Expired

I did a report today on a man who "expired" at the age of 50. What an odd expression for someone dying. Expired. He was past his date of freshness. It has such a lactose sound to it. Wow--50. And it was unexpected. Massive MI. Harsh. It's always depressing when I get reports like this. Fortunately, they are remarkably infrequent.

Fifty years old does not sound that old to me. I wonder when my date of expiration is... Happy thoughts.

Oh, Angie

Watching a movie last night. Angelina Jolie is so hot. I wonder what it's like to be so hot that men AND women want to screw you. But what's with the cleft in her bottom lip? I sat through the whole movie distracted by this cleft. It's like her bottom lip is SO big, it has cleavage. Has she always had this cleavage? Did she cut her lip or something, some chafing perhaps? I mean, is it cleavage--true cleavage--or just an optical illusion? Huh. Never noticed it before. Lip cleavage. I think I've coined a new term. But will it catch on...?

A Tribute Or Was It An Assassination?

I have a confession: I watched the Tribute to Johnny Cash, a.k.a., An Excuse to Brazenly Promote "I Walk the Line." I couldn't help it. It was like a train wreck, and I couldn't turn away from the bloody gore and wreckage of what was Johnny Cash's music. That and sentimentality. My mom always loved Johnny Cash, as does my brother, so I grew up being forced to listen to his music. (Okay, I admit. Not too long ago I downloaded his song "Hurt," but c'mon, that's a classic.) I didn't actually turn the sound up until Martina McBride showed up on the screen with her skeleton thighs. (My husband said that sounded like a good title for a country song.) She performed a June Carter song (don't ask me which one). It was pleasant, but honestly, you could put a stump on stage and that would be an improvement over the original. When I was but a young girl, I thought June sang with Johnny by default. You know, kind of a Paul/Linda McCartney kind of thing. "Hey, luv, 'ere's an idea. You could get on stage WITH me. It'l be fun. Somethin' we can do as a cuple" (add Liverpool accent). It wasn't until recent years that I found out that June was a "success" long before Johnny came on the scene. Who knew? I mean, the woman barely stayed on pitch. Weird. That's country.

Moving on, they had Kid Rock and Jerry Lee Lewis (who looked barely conscious and like they had to pump him full of steroids and prop him up to perform ) butchering "I Walk the Line."
Next was U2--Bono--need I say more?

Nora Jones performance was very lackluster and monotonous (surprise, surprise), seemingly interminably plodding along until, thankfully, the end. You just wanted to slap her for the newly recovered "country twang" she adopted for the tune. Just sing the damn song. If you're going to add something, add DYNAMICS. SOMETHING! Anything beyond the usual mind-numbing dullness of your usual tripe. And her music is often compared to Billy Holiday and Nina Simone? Yeah, compared and found profoundly lacking. Please. Her name should not be SPOKEN in the same UNIVERSE as Billy Holiday and Nina Simone, much less compared. Oh, and headline "Jerry Lee Lewis stole the show from Norah Jones..." (See above) Nuf said.

Onward and upward: Kris Kristopherson and the Foo Fighters. Now, when I heard Foo Fighters, I must admit, I was a little frightened. But thankfully, they kept their dignity and didn't try to infuse their music genre into the song or do something cutesy with it. One of the few.
I always find these tributes so amusing. Generally, you can translate tribute to mean a slaughtering of the tributee's songs. But I do think there is a lesson to be learned from this travesty:

Rockers/Faux jazzers, leave country music to the people who know it best: Country music performers. They were the only ones that didn't totally slay the tunes.

Another evening well spent.

Alternate Universe

I experienced a Twilight Zone moment today. I took his Royal Highness to the zoo as a reward for not making me want a quick and painless death grocery shopping today. Vaughn wanted to sit to have a snack so we decided to sit at one of the few tables that was in the sun right next to another woman and her son. As we were sitting down, I heard this woman call to her son, and I could have sworn she said "Vaughn." I figured my ears were tricking me, could have been "Ron" after all. I mean, what are the odds?

As we're sitting there, another woman comes up, who obviously was with them. They are chit-chatting asking the little boy what he was going to call this woman. The little boy said what sounded like "Auntie Mimi." Huh?

Then the mother said, "No, you already call A--- Auntie Mimi. This is Amy; what are you going to call her?"

Now, once again, I figured I misheard. Vaughn calls his Aunt Mary, "Auntie Mimi." He came up with it when he just started talking, all on his own mind you. I figured maybe it was just Auntie Amy they were saying and the other woman he calls Auntie Amy, and so, obviously, he must come up with another name for this Amy.

