Temerity Jane

The whole package of suffering.

A situation composed entirely of COMPLETELY UNFAIR CIRCUMSTANCES is going on here, and I have to tell you, I TOLD ME SO about going to the gym. Aside from all of the good things that come from going to the gym, nothing good ever comes from going to the gym.

I told you we were thinking about joining the YMCA, and we did join. And I was going every weekday, even though I still hate it, even though no one’s promises about the joys of exercise have ever come true, and even though it triggers extreme paranoia about how I smell at any given moment. I had been going every day, because it was good for me, and because dropping Penny off at the child care area was good for her.

The child care area has been great. They really like Penny, and there’s usually one child minder for the babies alone. Penny’s often the only baby, but I’ve never seen more than two or three there at a time, with plenty of attention given to them. And they’re separated from the galloping hooligan older children. Man, I’m glad Penny’s going to stay a baby forever.

Anyway, to add insult to what is sure to be inevitable injury, considering I just now kind of hurt my neck while trying to scratch my back, with Phil being gone for three weeks, I have to somehow convince myself that exercise qualifies as my alone time. No one comes home in the afternoon to give me a little baby relief, so I have to drop her off at the child care center in the Y, and then exercise, and tell myself that it’s great and restful and rejuvenating and totally the same thing as flopping on the couch in my underpants and watching Ellen while Phil takes care of the baby for a little while, but you know what? It’s not the same. I try to make myself at home on the treadmill, with my headphones and my videos and what not, but watching the elegance of upstairs/downstairs life in Downton Abbey loses something when you’re huffing and sweating and trying to stealthily check yourself for stink.

I am pretty sure I will never been one of those people who craves exercise, or feels like the day isn’t complete without a workout, or enjoys any of the benefits that high school gym teachers promise will come from putting on a stinky pinny and trying to be enthusiastic about dodge ball. There will always be something I would rather be doing. There will always be something I would rather be doing that I would never choose to do under normal circumstances. I’m saying I would always rather be cleaning my toilet.

But I’ve KEPT GOING ANYWAY. Even on days where I’ve decided to skip it, where I’m sure I’m not going to go, where I eye up the toilet and its need for a scrub, I have gone. Sometimes the decision  to go is made three minutes before I’d need to be out the door, but I have GONE.

And do you know how I have been rewarded for this? For joining a gym, putting on gym clothes, dealing with smell worries, ignoring the people who are actually working out in favor of plodding along watching television, for exposing Penny to other children and the experience of learning that when we leave her somewhere, we always come back?

PESTILENCE.

Here I am, Phil gone for three weeks, and I’m still going to the gym and taking Penny to experience life outside of my hermitty bubble, and how am I rewarded? With PENNY’S FIRST COLD. Penny’s first cold, which has coincided nicely with Phil’s trip and the cutting of four teeth, along with the frustrated baby shrieks and indignant refusal to sleep that come along with trying to learn a new skill, causing my still-immobile baby to find herself on her belly and confused in the middle of the night, needing not only to be rescued, but also a loving parent on which to rub her snot.

And so we are watching endless Sesame Street and I am dealing with a baby who insists on being held and not held AT THE SAME TIME, because “YOU ARE NOT DADDY AND I ONLY LET DADDY HOLD ME BUT HOLD ME BECAUSE I DON’T FEEL GOOD PUT ME DOWN NOT DADDY HOLD ME.”

So I’ve missed a couple of days at the gym, because she’s been miserable, and I’ve been trying to hold and not hold her at the same time, dealing with a baby who wants both to be cuddled and to headbutt me repeatedly, and also, she PINCHES, and that would be okay, kind of, because I hate them gym and also, PJs@TJ’s is next week and I still have so much to do. And she seems like she’s starting to rally a bit, or at least she did last night, so I took her to Chipotle and she was delighted to eat a quesadilla and then equally delighted to… project it back over the floor of said Chipotle. And then again all over Phil’s side of the bed.

But now I also am sick, because Penny has insisted on rubbing her gross drippy face directly onto mine, and I still have a lot to do, and Phil is still not here, and I can’t even watch Downton Abbey because I told myself I could only watch it AT THE GYM, where I can’t go right now, because Penny brought home pestilence FROM THE GYM.

It is also kind of possible that she might have gotten the plague from that time I was too lazy to put her shopping cart cover down and I turned around for a minute to ponder my choice of frozen chicken products only to turn back and find her sucking on the cart handle. But it was probably the gym.

Here is a photo from happier times.

OH, ALSO? I found an injured baby bunny in the yard and I had to take it to an emergency vet and they put it down. That doesn’t really go with the rest of the post, but I feel like it’s part of the whole package of my suffering right now.

Posted in daily BS, Penny | 18 Comments »

Olds, sockies, all of the books, and puke-related genius.

So you know what gets more smiles from strangers than a dad carrying his baby daughter through the grocery store? A dad in uniform carrying his baby daughter through a grocery store. Honest to pete, my face is sore from all of the polite smiles I had to return trying to walk through Safeway the other day. All these people were glancing at Phil, looking back over their shoulders at him, nudging whoever they were with and jerking their head in our direction.

