Monday, June 30, 2008
Beware of Falling IQ
I don't like Wal-Mart.
This is likely a good thing since there are no Wal-Mart store in Chicago's city limits. (Chicago is a very strong union city and Wal-Mart is a notoriously bad company when it comes to workers' rights. If you don't believe me, read this and watch this.) The closest Wal-Mart to our house is located in the city of Niles, know best for their water tower, the Leaning Tower of Niles. (You'd think that they could come up with a better name.)
Of course, right next to that Wal-Mart is the closest Babies 'R' Us. Now, I don't particularly like that store either, but seeing as how they have a lot of things that we will need (ie, baby things), we've been there a few times. Each of the four times we've gone to Babies 'R' Us, we've also gone to Wal-Mart. On three occasions, we left without buying anything, each time one of us muttering, "We don't ever have to come back here, okay?"
You see, the store is dirty. It's disorganized. It's full of crazy people filling their carts with things that only crazy people want. (Pop Tarts, Kool Aid, and Velveeta seem to be required items.) They sell cheap products at a not-so-cheap price. And, worst of all, it's full of screaming children whose parents feel should be disciplined by being told to "shut up." (I hate that. I hate it when a kid is told to shut up. Today, when I was waiting in line at the DMV to get a new license plate sticker, a young girl pinched her finger when she was playing with one of the retractable belt stanchions; her mother's response, "That's what you get." Sigh. I mean, who needs compassion? Certainly not a 5-year-old girl.)
But I digress...
You see, as we entered Wal-Mart, there was a display that was overflowing with the greatest foodstuff Kraft has ever invented. That of course is the StrawberryMallow. We discovered this strawberry-flavored marshmallow a couple of years ago and they make the most wonderful Rice Krispy treat. Unfortunately, they're as elusive as leftover kibble in Cecil's food dish. Since buying them in '06, we've never found them again. (I bought a couple of bags of chocolate marshmallows, and while good, they weren't anything to write home about.)
So, knowing that we may not see these wonderful treats for another 24 months or more, we bough six bags. That's right, six bags.
Last night, while Kristen was in the office researching video cameras (what? you think we're not going to tape every waking second of our son's life?), I made a batch of strawberry krispies.
And they were good.
Maybe Wal-Mart's not so bad after all.
This is likely a good thing since there are no Wal-Mart store in Chicago's city limits. (Chicago is a very strong union city and Wal-Mart is a notoriously bad company when it comes to workers' rights. If you don't believe me, read this and watch this.) The closest Wal-Mart to our house is located in the city of Niles, know best for their water tower, the Leaning Tower of Niles. (You'd think that they could come up with a better name.)
Of course, right next to that Wal-Mart is the closest Babies 'R' Us. Now, I don't particularly like that store either, but seeing as how they have a lot of things that we will need (ie, baby things), we've been there a few times. Each of the four times we've gone to Babies 'R' Us, we've also gone to Wal-Mart. On three occasions, we left without buying anything, each time one of us muttering, "We don't ever have to come back here, okay?"
You see, the store is dirty. It's disorganized. It's full of crazy people filling their carts with things that only crazy people want. (Pop Tarts, Kool Aid, and Velveeta seem to be required items.) They sell cheap products at a not-so-cheap price. And, worst of all, it's full of screaming children whose parents feel should be disciplined by being told to "shut up." (I hate that. I hate it when a kid is told to shut up. Today, when I was waiting in line at the DMV to get a new license plate sticker, a young girl pinched her finger when she was playing with one of the retractable belt stanchions; her mother's response, "That's what you get." Sigh. I mean, who needs compassion? Certainly not a 5-year-old girl.)
But I digress...
You see, as we entered Wal-Mart, there was a display that was overflowing with the greatest foodstuff Kraft has ever invented. That of course is the StrawberryMallow. We discovered this strawberry-flavored marshmallow a couple of years ago and they make the most wonderful Rice Krispy treat. Unfortunately, they're as elusive as leftover kibble in Cecil's food dish. Since buying them in '06, we've never found them again. (I bought a couple of bags of chocolate marshmallows, and while good, they weren't anything to write home about.)
So, knowing that we may not see these wonderful treats for another 24 months or more, we bough six bags. That's right, six bags.