As they're leaving, the little boy is doddling behind, and she calls to him, unmistakably calling him "Vaughn."

What exactly are the odds? Here's this little table. It's an extremely unbusy day at the zoo due to freezing cold, and we just happen to sit beside the one little boy that has an extremely rare name, the same name as my son, and this little boy happens to call his aunt," Auntie Mimi." Bizarre.

Now, Vaughn was the older of the two, so I named him Vaughn FIRST-- nah-nah-nah-nah-nah. I immediately get on the phone with my husband, bemoaning the fact that we went to all this effort to find a unique name that has NEVER been popular, and now I see it popping up everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. Last week it was a character's name on "Cold Case," a YOUNG character.

So, in a panic, I get home and search the Social Security records of names and what do I find? Hmmm? Hmmmm? Vaughn's name has been steadily gaining in popularity since when you ask? Since 2002. How ironic. The year he was born. It's made a huge leap in popularity from just barely making the top 1000 since 1999 to jumping up to 787 in 2004. Now, as my husband says, we're still safe from it being a David name, but how safe and for how long? THAT is the question.
On a different note, are construction signs becoming politically correct now? They now say "No Entry." What? "Keep Out" was too authoritative and offended people who wanted to be able to be flattened by a steamroller or drive their car off a half-built bridge? Ah, the delicateness of the American self-esteem.

Chief Cook and Bottle Washer

So I'm standing in front of the fridge, and I'm thinking: We have nothing good to eat--and I just shopped today. At least when I lived with my parents, I could blame them for never having anything good to eat. Now I have only myself to blame, although not completely. I couldn't help not buying anything good because every time I looked at something remotely scrumptious, I had Martina McBride's thighs floating in front of me, clattering together, scolding me in their bone-clanking fashion to not buy the vodka-filled chocolates.

Space: The Final Frontier

"I hate her."

"You hate who?"

"Martina McBride."

"What?"

"Martina McBride. She's on "The View." I mean, my God, she is 5 months postpartum and she has like 3 inches of space between her legs."

"She has space between her legs?"

"Yeah, you know. When her legs are together you can see through her legs. She has space between her legs. As in: You-could-watch-your-32-inch-TV-between-her-legs space."

"Oh. I guess I never paid attention as to whether women had space between their legs."

"Only the ones who don't eat."

"Huh."

"I mean, 5 months postpartum?! I'm almost 4 YEARS postpartum and rice paper wouldn't fit between my legs. I ADDED 3 inches to my thighs, EACH, when I was pregnant. What?! Did she not gain any weight when she was pregnant? I'm just relieved that the last few months of my pregnancy were in the winter rather than during fire season, there was so much friction. Disgusting. 5 MONTHS POSTPARTUM!!"

"Well, Sweetie, you look good to me."

"Humph. I wonder if Denise Austin has space between her legs."

FGM

Today was a first. I transcribed a report on a woman who, as the doctor so benignly put it, was "circumcised," or had undergone FGM (freakingly gory maleficence or, technically, female genital mutilation).

Now, I've heard of this practice, of course. Who hasn't? But I didn't know, exactly, what this entailed; so, as is my habit, I researched it. Evidently, there are several different forms, graded up to a type IV. The higher the number, the worse the mutilation, essentially. This particular patient is pregnant. Depending on the "form" of her mutilation, the delivery could be very interesting. Humans, man. Sick minds.

My husband was gone last night on a DJ job and Vaughn was up at my parents', so I had a rare blissful evening of solitude. The only thing is every bump, creak, and bang I hear in This Old House gets my heart thumping nearly out of my chest. I was just thinking last night that despite the horror movies, ghost stories, demonic shows I watch/read, the one thing that I find frightening far more than anything else (even if I were to believe that these supernatural things existed) is a human. When you think of all the things that humans are capable of and have thought up to do to one another over all the years that we have existed, THAT is the creepiest horror of them all.

What's In A Name?