“Look! A man with a baby! A man in UNIFORM with a BABY!”

I GET IT, IT’S ADORABLE. HE FARTS IN BED, THOUGH. THEY BOTH DO. JUST SO YOU KNOW.

I’m not mad. I’m just bitter, probably. Whenever I take Penny through the grocery store, I get some smiles, but mostly a train a passive aggressive olds telling Penny to tell her mommy that her feet are so cold without sockies! So cold! Tell her you need some sockies! Sockies for those feet! Tell her, “Mommy, my feet are so cold here in the store! I need sockies for my feetsies!”

Phil, though? Phil in uniform? All smiles, no mention of sockies.

*****

I think I use Goodreads more than I use any other socially networky thing right now, but there is something that will eternally bother me about Goodreads. I think I’ve talked about it here before, but I’m talking about it again. What are you, the blog police?

Anyway, I had several false starts with using Goodreads (I’ve been  member since 2009) and didn’t really get into it heavily until recently, because I got TOO OVERWHELMED. It’s a simple site, but I, like most people, have been reading books for about a berjillion years. That’s roughly 30 berjillion books.

So, I would start listing books that I’d read, and pretty soon, I’d become hopelessly overwhelmed with the task of adding EVERY BOOK EVER. I don’t think I ever even got to one berjillion. So I’d give up. If I couldn’t add them all, I JUST WOULDN’T ADD ANY.

Coincidentally, that’s very similar to the stance I have on eating potato chips, but usually goes the opposite way.

So the only way I was able to make Goodreads work for me THIS time is to tell myself that I would only list books from that point FORWARD. I have a couple of favorites listed, but aside from that, I WILL NOT fall down the rabbit hole of books that I’ve read since the dawn of time.

This makes me constantly self-conscious, though, that people will think I started reading at 29. I COULD READ BEFORE THEN. I just can’t allow myself to tempt insanity by remembering every book I’ve ever read, because I can’t just list SOME of the ones I read before I started using Goodreads. It’s none of them or all of them. That’s how it has to be. IT HAS TO BE.

Sometimes, someone I follow rates a book. A book I READ, pre-Goodreads attempt 47. And it’s right there. No searching necessary. It’s right there on the home screen. And all I would have to do is just pick a star rating. One click, and there it is. Added to my books. That’s not so bad, right?

EXCEPT IT IS. The only way I can use Goodreads at all is by telling myself that I have an UNDERSTANDING with the larger Goodreads population. We ALL AGREE that I read books before I started using Goodreads, but I haven’t listed any of them. We just AGREE that it HAPPENED.

If I go ahead and list one, the agreement is BROKEN. Now there’s one listed. And that can lead people to assume that sure, I read books before I started using Goodreads. Or, more accurately, I read BOOK.

No. No. I can’t add any of them. So they pop up in front of me, and instead of clicking, I sit here in front of the computer and worry that people are going to think I HAVEN’T READ THAT BOOK. Then I remind myself of the agreement. But I READ THAT BOOK.

You guys, I’m just saying, it’s hard being me.

*****

So I’ve been preparing for PJs@Tj’s, which is now in less than a month, and in my every waking hour, I find myself thinking about tiny details, which stack upon the other tiny details, which add berjillions of things to my mental to do list, which I haven’t actually started, other than cleaning out the pantry, and I don’t see why anyone would really be in my pantry anyway, so, right. I have not gotten very far yet in the whole “preparing the house for a pile of guests” thing yet.

But I’ve been thinking about it, which we all know is half the battle. And here’s something I’ve been thinking: a while ago, we got this hand soap we really liked. It was some kind of Soft Soap, and the smell was blackberry vanilla. Or black currant and pears. Or something and something. Anyway, it smelled great. Next time we were at the store, though, and needed soap, we just got one of those big old refill jugs, and we’ve been refilling the same bottles – one in the bathroom and one on the kitchen sink.

So, while the bottle says you’ll be washing your hands with a delightful mix of berries and puffy clouds, it’s actually just generic soap smell.

And I wonder, does that make the soap a lie? And, as a hostess, am I being rude with this bait and switch? This soap and swap? This scrub and… drub?

Seriously, I have 18 women descending on my house in less than a month, and this is what is keeping me up at night.

*****

We’ve made a plan. Well, not so much a plan as a plan to make a plan. We’ve decided that when Penny is about five, we’re going to take her on a Disney cruise and a stay in Disney World. We figure we’ve got to plan that far out so that we can save up the money, because I’ve always said that when we do take her to Disney, we want to go ALL OUT.

I mean, we want to stay in one of the hotels right there, so that we can go back to rest as needed. And we want enough days to do everything we want. And I want to take her to that place where they do her up like a princess. We want to be able to throw money around like we have it. Sure, you can have a $75 Mickey balloon! Oh, you let it go? That’s okay, here’s a $115 ice cream sandwich. Wipe your face with this napkin, it was only $5.

We’ve also emailed both of our families to extend an invitation to join us, because, why not? We’re planning far enough in advance that everyone can make it, if they wanted to.

But just today, I started thinking that there needs to be more to this plan than just saving the money and picking a cruise.