Last night, while Kristen was in the office researching video cameras (what? you think we're not going to tape every waking second of our son's life?), I made a batch of strawberry krispies.
And they were good.
Maybe Wal-Mart's not so bad after all.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Things I Worry About -- #3 in a Series
I worry that he's going to have my artistic talent and Kristen's singing talent. (If you've seen me draw or heard Kristen sing, well... I'm very, very sorry you had to experience that.)
I'm Not Exactly Sure What Lumbago Is, But I Bet She Has That Too
Here's a broad generalization for you all: expecting fathers tend to think that they understand everything their ladies are going through. That is, when there's a particularly tough kick to the innards, the men nod their head and say, "I know, I know, it's horrible." They dutifully pull over to a McDonald's when there's a necessary bathroom break. They wake up in the middle of the night and massage the charley horse out of her calf.
And I probably fall into that category. I think I know.
Well, I don't. I mean, Kristen is going through a lot physically -- more than just the growing Barnabas. She can't sleep well. Her back hurts. She's getting twitchy. She's always hot. She's always hungry, yet can eat less than someone who's undergone a gastric bypass.
And I sit there and try to help, but I can only do so much. I think the only thing that is really going to help her is giving birth. And let me tell you, from the videos I've seen in baby class we're taking at the hospital, that is some cure.
Of course, after that painful experience is over, and after nine months of discomfort, there is more crap she has to deal with (maybe it's just me, but breast feeding doesn't seem like a walk in the park).
So this is what I'm suggesting. Let's all just make her feel better, or at least let's not make her feel worse. If she drops a fork, you pick it up and wash it off. Not her. If you haven't seen her for a few weeks and you notice that she's gotten a bit bigger (because, well, that's what happens when you're pregnant), don't immediately say, "My God, you look huge!" If it's 100 degrees out but she's cold anyway, get her a blanket. And if icicles are growing off the tip of your nose but she wants the air conditioner on, turn it on.
I don't like to beg, but if I have to, I will.
And I probably fall into that category. I think I know.
Well, I don't. I mean, Kristen is going through a lot physically -- more than just the growing Barnabas. She can't sleep well. Her back hurts. She's getting twitchy. She's always hot. She's always hungry, yet can eat less than someone who's undergone a gastric bypass.
And I sit there and try to help, but I can only do so much. I think the only thing that is really going to help her is giving birth. And let me tell you, from the videos I've seen in baby class we're taking at the hospital, that is some cure.
Of course, after that painful experience is over, and after nine months of discomfort, there is more crap she has to deal with (maybe it's just me, but breast feeding doesn't seem like a walk in the park).
So this is what I'm suggesting. Let's all just make her feel better, or at least let's not make her feel worse. If she drops a fork, you pick it up and wash it off. Not her. If you haven't seen her for a few weeks and you notice that she's gotten a bit bigger (because, well, that's what happens when you're pregnant), don't immediately say, "My God, you look huge!" If it's 100 degrees out but she's cold anyway, get her a blanket. And if icicles are growing off the tip of your nose but she wants the air conditioner on, turn it on.
I don't like to beg, but if I have to, I will.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Friends, Family, and Me Sweating Most of the Morning
The baby shower was Saturday, and a fun time was had by all (most?).
The morning was filled with me bringing chairs out to the back patio from our basement storage, running to two different grocery stores to find properly ripe avocados, and cleaning dog feces off of the side of our building.
Bringing up the chairs wasn't that much of a hassle (Kristen's brother Jay helped, and he was also kind enough to clean them off). But, as many of you know, physical activity on my part, especially when in the spring or summer, leads to perspiration, usually about a bucketful for each degree above 78 degrees. As it was 82, it did not look good.
When I do physical things and sweat, I also tend to overheat, which also causes me to get extremely testy and crabby. It is why I'm meant to live in Alaska (like the kid from Into the Wild, but without the starvation part, of course), but I digress...
After the chairs, I walked to the front of our building and noticed a pungent smell accompanied by a swarm of flies. Flies and a smell. Not a good thing.
I love dogs. Love them. I can't wait to get a dog (I want a Bernese Mountain Dog, whereas Kristen wants a Bulldog; I'm winning this arguement, I'll tell you what). But while dogs are fabulous, their owners really aren't. So a dog made a horrible mess not two feet away from our building's side entrance (said entrance where people would be going to get to the shindig), and that meant I had to clean dog diarrhea off of brick.
