one I could actually find in my library. It was fine. It was entertaining and fluffy and fine.

Ruined by Paula Morris: Take one spoiled, entitled rich girl from New York City and place her in a school filled with spoiled, rich girls from New Orleans, and what do you get? A young adult book with annoying, unsympathetic characters! On the bright side, I do feel like I learned a lot about New Orleans. Do I feel like it was worth the knowledge on the Big Easy? Maybe.

Revenge of the Cheerleaders by Janette Rallison: I've read Rallison before, but this book was my better than My Fair Godmother. The characters are all very likable and the situations, while farcical and silly, seemed to make sense. Fun.

Indulgence in Death by JD Robb: It is well documented that I have a total love for the In Death series. But this book is totally phoning it in. It's just Seduction in Death with different names for the characters. Plus, I demand more Mavis. And fewer stupid Ireland bits that have nothing to do with the rest of the novel. I think this is just lazy. Maybe after 30 books, Robb doesn't have any more ideas. That's fine, but she should wrap the series up in a pretty bow and stop getting my hopes up that the books will be awesome as the early books in the series.

There you have it. Read Robin Hobb and Janette Rallison.

Up next on my list, I have The Eight, Freakanomics (don't ask), and, in honor of Elizabeth, I've put Finnikin of the Rock back on my list. Reviews will be forthcoming. Eventually.

Letters to Loved Ones

Dear Dr. BB,
I wish I had know when we started dating, oh those many years ago, that we would end up married. I would have totally given you a better blog name. Hell, if I'd know I'd still be here doing this so many years later, I might have given myself a better blog name, too.

You know that sometimes you drive me crazy, right? Like how you don't shut up about how I tailgate when I'm driving. See, when you drive, you can leave as much space as you want between you and the car in front of you so that other idiot drivers can cut in front of you, but I like it better to know that I'm in charge of who gets to move over. Also, I'm not particularly fond of the way you consistently beat me at Wii Skateboard Arena when you don't practice. Plus, your allegiance to the Chicago Bears is BEYOND frustrating, but what can you do?

But on the whole, I like you a lot. I think you are hilarious. You are constantly making jokes using puns just to watch me laugh. You refer to the pun as the lowest form of humor, but I know that you think it's funny that I think you're so funny. I also think you're brilliant. You're not just smart, you know. I like to think I'm smart, but you - you are brilliant. Your mind is always working, crafting arguments, and winning battles against the other voices in your head. I would like to spend about 12 hours in your head, preferably the waking hours, to see just what's happening up there and how all the knowledge is crammed up there.

So sometimes, I get a little snappy with you. It's not really your fault. It's mine. I love you. You are my best friend, my favorite person in the world, and the person I want to be around the most. Please bear with me as I learn to be as levelheaded and emotionally stable as you are.

Love,
Your Wife

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Dear Hester,
Last month I thought you were never going to talk to me again. I was irritable and grouchy for too long until I figured out exactly what had gone wrong. It was a misunderstanding, a strange misunderstanding from my point of view, but at times I forget. I forget that sometimes, most of times even, I don't understand you. You and I are so different, so far apart in how we approach our lives, our emotional entanglements, and our dreams, that when something happens, we react in such different ways it astounds me. But, and this is an important but, I can't imagine my life without you in it. While I don't always understand you, I do know that I don't deserve to have the opportunity to try to figure it out. You keep people so far away, even I know only a small fraction of your secrets, that I feel honored to be in the small circle of friends you do keep. I don't know what I've done to earn this honor, but I'm grateful for whatever it may be.

It was warning to me, those two days last month when you cut off contact and I didn't know what was going on. Friendship is only as good as the effort. I'm sorry that sometimes I fail to make those phone calls, send those cards, or check your Facebook page. I want you to know that you are a priority to me, one of the great loves of my life, and the Bestest Friend a girl could ask to have.

Love,
Dommiwoo

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Dear LDJ,
I watched Dr. BB play Mario Brothers on the Wii today. He questioned me, asking me to explain my fascination with watching others play video games. I tried to explain - I am so bad at it, it makes me nervous to play myself, but I admire the skill it takes to be good - a list of excuses that could fill up this screen. In the end I stopped talking. I mumbled to myself, "It's all LDJ's fault." It is your fault, you know. I think of watching others play video games as a comfort, a time to spend time with people you care about, a joy.

Sometimes, perhaps more than with most people, I feel like I'm letting you down. I don't call enough, I don't DO enough, I am not enough. I'm sorry for all of that. But you should know, I do not take it for granted that I can call you at any time and bitch about anything - politics, family, books, or the smelly guy on the bus that tried to hit on me. Thank you for your patience. You really could get a better friend, I bet. I probably shouldn't tell you that so you don't go dumping me for someone better. But, really, you're special, you're worthy, and you're important. As soon as you realize that, and I hope you do soon, you're going to be on your way to everything you ever dreamed of.

Love,
That Girl Who Used to Drool on Your Pillowcase

In Which I List Children's Movies

In college, I took this geology class that sounded cool at the time of registration (titled Time, Life, and Man - doesn't that sound cool?), but turned out to be, you know, a geology class. While I can now appreciate the beauty of a nautilus fossil, this class was not exactly riveting. I found it entertaining to flirt with the guy who sat next to me, a former Army soldier who would make random animals out of origami and then pass them over to me. By the end of the semester, I had a veritable zoo on my desk in my dorm room. But then there were the days when the professor would turn down the lights and show film clips. ARGH!! NO!!! (Insert image of undergrad NGS sleeping in a giant lecture hall, drool crusting on her lips...)

I have a pedagogical predilection to hate film as a way of teaching. Clips now and again are fine, but whenever I was showing a movie in a class, I was wasting just trying to fill time. And, frankly, that's what I think most teachers do.

But the truth is, I hate watching movies. I love some movies (Babe, Dirty Dancing, and Monsters, Inc. to name a few), but for the most part, movies require more of an attention span that I can really offer. I am, above all else, flighty. My attention span is approximately the size of that of a gnat and sitting still for an hour and a half while images spin past face faster than I can process them is not a good thing in my book.

So when people ask me what my favorite movie is, sometimes I lie and name an acceptable film that would be appropriate for adults to enjoy. But the truth is, I like Babe (yes, the pig movie) the best. It is colorful and the story is simple and honest and it makes me happy.

As long as you don't turn off the lights.