There's a little game I call "If I were to have another child" aka "If Hell were to freeze over." One aspect of this game is wondering what we would name this mythical being. I honestly have not come up with a good name for a boy or girl so far (and all things considered, I have spent an inordinate amount of time on this) since I feel we have picked THE perfect name for Vaughn.
There are some self-limiting factors to what type of name it could be. I love one syllable. There are so many trendy two-syllable names among his peers that that is one of the many things that makes his name unique. The problem is so many one-syllable names are so blunt sounding: Blair, Blaine, Blah (that's what they sound like). Unlike Vaughn. Vaughn is like a sigh: Vaauughn.
Also, there is the musical nod to Sarah, inspiration for Vaughn's name. It's difficult to come up with other jazz musicians' names that (a) aren't already popular--Ella, (b) too obvious--Coltrane, (c) too ordinary---Charlie, (d) too odd---Dizzy. Although that last one might be kind of fun, except that I just remembered Bob the Builder's cement mixer's name is Dizzy.

And then there is the most important: Unpopular. It has to be a name that has never even glimpsed the 1000 Most Popular Names list. I once got a book called something like "Unique Baby Names." It was research for my "If I were to have another baby" game. (I told you I've spent a lot of time on this.) They had names that are hip or so uncool they're hip, like Homer. (Sorry, but this still does not seem hip to me.) There was also a section about names that are uncool and will NEVER be hip and are only fitting people over 90. Vaughn was in this category. Humph. Well, he will be 90 someday, God willing.

Sensitivity Training for Preschoolers

After losing a ridiculous amount of sleep and suffering much anxiety over this whole unwanted affection business, the day was coming when Vaughn would have to return to his preschool after my having "talked to him." I talked this thing to death with every friend and family member I could find, alienated one of them (The Analyst), and did hours of research on the Internet trying to find where someone else was having this problem with their child or where this was a normal "phase" for 3-year-olds to go through.

The Plan: After much ruminating, we decided we would focus on the issue of Vaughn not listening and doing as asked, rather than the actual hugging itself. I plotted a whole puppet show for him with some of his favorite puppets (why didn't Mr. Rogers ever address this?) as a way of introducing the subject. I don't really know how effective this was since every 2 minutes (of an overly long play. I get caught up) he would come over to the puppets and want to introduce them to another stuffed animal or talk to them about his Legos.

The Play: Porky, the porcupine, likes to give hugs, but Kitty, the kitty, doesn't like hugs. Teacher Ella, the elephant, explains to Porky that not everyone likes hugs, just like there are some things that Porky might not like. As it turns out, Porky is afraid of ghosts. Teacher Ella asks Porky how he would feel if someone dressed up as a ghost and was always scaring him (at which time Vaughn missed the whole point and proceeded to "Boo" Porky. Not boo, as in bad performance, but boo as in scare, although either probably would have applied). Porky agreed that he would not like this. Teacher Ella explained that some people think it's fun to scare other people, and how would Porky feel if he asked the person to stop scaring him, but the person continued because they were having fun? Porky said he would not like this, and he now understood why Kitty gets upset when he hugs her, and she doesn't like it.

I really think this has potential and could be made into a TV movie, or at the very least a corporate movie for sensitivity training. It's a thought.

In the end, I explained to him that he needed to ask the huggee if he could hug them first, and if they said no, he was to not hug them. If he didn't ask or hugged when asked not to hug, the teacher would put him on the time-out chair to help remind him. The look on his face crushed my heart, and when I was leaving him for preschool, I felt like I was handing my lamb over to the slaughter.

Needless to say, as with most things, I overblow and overanticipate the outcome. He was fine. He has now gone through two days of preschool without ever being on the time-out chair and asks to hug. I'm sure this will still require me to go through the whole "what-do-we-do-before-we-hug" speech, but he seems to be fine with the whole thing, and I have significantly calmed down over the whole issue. Another crisis averted.

Won't You Be My Friend?

I have observed that finding a friend is very similar to dating and actually harder. Now that I'm a mommy, my friend requirements have somewhat changed. It's easier to keep up relationships with other mommies than with prior friends without children. This way your time is double duty. You get a play date for your child, and you get to visit with an adult you, hopefully, enjoy spending time with. At least that's the goal. Unfortunately, it rarely turns out this way.
I had a friend once tell me that it was best to pick friends for your child while you could (in other words, children with parents you like spending time with) before they start picking their own friends, and consequently, you're stuck with those friends' parents.

My son's taste in friends is relatively vast at this point: Basically, any one that is breathing and will pay attention to him. Sometimes he just settles for the breathing part. Therefore, I still have this window of opportunity to pick his playmates, as well as mine. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done, being that I am not the most outgoing of people.

Getting back to the dating similarities, I've met mommies who picked me up, as it were, that are fun to be around but aren't particularly deep friendship material. Conversations revolve still around superficial matters and our kids, of course, and we've know each other for over a year now. We have nothing in common but our kids.