It sounds a lot more fun than it really was, I'll tell you what.
So then, after scrubbing a wall for 15 minutes, I washed my hands and arms with scalding water and ran out first to the grocery down the street looking for guacamole ingredients. They had everything except for avocados. Well, they had them, but they were about 5 days from being ripe. (I tested this out by throwing one at another customer's head. He dropped like a sack of dirt. If he had said "ouch", they would've been 2 days from ripeness; if he had shrugged it off, it was ready to go.)
So I dropped off the other ingredients at home and drove off to Dominick's, where I threw some avocados at a shopper (I got a cross between the "ouch" and the shrug -- something like a "guh", so I figured I was close enough), and came home. (I won't even mention that I forgot a lemon and to run out again to the local shop.)
So, during this time of my running about, Kristen was boiling eggs, so when I returned, I deviled them up, and then started in on the guacamole (which Kristen finished so I could take a shower; did I mention that I was sweaty?). About this time, our friend Katia, who was so kind to help us host the event (she sent out really great e-invitations and brought over fruit and snacks, more of which I'll talk about later) arrived, allowing me to jump in the shower.
During my craziness, Kristen was cleaning up the place, just in case we were rained out and had to bring the party in from the back patio, and her brother ran out to get us lunch (yummmm... chicken with green mole).
And just like that, everything was done. The guacamole. The deviled eggs. The hot hors d'oeuvres. The soda chilled. The plates and plastic utensils and cups all out. I stopped sweating.
And right on the dot at 1:30, people arrived. Nearly everyone that said they were coming actually made it (although illness and a broken-down car kept some away). Barnabas got plenty of wonderful loot, and, thankfully, the rain never came.
And the cake was the topper. See, as most of you know, Kristen and I both grew up on the East Coast, she in New Jersey and me in Pennsylvania. There we were treated with Carvel ice cream stores, which would produce the most wonderful and fake tasting cakes, often times formed into the shape of an alien or a whale. (You had to be there, I guess.) Well, Carvel is slowly expanding, so a shop opened up in the northern suburbs. Our friend Barb was kind enough (on direction from Katia) to go out and get us a huge Carvel cake.
Good, good times.
Kristen will post some pictures of the party soon, and if she doesn't, be sure to bug her about it.
Again, thanks for everyone who came, and to those who couldn't make it, you missed some good eggs.
The morning was filled with me bringing chairs out to the back patio from our basement storage, running to two different grocery stores to find properly ripe avocados, and cleaning dog feces off of the side of our building.
Bringing up the chairs wasn't that much of a hassle (Kristen's brother Jay helped, and he was also kind enough to clean them off). But, as many of you know, physical activity on my part, especially when in the spring or summer, leads to perspiration, usually about a bucketful for each degree above 78 degrees. As it was 82, it did not look good.
When I do physical things and sweat, I also tend to overheat, which also causes me to get extremely testy and crabby. It is why I'm meant to live in Alaska (like the kid from Into the Wild, but without the starvation part, of course), but I digress...
After the chairs, I walked to the front of our building and noticed a pungent smell accompanied by a swarm of flies. Flies and a smell. Not a good thing.
I love dogs. Love them. I can't wait to get a dog (I want a Bernese Mountain Dog, whereas Kristen wants a Bulldog; I'm winning this arguement, I'll tell you what). But while dogs are fabulous, their owners really aren't. So a dog made a horrible mess not two feet away from our building's side entrance (said entrance where people would be going to get to the shindig), and that meant I had to clean dog diarrhea off of brick.
It sounds a lot more fun than it really was, I'll tell you what.
So then, after scrubbing a wall for 15 minutes, I washed my hands and arms with scalding water and ran out first to the grocery down the street looking for guacamole ingredients. They had everything except for avocados. Well, they had them, but they were about 5 days from being ripe. (I tested this out by throwing one at another customer's head. He dropped like a sack of dirt. If he had said "ouch", they would've been 2 days from ripeness; if he had shrugged it off, it was ready to go.)
So I dropped off the other ingredients at home and drove off to Dominick's, where I threw some avocados at a shopper (I got a cross between the "ouch" and the shrug -- something like a "guh", so I figured I was close enough), and came home. (I won't even mention that I forgot a lemon and to run out again to the local shop.)