ONE – We’ve got to start watching Disney movies, post haste. This shit is not going to be even a LITTLE BIT MAGICAL if Penny doesn’t know who the hell Ariel is, you know what I mean?

TWO – I’m thinking that by the time she’s two, two and a half, I’m going to want to start working with her on developing a real allegiance to one of the princesses.

I know you’re about to get your Internet dander all up, what with the princess culture! And teaching appropriate values! And rabble rabble! And girl power! And all of that. And to that I say this: Look. Shut up. Because, come on. Did you grow up thinking that you were an actual princess? I mean, did you grow into the total warped asshole of a she-witch that the anti-princess culture people seem to believe will result from exposure to made up, cartoon fancy ladies? By the time you were of reasonable age, did you understand that your suburban town house bore little resemblance to a castle and no one cared when you lost your stupid shoe?

You did, right? You turned out to be a functioning adult? With only a moderate number of tiaras? AND managed to also enjoy Disney movies as a child?

Yeah, so, now that we’ve established that THAT’S possible… I’m thinking Belle. Or maybe Ariel. I mean, Ariel’s a pretty predictable choice, but come on. Obviously the superior princess.

THREE – We’ve got to concentrate on NOT raising an asshole at all, even more so now. Because we’re not going to tell her we’re going until we’re about to leave. You know, like all those YouTube videos? So, we’re going to want a really sweet, really genuine reaction of joy from her when she finds out we’re about to blow all of our money ever on a cruise and a trip. And then we’ll put it on YouTube.

FOUR – I probably have to get a passport.

FIVE  - I should also probably learn to swim.

Anyway, I’m already excited. Four or five years is just enough time to build this up in my mind enough that I completely ruin Penny’s enjoyment of the whole thing by trying to force some FREAKIN’ DISNEY MAGIC on her at every turn.

*****

LASTLY, we are considering joining the YMCA. Which seems silly, you say, because there are 800 gyms on base, but look. I can’t go to those. I just can’t. I know people say, “Everyone is there to work out! No one is looking at anyone!” But come on. People look at people. It’s human nature. And while we’d all like to think that no one cares, just a few days on Twitter will net you at LEAST three people saying, “At the gym today… ” and commenting on someone they saw. It’s not always mean or even… anything… but it belies the “no one is paying attention!” crap. So while I’d like to be one of those, “Whatever, I’m above all that” people, I’m not. I cannot go to a gym on base, full of people whose job it is to be in great physical condition.

And I really don’t want any more of that “no but really, no one is paying attention to anyone else” stuff. I know you’re lying. You know you’re lying. There’s no point in trying to get someone to go exercise where they won’t be comfortable, because they will try it once or twice and not be able to stand it, and then, worse than the guilt of not trying, you have the guilt of QUITTING.

So is it silly to pay for a gym membership when you can go to a gym for free? I don’t know. I don’t think so. My mother has had a membership to the Y for a berjillion years, and there’s a gym in her office building. She wouldn’t go to that one. She wouldn’t be comfortable. So it’s the choice of paying for a place you’re comfortable, or not working out at all. So far, the choice for me has been “not at all,” so I’m beginning to be quite convinced that paying for something that is also available for free, in this case, is not totally ridiculous.

It’s not, right?

*****

I can’t think of where else I’m ever going to work these in, and I need more people than Phil to appreciate me, because he doesn’t laugh, he just says, “Yeah, that’s funny.” Even when I can see him TRYING NOT TO LAUGH. Won’t even give me the courtesy of a laugh. Anyway, two things I have come up with recently, regarding Penny:

1. Count Yak-ula.
2. She had a yak-cident.

Posted in daily BS, Penny, shameless consumerism | 67 Comments »

Long-winded reasons for not doing stuff.

I have this to do list of things that I am supposed to have put here by now, so sit back and listen to me tell you why I haven’t put them here.

1. Penny’s 8 month post. I know I’m not going to keep these posts up forever, and like last month, I’m wondering if this is going to be the month that it finally stops, but I HAVE GOOD INTENTIONS. It’s just that every time I go to take the picture with the bears? Penny throws up on herself. Enough to ruin a picture, but not enough to justify changing her outfit.

“Oh my GOD. I ALWAYS change my baby’s clothes when he pukes on himself! ALWAYS!!”

WELL INVITE ME TO YOUR AWARD CEREMONY FOR MOTHER OF THE PLANET AND I PROMISE TO FEEL SUITABLY INFERIOR.

I hope this isn’t the month I finally allow my true laziness to come through, though, since this was the month that contained Penny’s first Christmas, as well as some actual milestones. Like WAVING. You guys. She waves and waves. Last night she wouldn’t sleep, so she was laying in our bed, and it was like she was COMPELLED TO WAVE. And she waved and waved, but she only waves with her left hand, and she was laying down. So it wasn’t so much waving as it was a rhythmic slapping of Phil’s face while he tried to sleep.

I’m not going to lie, Internet. It was hilarious.

Seriously, though. She wants to wave when she should be sleeping. I don’t know how to communicate to her that she’s pretty much nailed it and doesn’t need to practice anymore. Not very Tiger Mom of me, I know.