On the other hand, I've met mommies who I'm interested in, but it's like the good-looking guy who doesn't know you exist and you're the fat pimply girl who tries to make conversation with him when you can. "Hey! How's it going? Um, are you going to the Halloween party tonight? Maybe we'll see you there. Okay, well. Bye." All of this is said in an off-hand, casual way because you don't want them to get too scared by the desperation in your eyes.

I thought once Vaughn was in preschool this would be easier, but still, it's kind of like high school. You see each other Tuesdays and Thursdays, exchange pleasantries, and then you frantically hurry off on your merry way to try to cram in all the "me-time" you can between 9 and 11:30. You have your beginning clicks, people who know each other from the neighborhood, ones you jealously wish to be a part of. You want be in with the "cool" mommies. The ones who are chicly fashionable and haven't let themselves go down the mommy road of big hips, fat thighs, and pot belly. The ones who listen to something beyond the Wiggles and top 40 (or worse, country) and actually pick up an occasional book.

I hated dating, and finding a mommy-friend is even more humiliating. I hate putting myself "out there." What do you do to entice a mommy, anyway? I mean, I know the basics of seducing a guy: bat your eyes, play with your hair, lick your lips, show a little leg/boob. Hmmmm. I wonder if the same applies to mommies?

Back On The Treadmill Again

I'm back to sweatin' to the newbies again. Love Andromeda Skin. Great bass groove. Let's you get into that necessary trance hypnotic semi-conscious state needed to get beyond the pain and exhaustion. I use it for my warmup.

I still have My Humps on my MP3. I just can't bring myself to take it off. I'm cursed with good taste (or bad taste, however you may view it). I have the uncanny ability to take to songs that will inevitably become nauseatingly popular. Wish I could make money off this ability.
Anyway, I'm huffing away thinking about the BEP lead singer Fergie and what a tight body she has. (No, I am not a closet lesbian. Not that I'm aware of anyway.) Not one ounce of fat. Of course, when I think about these things, I go into the "wish I had that body" mode, but then I remind myself that if part of my living was seeing myself splashed all over MTV jiggling my "lady lumps," that would be great motivation to be in the gym 8 hours a day and feasting on salads with nonfat dressing.

This brings me to my current motivation to get back to exercising after a 3-week sabbatical: The Hawaiian pictures. There is nothing like seeing yourself in the most unrevealing bathing suit and still having love handles lapping over the side. Ugh. My sister-in-law, who is 15-plus years my senior, looked better than I did. I also have to say thank God for the cloning feature on photo editing programs. Baby, I shaved off 10 pounds in a matter of minutes. I know. It's terribly pathetic when you're airbrushing your vacation pics, but hey, I admit it. I'm vain. Now, if I could just get my hands on the originals that everyone else was taking...

A 3-year-old Harasser

Today when I picked my son up from preschool, the teacher asked me to talk to him about keeping his hands to himself because some of the girls are getting upset. Okay, don't get me started on my gender. All I can say is: We start young.

Anyway, this has been an ongoing issue with my son ever since he was big enough to give hugs. He is an incredibly affectionate little boy. Most parents "ahhhh" about it and think it's cute. However, in our overly politically correct society, it seems that we are concerned about sexual harassment in preschool. Now, if my son were displaying the stereotypical male behavior of smacking other kids around, then he'd get a time-out and somehow other people seem to be more tolerant of this than of a child that gives unwanted kisses and pats. I've gone over and over this with him, but honestly, how do you explain to a 3-year-old the sophisticated intricacies of appropriate affection and inappropriate affection? I do not want to squelch this part of my child's temperament just because other people's kids have a stick up their butt. I mean I really don't even know how to approach this beyond talking to him, which obviously does very little good. As a matter of fact, this morning before I took him to go to preschool we went over "The Rules": No running (this is something they also asked me to talk to him about). Listen and obey the teacher. Hands to self.

I don't want to punish him for behavior that most people deem admirable in a child. I remember when he was 2 years old and he was in a toddler gym class giving out hugs. I groaned and said something, and one of the mothers said,"To have such a problem." Exactly.

Obviously, I'm just a wee bit annoyed by this and feel my "Mother Bear" emerging. Deep breath. Suck it up. Exhale. Peeeaaaacccceee. (If only it were that easy.)

By the way, I just read on another blog that "you cannot hug in preschool, by the way." Say what?! Yeah, take out a gun and blow your chums away, but God forbid you hug them. Okay. I'm done. *deep breath, suck it up, exhale* I think I'm hyperventilating.