So, during this time of my running about, Kristen was boiling eggs, so when I returned, I deviled them up, and then started in on the guacamole (which Kristen finished so I could take a shower; did I mention that I was sweaty?). About this time, our friend Katia, who was so kind to help us host the event (she sent out really great e-invitations and brought over fruit and snacks, more of which I'll talk about later) arrived, allowing me to jump in the shower.
During my craziness, Kristen was cleaning up the place, just in case we were rained out and had to bring the party in from the back patio, and her brother ran out to get us lunch (yummmm... chicken with green mole).
And just like that, everything was done. The guacamole. The deviled eggs. The hot hors d'oeuvres. The soda chilled. The plates and plastic utensils and cups all out. I stopped sweating.
And right on the dot at 1:30, people arrived. Nearly everyone that said they were coming actually made it (although illness and a broken-down car kept some away). Barnabas got plenty of wonderful loot, and, thankfully, the rain never came.
And the cake was the topper. See, as most of you know, Kristen and I both grew up on the East Coast, she in New Jersey and me in Pennsylvania. There we were treated with Carvel ice cream stores, which would produce the most wonderful and fake tasting cakes, often times formed into the shape of an alien or a whale. (You had to be there, I guess.) Well, Carvel is slowly expanding, so a shop opened up in the northern suburbs. Our friend Barb was kind enough (on direction from Katia) to go out and get us a huge Carvel cake.
Good, good times.
Kristen will post some pictures of the party soon, and if she doesn't, be sure to bug her about it.
Again, thanks for everyone who came, and to those who couldn't make it, you missed some good eggs.
Things I Worry About -- #2 in a Series
I worry that he's going to hate cats and/or the cats will hate him.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Things I Worry About -- #1 in a Series
I mentioned in an earlier post about how I'm worrying all the time about Barnabas. I figured it'd be worth it to start listing these completely irrational and inconsequential worries here, so you all can see how nuts I am. So here it goes...
I worry that he's going to grow up with a Chicago accent.
I worry that he's going to grow up with a Chicago accent.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
When Things Get Busy
There is such a thing as a public intellectual. These are people who merely are there to rouse up a dialog among the people of the community, whether it's about global warming or slavery reparations or Arby's horsey sauce (the latter which should be removed entirely from the planet, mind you).
I would like to be this person. Sitting on a large pile of pillows as people come up to me and ask me to form intelligent, well-thought opinions. I reckon since most people don't really want anyone else's opinion (their misguided ideas are fine), I wouldn't be too busy. Which is really the point.
Over the past 3 weeks, I've been busy. Very, very busy. I was in San Francisco for almost a week. My very good college friend came up from Austin to visit. I've been extremely busy at work. I have my writing class and our "oh my God, is birth really that painful?" class. Plus, I've been trying to get everything together with our place in preparation for Barnabas.
This weekend will get no less busy as we have the baby shower on Saturday, and Kristen's brother is coming Friday morning.
And while I really like having all these people come and visit and the shower should be a blast (I'm making deviled eggs, don't you know), I sort of want there to be four or five days in a row where I can just sit and contemplate and plan.
Hence my urge to be a public intellectual.
I've been looking on monster.com, but no luck so far, but I'll keep you all posted.
I would like to be this person. Sitting on a large pile of pillows as people come up to me and ask me to form intelligent, well-thought opinions. I reckon since most people don't really want anyone else's opinion (their misguided ideas are fine), I wouldn't be too busy. Which is really the point.
Over the past 3 weeks, I've been busy. Very, very busy. I was in San Francisco for almost a week. My very good college friend came up from Austin to visit. I've been extremely busy at work. I have my writing class and our "oh my God, is birth really that painful?" class. Plus, I've been trying to get everything together with our place in preparation for Barnabas.
This weekend will get no less busy as we have the baby shower on Saturday, and Kristen's brother is coming Friday morning.
And while I really like having all these people come and visit and the shower should be a blast (I'm making deviled eggs, don't you know), I sort of want there to be four or five days in a row where I can just sit and contemplate and plan.
Hence my urge to be a public intellectual.