2. Our trip to Pennsylvania for Penny’s first Christmas. Penny was an amazing traveler. She got all kinds of compliments about her behavior on the planes. It was much easier than we possibly could have hoped, with the only real difficulties being ill-timed poops and how uncomfortable it is to hold a lap baby in those small seats. Even travel with cloth diapers wasn’t especially terrible.

Santa only brought Penny a couple of things, including some new pajamas and a PARACHUTE.

The pajamas are particularly awesome:

The whole of the Christmas trip would be a bit too much to cover at the moment, and to be honest, one very small thing has really soured me on the memory of it all. I’d rather write about her first Christmas when I’m a little less irritated. Irritated is a very gentle word for it.

I assure you, though, Santa came out looking like a chump with his few simple gifts. Grandparents, aunts and uncles filled in where Santa was stingy and Penny now owns, among other things, her very own iPhone case and apps, a baby doll and stroller, and an entire new wardrobe.

Santa got schooled.

3. Baby led weaning. This style of feeding the baby is really working out well for us, especially since Penny popped up a couple of fangs over the holidays. She’s sitting behind me right now, enjoying a mid-morning snack of apple scrapings.

Do you see her scrapings? She just learned how to do that yesterday. And she was DELIGHTED. Shrieks of glee. She positively gorged herself on teeny, painstakingly fanged scrapings of apple. It was hilarious, as you could tell that she was totally shocked – she’s used to just sucking and gumming on her apples. She was grinning at me around a mouth of apple mush, like she thought she was the first baby in the history of the world to spring teeth and learn how to use them.

She’s gotten very excited and kind of demanding about food. On the plane, Phil and I each had a sandwich and she was giving his the eye. So, as we usually would, he pulled off a small piece of bread and a little turkey shaving for her, and she WAS NOT HAVING IT. She dropped them and strained and reached as far as she could – NOTHING BUT THE ENTIRE SANDWICH WOULD DO.

She wants whatever you’ve got.

Anyway, it’s simple enough to say that Penny is eating anything and everything, but I’ve gotten a good number of questions about the way we choose to feed Penny – what we feed her, if we cut up her food, what about choking, etc – so it would probably be best to do a more detailed post explaining how Penny has handled being thrown into the deep end of food with no spoon feeding and no purees. I will do that. I swear.

4. Cosmo! I’ve had the newest Cosmo for the longest time, and I can’t work up the desire to do this one. Know why? Because Scarlet Johansson is on the cover. I don’t know, something about her really chaps my ass.

You know how people have lists? You know, the people you’re allowed to totally get with and your spouse can’t get mad, because, come on, the list? Phil doesn’t really have a list, but one time when I asked him, he said, “I don’t know… Scarlet Johansson, I guess?”

AND I VETOED HIM. Even though you’re not really allowed to do that with the lists.

I just don’t like her. Something’s not right. She looks like she just smelled her own butt all the time. Unless she’s playing some super cute character, but even then I can’t get into it, because I remember all these pictures of her where she looks like she just smelled her own butt. I feel like if I ever talked to her, I’d be wondering if I smelled like a butt the whole time. She has this air about her that makes me think that SHE thinks that everyone in the world but her smells like butt, but you know what? It’s probably her own butt, because I think she’s up it.

Anyway. Next month!

Posted in daily BS, Penny, TJ Notes, Wait, what? | 36 Comments »

Let’s talk about how 2011 was the worst thing ever.

I needed to make sure 2011 was well and truly over, with no more tricks up its sleeve, before I crawled out of my bunker deep beneath the covers of my bed to post this year end wrap up, jacked many times by many people over the years from Sundry.

Here’s mine from last year.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

Last year, my survey was basically entirely focused on getting married and being pregnant, so obviously this year will be the year of Penelope. That’s pretty much a spoiler alert for this whole thing, so you can probably stop reading now and not miss anything.

Anyway, I had a baby.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I didn’t really have any other than to have a baby and keep my shit together. I did have the baby, and while I didn’t entirely keep my shit together the whole time, I did have it nicely lined up by December 31, which I am counting.

Also? You guys? I never watched all the Colin Firth movies in existence. I tried to watch Mama Mia and that basically ended the entire attempt. Because, wow. Terrible.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Well, me. My cousin, also, just about 6 weeks before me. And my uncle and his girlfriend had another, bringing my grand total of cousins on my dad’s side to one billion.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No.

5. What countries did you visit?

Stealing last year’s answer, as I intend to do for the foreseeable future.

None. You can also retroactively write that down as my year end wrap up answer for every year since 1981, though it isn’t really fair to count 1981, since I was born in December of that year and didn’t even have my birth certificate issued until early 1982, let alone a passport.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

A dog that doesn’t eat trash (not food trash – PAPER).

A dog that doesn’t escape over the fence on the regular.

Time to watch Naruto.

I don’t know, I want the same things as everyone, I guess. More time, more money, more sleep.

7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

I’d have to look up the exact dates, but every single bad news OB appointment, in complete, minute detail.

April 29, when Penny was born. April 30th, when Penny was taken to the NICU. Every single day between then and May 8th, when we brought her home. August 10th, when Penny was admitted to Children’s. Every single day between then and when we brought her home on August 15th.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Three months of bed rest, you guys.

You think calling laying in bed for three months an achievement is ridiculous?

Well, I think you have a funny haircut.

9. What was your biggest failure?

June through September.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Yes. YES. Last year I joked that pregnancy, so far, felt like an illness or an injury. A few weeks later, that’s basically what it turned into. I spent months working with doctors (okay, they worked, I laid) on the balance between keeping the baby in as long as possible and also, at the same time, making sure I didn’t die from it. I don’t know if I effectively communicated my feelings on the matter at the time, but that was PRETTY DAMN AWFUL.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Penny’s jumperoo was a gift, but still. Hands down the best piece of baby equipment we own.

Also, Benefit’s High Brow.

I shared some bacon chocolate with Sarah Lena in Austin, and while it was pretty not so good, it can stand in as a purchase representing the trip to Austin.

12. Where did most of your money go?

Penny. Bills. Penny. A trip to Pennsylvania for Christmas. More Penny. Diapers.

13. What did you get really excited about?

Not being pregnant anymore.

I’ve had a pretty down year in terms of excitement and anticipation.

14. What song will always remind you of 2010?

Penny really loves Cee-lo’s Fuck You.

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:

– happier or sadder? I think it averages out to about the same.
– thinner or fatter? Well, thinner, because I’m not pregnant. But I’m at my pre-pregnancy weight, yet at the same time, fatter. So. Up yours, pregnancy.
– richer or poorer? Poorer.

16. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Sleeping when the baby sleeps. Cutting myself a break in those early weeks, when I thought I was supposed to be done sleeping when the baby sleeps by the time she was 5 weeks old.

17. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Holing up in the house for the months after Penny was born. Stressing out about things that weren’t going to happen. Travelling back and forth to hospitals. Sleeping in hospitals. Anything involving doctors and hospitals.

18. How did you spend Christmas?

In Pennsylvania with my side of the family. It was a long day. Penny was a great traveler, though. Really very impressive.

19. What was your favorite TV program?

The things I always watch got kind of shitty this year. I’m not impressed with House, I don’t like SVU without Stabler. The Big Bang Theory is still good. Phil and I watch a lot of Mythbusters and all those pawn shows and storage unit stuff.

I did watch all of Grey’s Anatomy this year, having never seen a single episode before, and I really enjoyed it.

20. What were your favorite books of the year?

Let’s see. According to Goodreads, my top favorites were probably Before I Go to Sleep, Graceling, and The Daughter of Smoke and Bone.

21. What was your favorite music from this year?

Nothing, really. I listened to a lot of Reel Big Fish, because in my mind it’s still 1998.

22. What were your favorite films of the year?

Exact same answer as last year:

I am pretty sure the only one we saw was Harry Potter, and it was awesome, as always.

23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I got my eyebrows done and I cooked some spectacular meatloaf, exactly like I wanted. I turned 30.

24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I don’t like this question. SKIP.

25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

Stretchy.

26. What kept you sane?

Naps, again this year. Prescription medication. Starting to drive again and getting out of the house without AND with Penny.

27. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.

Honest to God, sometimes it IS that bad, and you do what you’ve got to do.

Posted in daily BS | 9 Comments »

It’s just an endless parade of curtains and schmucks, curtains and schmucks.

I turned 30 last week. Exactly a week ago, to be… exact. I don’t think it was a big deal. I don’t know if I was ever the type to think 30 was a big deal. Maybe if I was the kind of person who expected to be married with a baby by the time I was 30 and I also wasn’t married with a baby, 30 would have felt like something. But I am married with a baby, and I am also not that kind of person. So. Nothing, really.

While I never really had any specific goals that I wanted to accomplish before I turned 30 (the failure to accomplish certain goals is what I assume makes 30 feel like a THING for some people), I guess when I was younger I always assumed things about 30, in the same way that younger people assume things about older people. I don’t know if I can really put my finger on anything specific, but when I was in college, or just out of college – I was still living in my college apartment, and I dated this guy – I’ve talked about him, he had a really square head. Square Head Kyle. And he was a bit older than me – as close to 30 as I still was to 20, I think. And while I didn’t bow down before him, all wide-eyed at his wisdom and experience, I kind of just assumed things. Like when he bought a car, I was like, yeah, that makes sense. He’s a grown up. He can buy a car.

But then you get to be 25 or 26 or 27 and you buy a car or you do whatever it is that made sense, and it’s like yanking back the curtain. The whole getting older experience is like reliving that scene from the Wizard of Oz, year after year. “HEY, IT’S JUST SOME SCHMUCK BACK HERE.” And then you, too, are that schmuck.

I’m not a big believer in bucket lists. I mean, no offense meant if that’s your thing, but I can’t get my mind to that place where they make any kind of sense. Maybe I’m not a goal-oriented person. Maybe I want to see what comes in life on its own. Maybe I think the recent Internetization of the concept of a “life list” by certain sectors has made the whole thing seem like kind of a ridiculous and exaggerated joke of itself. Maybe it’s pretty likely to be that last one.