I've been looking on monster.com, but no luck so far, but I'll keep you all posted.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Cross-Country Barnabas Love
I'm currently sitting in a hotel room in San Francisco, dreading having to walk over to the Moscone Convention Center. You see, I'm here for this year's American Diabetes Association's Annual Meeting, which means I get to look at slides explaining incretin mimetics, beta-cell preservation, and dyslipidemia over and over and over. Usually, these slides are presented by a low-level academic hoping to get tenure, and usually, the slides are read word... for... word... It's like nobody actually knows how to present anything anymore.
But I digress...
This will likely be the last time I'm away from Kristen until the arrival of the prince, and it's certainly the longest I've been away in years (I arrived yesterday, Friday, and won't return until Wednesday evening, just in time for our...)
Getting Ready for Baby Class!
Kristen and I signed up for a birthing preparation class, and the first session was last Wednesday. It was interesting to say the least. There were about a dozen couples there, and we learned such exciting things about the different phases of labor, how large Kristen's cervix is going to dilate (10 cm is a lot larger than you think, my friend), and some relaxation techniques (including massaging, which Kristen quite enjoyed).
We also watched a film about the different stages of natural labor, meaning that without drugs. Now, I've tried recently to be less judgmental about people. I'm trying to give them the benefit of the doubt. No more snarky comments about people's characters.
Except for in this case.
Why in all that's holy would you want to go through something so incredibly painful if you didn't have to? I mean, it's like saying, "Doctor, when you're extracting those 4 wisdom teeth, could you do it without any Novocaine or not allow me to take any Tylenol for the next 3 days." Why would you do that?
Of all the couples in the room, only one said that she's going to do it au naturale, but frankly, after that movie, I hope she changes her mind. If not, I'm allowing myself to judge and, after our final class, I'm likely to go up to her and yell, "You fool! It's the 21st century! Get with the program!"
And then run, because her husband's a big guy.
But I digress...
This will likely be the last time I'm away from Kristen until the arrival of the prince, and it's certainly the longest I've been away in years (I arrived yesterday, Friday, and won't return until Wednesday evening, just in time for our...)
Getting Ready for Baby Class!
Kristen and I signed up for a birthing preparation class, and the first session was last Wednesday. It was interesting to say the least. There were about a dozen couples there, and we learned such exciting things about the different phases of labor, how large Kristen's cervix is going to dilate (10 cm is a lot larger than you think, my friend), and some relaxation techniques (including massaging, which Kristen quite enjoyed).
We also watched a film about the different stages of natural labor, meaning that without drugs. Now, I've tried recently to be less judgmental about people. I'm trying to give them the benefit of the doubt. No more snarky comments about people's characters.
Except for in this case.
Why in all that's holy would you want to go through something so incredibly painful if you didn't have to? I mean, it's like saying, "Doctor, when you're extracting those 4 wisdom teeth, could you do it without any Novocaine or not allow me to take any Tylenol for the next 3 days." Why would you do that?
Of all the couples in the room, only one said that she's going to do it au naturale, but frankly, after that movie, I hope she changes her mind. If not, I'm allowing myself to judge and, after our final class, I'm likely to go up to her and yell, "You fool! It's the 21st century! Get with the program!"
And then run, because her husband's a big guy.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Gut Check
There's a new Mexican restaurant close to our neighborhood that we checked out the other night. Many non-Chicagoans don't realize this, but Chicago has a) one of the largest Mexican populations in the country (second only to LA, according to the 2000 US Census) and b) one of the best restaurant scenes as well, including a ton of great Mexican places. These range from super high-end meals (like Topolobampo) where you're likely to spend $400-plus on a meal for 2, to great taquerias (like La Pasadita, with 3 locations within 100 feet of each other) where you can get stuffed for under $5.
The place we went to the other night was called Mixteco Grill, a small place which served really fresh, tasty food. I had the pork; Kristen had the grouper.
And this interests you how, you ask...
Well, one of the sauces that came with my pork was habanero-based, and I have to say that it could possibly have been the hottest thing I've ever put in my mouth. I drooled. I cried. I smothered my poor tongue with refried beans. Nothing worked, and I just had to grin and bear it as the pain eventually (although not quickly) subsided.
While I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the meal, I knew that later that evening, I would be in some discomfort. How much, however, I couldn't have guessed.
That night -- after I carried up an air conditioner and a new (used) television, and carried down our old television -- I found myself in a prone position on the couch, moaning and groaning. (That lifting of appliances only exacerbated my stomach pain.) I could hardly breathe. I was sweating uncontrollably. It was not a pretty sight.
Kristen, however, had little sympathy. She checked in on me a couple of times, but every time I let out a wail of "ohhh, my poor stomach", she merely shot me a look and then pointed to her own stomach which has grown quite large over the past seven months.
You see, dear readers, you cannot get stomach sympathy from a woman who is pregnant. It's just not going to happen. And I should've realized this. Kristen has had gastrointestinal issues practically from day 1 of the pregnancy, and it's only gotten worse as the weeks and months go on. She pops Tums like they're going out of style, she's started to get heartburn (forcing her to stand upright for a while after eating), and she burps. A lot.
Kristen is what I like to call a delicate flower. At least she was. Now, we'll be walking down the street, and she'll be burping like a sailor. At first, I used to comment on them: "Nice one!" or "That was loud!". But now, it's old hat.
(The only time I do comment is when Kristen makes her burps come out of her body sounding like the word "burp." That really annoys me. I mean, when I sneeze, I don't yell out "sneeze," do I?)
So what's the moral of the story here? Certainly beware of hot sauces at Mexican restaurants. But also, if you're suffering from a physical malady -- whether it is headaches, back aches, or stomach aches -- your 7-months-pregnant wife likely doesn't care as much about it as you'd like her to.
And rightly so.
The place we went to the other night was called Mixteco Grill, a small place which served really fresh, tasty food. I had the pork; Kristen had the grouper.
And this interests you how, you ask...
Well, one of the sauces that came with my pork was habanero-based, and I have to say that it could possibly have been the hottest thing I've ever put in my mouth. I drooled. I cried. I smothered my poor tongue with refried beans. Nothing worked, and I just had to grin and bear it as the pain eventually (although not quickly) subsided.
While I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the meal, I knew that later that evening, I would be in some discomfort. How much, however, I couldn't have guessed.
That night -- after I carried up an air conditioner and a new (used) television, and carried down our old television -- I found myself in a prone position on the couch, moaning and groaning. (That lifting of appliances only exacerbated my stomach pain.) I could hardly breathe. I was sweating uncontrollably. It was not a pretty sight.
Kristen, however, had little sympathy. She checked in on me a couple of times, but every time I let out a wail of "ohhh, my poor stomach", she merely shot me a look and then pointed to her own stomach which has grown quite large over the past seven months.
You see, dear readers, you cannot get stomach sympathy from a woman who is pregnant. It's just not going to happen. And I should've realized this. Kristen has had gastrointestinal issues practically from day 1 of the pregnancy, and it's only gotten worse as the weeks and months go on. She pops Tums like they're going out of style, she's started to get heartburn (forcing her to stand upright for a while after eating), and she burps. A lot.
Kristen is what I like to call a delicate flower. At least she was. Now, we'll be walking down the street, and she'll be burping like a sailor. At first, I used to comment on them: "Nice one!" or "That was loud!". But now, it's old hat.
(The only time I do comment is when Kristen makes her burps come out of her body sounding like the word "burp." That really annoys me. I mean, when I sneeze, I don't yell out "sneeze," do I?)
So what's the moral of the story here? Certainly beware of hot sauces at Mexican restaurants. But also, if you're suffering from a physical malady -- whether it is headaches, back aches, or stomach aches -- your 7-months-pregnant wife likely doesn't care as much about it as you'd like her to.
And rightly so.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Shower Power
As many of you know, it's something of a tradition to have friends and family get together a few weeks before the big event and have a party. Usually, it involves games, tasty food, gag gifts, sexy lingerie...
Wait? What? Oh, right. Wrong type of shower...
Sexy receiving blankets I meant to say.
And as Kristen and I are big fans of tradition (at least traditions in which gifts are given), we're having a baby shower. Our friends Katia and Tara are helping organize it, and Katia sent out the announcements via e-mail a couple of weeks ago. Many of you reading this are likely saying, "Wait, I received no such e-mail!" And, really, that could only be because of one of three reasons.
Reason one: Spam filters. As much as we love that all the African royalty or penis enlargement e-mails go straight into our junk folder, sometimes legitimate messages also go in there (like, for example, did you know I can get name brand watches for under $50? My spam filter sure doesn't want me to!). And we reckon that a lot of people that were sent e-mails never actually saw them.