Regardless, I have expectations of 30. Expectations I had long before I was 30, and expectations I developed as 30 approached. Not that I assumed that when I woke up 30, these things would happen or be. Just things that I expect that, along the way TO 30, a person will know or do or gather in some way. There are things that I feel that the schmuck behind the 30 curtain should have to offer as a person. And I will tell you about them.

A person who is 30 should be able to put a meal on the table. I’m not saying anything about affording a meal or providing for a family. And I’m not saying that every 30 year old should be able to cook. I’m saying if you’ve made it all the way to 30, you should be capable of throwing down dinner without talking into a speaker. Maybe you can cook. Maybe you’re more like me and rely heavily on frozen Stouffer’s and steam in the bag vegetables. Maybe you know a really good catering place and are exceptional at placing food artfully on plates. I don’t know and I don’t care how you do it. I don’t care how OFTEN you do it. But when the situation arises, a 30 year old should be able to pull some edible shit together.

A person who is 30 should know that there are truly very few things in life that they HAVE to do. You don’t have to get the puff in your eyeballs when you go to the eye doctor if you don’t want to. You don’t have to wear make up if it’s not your thing. You don’t have to date anyone or get married or have kids. You don’t have to buy a house if you like renting. You don’t have to like everyone. You don’t have to accept every invitation that comes your way. You don’t have to be solely responsible for the happiness of anyone else. That last one is what will make you have a lot of regrets, I think.

A person who is 30 should be over getting affronted at Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas/What the shit ever. I don’t care if you don’t celebrate Christmas or you don’t have any holidays in this “season” or if you’re the asshole everyone secretly hates, the one who always wants to “helpfully” inform you of why what you just said or did is offensive to someone, somewhere, in some obscure way. Do you plan to exist throughout December? You do? WELL, I AM WISHING FOR YOU THAT YOU ENJOY IT. Grow up. Seriously. I’m hoping that you’re freaking merry on December 25, whatever the hell you decide to do with yourself that day. No one stabbed you in the eyeball. They wished you well. Walk on and forget about it. Dick.

A person who is 30 should be VERY AWARE of how small a part of his general surroundings he is. That means knowing that the world is not revolving around you at any given moment. You shouldn’t still be placing yourself at the center of the universe in all ways. Like when you block the whole grocery store aisle with your cart. Or when you encroach upon the time of others without even thinking about it. When you expect to move to the front of the line/get extra days off/leave early/get free stuff because you have a child. I don’t know. This covers a lot. A person who is 30 should probably have figured out how to move around in the world without trying to force it to move around her.

A person who is 30 should be able to buy/make/offer a thoughtful gift, even with only a little bit or none money. Of course it is easy and often the best idea to grab a Starbucks gift card for the office holiday gift swap, or to buy local store gift cards for teachers, or that kind of stuff. But for people you know, you should know by now how to do a little research, ask a few pointed questions, and take some time out of your busy life to THINK about it instead of running through the aisles of Target and grabbing whatever looks good at the last second. It’s not always possible, of course, but you should know how. Like a book on a favored topic, or an offer of free babysitting, or something they mentioned one time that you remember that you know they won’t even remember that you remember. You can do that by now.

A person who is 30 should be able to tolerate inconvenience but also advocate for herself. If something doesn’t go your way, it always sucks, but by 30, you shouldn’t be that guy anymore. The one shrieking at a poor underling with no power, making everyone in the place uncomfortable. No one likes that guy. I know there are still a lot of That Guy over 30, but I think by 30 he should at least know he’s being a total knob. But at the same time, you shouldn’t still be bending over and taking it when someone or some company or whatever does wrong by you. That’s kind of weenie, and no one is going to jump up and do it for you. You should be able to make your case yourself and ask for resolution. In whatever situation – business, personal, whatever. You shouldn’t be a dick or a weenie. Ha. Two penis references.

I guess there’s probably a lot more stuff that I would expect the schmuck behind the curtain to know by now, but I can’t go on forever (I probably could, you know me). What do you think?

Posted in daily BS | 39 Comments »

Fiber commercials and the general culture of underpants assumptions and expectations.

I HAVE TWO THINGS ABOUT WHICH I WOULD LIKE TO BITCH TODAY.

*****

Have you seen that commercial where the lady is unloading her groceries and the husband is all, ew, gross, fiber! Yuck! Blagh! Everyone hates fiber! It is universally known that fiber tastes like tree trunks and scrotum and conveniently ignores that fiber can be found in all kinds of delicious foods and then used in even more numerous delicious recipes! BLAH! FIBER! TREE SCROTUM!

And the lady is like, doodly doo, whatever, as she unwraps and starts to eat a Fiber One bar.

AND THE HUSBAND JUMPS INTO HIS ARGUMENT WINNING POINT! He’s all, how dare you preach to me the benefits of a douglas fir tainted with TAINT, while you stand there and eat a CANDY BAR!

And then in my mind there’s the big outrage that I reserve only for television commercials, improperly placed apostrophes, and people who cut in line like you aren’t even going to notice they cut in line.

IN WHAT WORLD is a Fiber One bar – or ANY granola-based bar-shaped food – even REMOTELY comparable to a CANDY BAR? In no world, that’s what world.