Reason two: You live too darn far away. We have friends and family all across the country, and in many cases Kristen and I figured that you couldn't get here and didn't bother inviting you. (Actually, this was a point that I was against. I told her, "Look, we know that they can't come, but if we invite them, maybe they'll send us stuff anyway!" Kristen, being the kind one of the couple, gave me that face that said, "Be good." I'm trying, honey. Really, I'm trying.)
Reason three: Uh... we don't really know you. It came to my attention recently that there may be people who read this blog who have no idea who we are. I mean, they know of us tangentially. That somehow either complete strangers or friends of our friends or relatives are reading this. And that's fine. I'm a ham, and I love the attention. But we're not going to invite you to the baby shower. That would just be a little creepy. You can still buy us gifts, of course. (And if the gift's nice enough, maybe we'll invite you to Barnabas' first birthday party. That won't be nearly as creepy.)
The shower is in a couple weeks -- June 21 -- on the patio in our back yard. The highlight of the afternoon will likely be cupcakes and deviled eggs, two of my favorite foods. (Not at the same time, of course, but they're safe if you wait a half-hour between eating each. Kind of like not swimming right after lunch.)
So, if you didn't get an invitation or you think you should've gotten an invitation or you're one of those creepy cyber stalkers and want to convince us to give you an invitation, drop one of us a line and we'll give you all the gory details.
Remember: cupcakes and deviled eggs.
And sexy receiving blankets.
Wait? What? Oh, right. Wrong type of shower...
Sexy receiving blankets I meant to say.
And as Kristen and I are big fans of tradition (at least traditions in which gifts are given), we're having a baby shower. Our friends Katia and Tara are helping organize it, and Katia sent out the announcements via e-mail a couple of weeks ago. Many of you reading this are likely saying, "Wait, I received no such e-mail!" And, really, that could only be because of one of three reasons.
Reason one: Spam filters. As much as we love that all the African royalty or penis enlargement e-mails go straight into our junk folder, sometimes legitimate messages also go in there (like, for example, did you know I can get name brand watches for under $50? My spam filter sure doesn't want me to!). And we reckon that a lot of people that were sent e-mails never actually saw them.
Reason two: You live too darn far away. We have friends and family all across the country, and in many cases Kristen and I figured that you couldn't get here and didn't bother inviting you. (Actually, this was a point that I was against. I told her, "Look, we know that they can't come, but if we invite them, maybe they'll send us stuff anyway!" Kristen, being the kind one of the couple, gave me that face that said, "Be good." I'm trying, honey. Really, I'm trying.)
Reason three: Uh... we don't really know you. It came to my attention recently that there may be people who read this blog who have no idea who we are. I mean, they know of us tangentially. That somehow either complete strangers or friends of our friends or relatives are reading this. And that's fine. I'm a ham, and I love the attention. But we're not going to invite you to the baby shower. That would just be a little creepy. You can still buy us gifts, of course. (And if the gift's nice enough, maybe we'll invite you to Barnabas' first birthday party. That won't be nearly as creepy.)
The shower is in a couple weeks -- June 21 -- on the patio in our back yard. The highlight of the afternoon will likely be cupcakes and deviled eggs, two of my favorite foods. (Not at the same time, of course, but they're safe if you wait a half-hour between eating each. Kind of like not swimming right after lunch.)
So, if you didn't get an invitation or you think you should've gotten an invitation or you're one of those creepy cyber stalkers and want to convince us to give you an invitation, drop one of us a line and we'll give you all the gory details.
Remember: cupcakes and deviled eggs.
And sexy receiving blankets.
Monday, June 2, 2008
King and Queen of the Garage Sale
We live on the top floor of a three-story building. Not having to listen to people clomp above you is really a beautiful thing, and I can only imagine how much better it will be once we're trying to keep Barnabas asleep. We also have a nice view -- well, not that nice, but it's better than those on the first or second floors. There are a few other benefits, but at the moment, I can't think of any.
Why, you ask? It's because my body is so sore and I'm so exhausted from carrying junk up and down those stairs I can hardly think straight. I started to haul things down on Thursday night and continued Friday and Saturday morning. I wasn't carrying anything too heavy (the worst was this secretary Kristen bought from Ikea a decade ago), but it was the frequency that killed me. Up and down, down and up.
But it was all worth it.
We set things up in the back courtyard of our building and also in our garage. The area was full of all the things that we no longer wanted and were sure that other were. Bookshelves, clothes, that heavy secretary, curtains, odd computer junk (a printer, a scanner), a shredder... you name it. And, amazingly, it nearly all sold. By the time I carried what little remained back up to the apartment, down into our storage locker, or (best of all) out to the garbage, we had racked up $382 in sales. Amazingly, that was without selling our biggest ticket item, the boomerang coffee table (which we were hoping to get $125 for). We'll put it up on Craig's list this week, and if you add that in, our sales should top $500.
That's at least 3 days worth of diapers, no?
Not to toot my own horn, but I really worked for a lot of that money. I delivered the secretary to a family a few blocks away. I got a nasty case of sunburn on my neck. I nearly dehydrated myself. I forced Kristen to go upstairs and sleep for a bit, so I went solo for a couple of hours. And, worst of all, I had to deliver some things to an older woman's apartment a couple of blocks away. With the woman in tow. Who could only walk 4 steps at a time before she stopped and began making conversation.
"How old are you?"
"Do you travel a lot?"
"Did I tell you about my young boyfriend?"
"My brother lives in Morton Grove. Have you ever been to Morton Grove?"
This woman -- Faye was her name -- also told me all about her second husband (from Holland), her friend who lives outside of Las Vegas, and her refusal to fly in planes. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for three things: 1) she had only about 5 teeth in her entire mouth and it was very distracting watching her; 2) her bra was unattached at the back, with the various fasteners flying out the side of her house dress (I'm not sure how this was effecting in its bra-like duties); and 3) those questions and comments were repeated about 400,000 times.
What should've been a 5-minute walk to deliver the goods lasted about 30. We all had a good laugh (at my expense), but by that time, it was already 1:30 and I couldn't even muster the energy to complain.
Either way... $382, people! That's a lot of cash! Worth every hassle!
Why, you ask? It's because my body is so sore and I'm so exhausted from carrying junk up and down those stairs I can hardly think straight. I started to haul things down on Thursday night and continued Friday and Saturday morning. I wasn't carrying anything too heavy (the worst was this secretary Kristen bought from Ikea a decade ago), but it was the frequency that killed me. Up and down, down and up.
But it was all worth it.
We set things up in the back courtyard of our building and also in our garage. The area was full of all the things that we no longer wanted and were sure that other were. Bookshelves, clothes, that heavy secretary, curtains, odd computer junk (a printer, a scanner), a shredder... you name it. And, amazingly, it nearly all sold. By the time I carried what little remained back up to the apartment, down into our storage locker, or (best of all) out to the garbage, we had racked up $382 in sales. Amazingly, that was without selling our biggest ticket item, the boomerang coffee table (which we were hoping to get $125 for). We'll put it up on Craig's list this week, and if you add that in, our sales should top $500.
That's at least 3 days worth of diapers, no?
Not to toot my own horn, but I really worked for a lot of that money. I delivered the secretary to a family a few blocks away. I got a nasty case of sunburn on my neck. I nearly dehydrated myself. I forced Kristen to go upstairs and sleep for a bit, so I went solo for a couple of hours. And, worst of all, I had to deliver some things to an older woman's apartment a couple of blocks away. With the woman in tow. Who could only walk 4 steps at a time before she stopped and began making conversation.
"How old are you?"
"Do you travel a lot?"
"Did I tell you about my young boyfriend?"
"My brother lives in Morton Grove. Have you ever been to Morton Grove?"
This woman -- Faye was her name -- also told me all about her second husband (from Holland), her friend who lives outside of Las Vegas, and her refusal to fly in planes. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for three things: 1) she had only about 5 teeth in her entire mouth and it was very distracting watching her; 2) her bra was unattached at the back, with the various fasteners flying out the side of her house dress (I'm not sure how this was effecting in its bra-like duties); and 3) those questions and comments were repeated about 400,000 times.
What should've been a 5-minute walk to deliver the goods lasted about 30. We all had a good laugh (at my expense), but by that time, it was already 1:30 and I couldn't even muster the energy to complain.
Either way... $382, people! That's a lot of cash! Worth every hassle!
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