I’m not going to go so far as to say a Fiber One bar tastes like a festive mix of bark and ball sack, but I will say this: I got a good deal on Fiber One bars a week or so ago – they were $2.50 a box and there was a military store coupon for $3 off 3 boxes. So I had a BUNCH OF THEM. So I consider myself kind of an authority. One, CANDY BARS have a lot more CANDY. Two, I was eating the chocolate one (“chocolate”) and you know what the main flavor profile I noticed was? CELERY. It tasted like CELERY.

I’m not even saying celery is a bad thing. I enjoy celery. I ate more of those Fiber One bars, even. I’m not complaining about the BAR ITSELF. I’m just saying, who do you think you are fooling, Fiber One? YOU ARE NOT A CANDY BAR. No one would EVER mistake a Fiber One bar for a CANDY BAR. Not even a foolish television husband, who then eats one, blissfully unaware that he is HAVING FIBER, because it doesn’t taste like wood and nuts.

I don’t know. The whole commercial makes me so mad.

*****

I was reading this book lately, and I hated it, for about 800 different reasons. But I’m only talking about one reason today. Actually, it’s not even a reason I hated the book. It’s something the book reminded me of. The whole book was pretty terrible and this thing falls under that general terrible umbrella, but it’s not something I’d add to the list of specific ways this book made me wish that you could drown a book.

There was one part of this book that talks about a woman who didn’t groom her area, and wore a bikini, letting all of the area hair-ea poke out and about. I believe this was referred to – if not in the book, then at least in other places – as a “70s-style bush.” Which made me insane. Insane.

SEE, in calling it a “70s-style bush,” one is implying that different eras have had different kind of area hair-ea styles. That just like you can peg combat boots and a flannel around the waist as a 90s style, so too can you spot a vaguely grungy, somewhat angsty bush and know instantly that it’s been styled up in a nod to My So Called Life.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO MORE POINTS.

1. Bush is just crude. I mean, there are way more impolite words to use for the area hair-ea, I suppose, but bush. I will stop using it for the rest of this post.

2. To be able to call it “70s-style” indicates that you have seen ENOUGH lady styles to know how to categorize a lady’s downstairs choices. Do ladies who choose to wax walk into their waxer in the same terrified way I approach a new hair stylist? Are they too running the risk of walking out with the pubic hair version of The Rachel?

3. To criticize or even point out or EVEN SUGGEST THE POSSIBLE PRESENCE of a “70s-style” in the pants, you are making an assumption, an assumption that has started to drive me past the brink of okayness with people who make such an assumption.

See, these days, there seems to be an assumption, or an understoodness, that the area hair-ea will be tended to in some way. Look, I am not coming out in favor of or against a raging wilderness. I’m just saying that I think the general assumption – IF IN FACT THERE MUST BE AN ASSUMPTION – should be ones geared more toward a natural state of things.

Lady magazines, such as COSMO, as well as OTHER LADIES, seem to imply that the choice to not tend to the lady garden is now not the norm. That you are supposed to. That you are expected to. That you are somehow obligated to shave, trim, pluck, wax, or otherwise shape the area hair-ea into some kind of pleasing form. It is now the assumption that any lady walking around has FULFILLED HER LADY RESPONSIBILITY and HANDLED the situation.

Worse is when a LADY MAGAZINE OR OTHER LADY implies that you should be doing this or that or ANYTHING in your personal wine cellar because it is EXPECTED by the man in your life. Look, as far as I am concerned, when it comes to underpants parts, a man can expect in one hand and go handle his own penis in the other because male expectations have little to do with how I tend to the sculpture garden. A man may request. A man may have a preference. A man may not EXPECT anything of personal lady grooming.

I am just driven INSANE by this assumption of what goes on inside the underpants of a “normal” lady. You can’t assume what’s in my underpants. You have no idea. And right now you’re thinking, “Well, TJ, I think I can make at least ONE assumption about what you’ve got in there,” BUT NO. YOU CAN’T. I HAD A C-SECTION. IT COULD BE A LANDSCAPE OF SURPRISES AND VOLCANOES FOR ALL YOU KNOW.

My point is – my points ARE – that NO ONE believes that a granola bar, fiber-fortified or not, is a candy bar and ALSO that I OBJECT to the general culture of UNDERPANTS ASSUMPTIONS AND EXPECTATIONS.

Posted in daily BS | 48 Comments »

Butt insurance and baby theft.

This is the first year that I’ve had a blog, I think, that I haven’t even attempted NaBloPoMo. It is more NaBloDon’t-Po-No-Mo’ for me, I think. I don’t know. I don’t have any excuses and I’m not going to apologize, I just haven’t really made it around these parts too often in the last few weeks. There’s tons to read this month, though. I’ve noticed that a lot of newer bloggers are really putting a lot of effort into NaBloPoMo, while some older bloggers are doing it but REALLY phoning it in.

I’m just saying. I’ve NOTICED.

*****

The power is going to be off for a significant amount of time on Wednesday. That’s pretty much no big for me, except for the fact that neither of our laptops is holding a charge for any length of time, so laptoppery is pretty much out of the question. Penny’s basically battery powered, so I don’t have to worry about her, so I spent a little while the other night loading my Kindle up with all sorts of books. One book wouldn’t be enough, because I like to start several before I decide which one will have my attention for the duration, and then repeat for the next book.

Anyway, I sat on my Kindle.

(“This is why I buy extended warranties. Because of your butt.” — Phil)

There’s a new one coming on Wednesday, so it’s really not totally traumatic, except for the fact that WHAT WILL I DO ON WEDNESDAY? With no power? And a baby?

Phil said, “Well, you could take her to the library.”

AHAHAAA HAHAAAA — wait, you don’t follow me on Twitter, do you? So you don’t know why that’s hilarious? And that the base library is my absolute nemesis forever and ever?

Well, trust me. It is. Up that place’s.

And then I realized I wouldn’t have my Kindle for bed time, which is tragic. Because I’ve been taking a medication that makes me not sleep. At all. And I need something to do while I just lay there, forever.

Phil said, “Well, you could read an actual BOOK.”

“NO. ALL OUR BOOKS ARE STUPID. I READ THEM ALL. I HATE PAPER.”

So you know what I did? I didn’t take my medication last night. And I fell ASLEEP! I was sleeping like I’d been doing it my whole life. It was incredible.

Penny got a shot yesterday, so the incredibleness lasted about 24 minutes. Those things will fuck a baby up, seriously.

This whole section had no real point. I broke my Kindle with my butt.

*****

PICKLE BREAK.

*****

You know, I’m not really scared about putting pictures of Penny on the Internet. I know people can see her. I also take her places, and plenty of people see her there.

I know the fears people have. That a certain kind of person will see the pictures and think thoughts about them. Or save them to a hard drive to think thoughts about them at will. And I don’t like that idea. I don’t like it at all. But the thing is, I don’t feel like I can stop that from happening in life in general.

I have to tell you, all the craziest people I have met? I met them in REAL LIFE. I can keep pictures of Penny off the Internet, but what am I supposed to do in the mall? At a playground? Places where these certain kinds of people may actually GO. They might BE there. To look. And to save those pictures in their minds.

I don’t know. I could be totally naive, but I don’t feel like pictures of Penny online put Penny at anymore physical risk than she is in real life. And I don’t feel that someone looking at her pictures and thinking thoughts is any more likely to happen due to someone coming across my website than it is due to me taking her places where children go, and where people who like children may also go.

This is a weird topic to talk about. It’s okay if you disagree with me.

I DO have a fear about Penny’s pictures online, though. I don’t know if this happens as often as it used to – and oh lawd, back in the early days of blogs, it happened ALL THE TIME – but I am afraid of pictures of Penny being used for deception.

You know, where someone stumbles across a cache of pictures of the same baby and makes a fake blog – always a sob story. Cancer, some rare disease, anything. Or even maybe just a fake life. Whatever. But they portray someone else’s baby as their own.

THAT is my concern with posting Penny on the Internet. That someone will steal her pictures and claim her as her own. Does that actually hurt me in any way? No. But if you’ve been blogging forever, you’ve been burned by one of these people, and you know how it feels. I would hate to have Penny any part of that.

I only post pictures of Penny on THIS blog. I have NO other blogs (aside from Penny’s Tumblr). If you see Penny somewhere else, PENNY HAS BEEN NABBED BY AN INTERNET BABY NABBER. In a non-physical way, because, come on. Try to nab my baby from me in person. Just try it. I will come at you like a fucking spider monkey.

If you ever see my baby ANYWHERE, anywhere at ALL, and you are concerned that it wasn’t me who posted her picture, PLEASE let me know. Even if you’re just not sure. Let me know. I went through a lot of shit for this baby and I won’t have someone else claiming my efforts.

“It’s understandable, of course. I am one fine-ass baby.”

*****

Hey, I don’t really know what kind of toys and stuff to get Penny for Christmas. What do you get an 8 month old for Christmas?

Don’t give me that, “Oh, don’t get her anything, she won’t remember!” or “Just wrap up some of her current toys, she won’t know the difference!” Save that shit for your second, less awesome, less loved children.

Right now, she’s really into stuff like Steve Canada – things that crinkle and what not. But she’s sitting a bit now, and I expect that to improve, so I figure she needs some toys for babies who can sit upright. I have no idea. Are the age ranges on toys generally pretty accurate? Because if so, the toys for Penny’s age look pretty dull. I mean, my baby isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’d like to give her a little credit. Or at least a little incentive to hone her edge a bit. Because, come on. Peek-a-boo, Penny. This is basic stuff.

We aren’t going apeshit, we do intend to keep things small this year, because you’re right, jerks, she won’t remember. But we will. But I’d like to know what went over well with your kids in the 6-12 month range. Like her jumperoo – she goes apeshit for that thing. I’d like a couple ideas that inspire apeshittery in babies. Every parent wants to be a Christmas hero, right?

Seriously, what do you get babies for Christmas? I already have pajamas for her, and a wooden worm. What are your babies and former babies into?

*****

Normally, I’d write another thousand words here, but have I told you that Penny, the incredible non-napping baby, is on a NAP SCHEDULE? Six months, you guys. It pretty much rules.

Posted in daily BS, Penny | 77 Comments »