girlfiend

The Fiendling has his first swimming class tomorrow which means I have to wear my first bathing suit of the season. I went up to the third floor where I keep my out of season clothes and dug through the two boxes that house the contents of the top two drawers from my old house. For those of you not keeping track, we moved here almost two years ago when I was about eleven weeks pregnant. I’d already gained ten pounds and a good cup size. Rather than torment myself with bathing suits, bras and underwear that didn’t fit I packed them and shoved them, boxed, to the bottom of a closet where they still remain.

I started sorting through the boxes, pulling out lots of pretty lingerie, slutty lingerie, ratty old bras I should have thrown out years ago, my something blue underwear with “bride” written in rhinestones I’d totally forgotten about, and I came across an unassuming beige bra that made me stop digging. The bra was the tiniest non-baby clothing I’ve seen in a long time. So tiny I had to check the size to make sure that it actually was once mine. It was. I saw a tiny pink ribbon on the tag and remembered buying it at a specialty bra store on Main Street a few years ago. At the time I didn’t mind that it was way too expensive because two dollars went to breast cancer research, it fit well and I hadn’t had a bra that fit well in a long time.

Now, three years later, I still don’t have a bra that fits well. Since I’m still nursing once or twice a day I don’t even know that it’s worth buying one. But seriously, the bra was minuscule. I didn’t even consider trying it on. I wonder if it will ever fit again.

Yesterday I went to my first yoga class in more than a month. At first I was just busy on Sundays and the weekday evening classes are out because of the baby’s early bedtime. Then it had been so long I stopped trying to go and used any excuse not to. But yesterday, even though I casually suggested that I didn’t have to go several times, Boyfiend said to go so I did and I was surprised to find that I’m pretty much back to my pre-pregnancy shape. All of the things I wasn’t quite strong enough to do while pregnant and after the birth are like second nature again. My shoulders are still tight and I can’t comfortably do wheel pose but I can jump from flat back to chatturanga and from down dog to forward fold without a struggle. It’s nice to feel like myself again.

I’ve been avoiding writing lately. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because he’ll be a year old on Thursday. I can’t believe it’s been a year. One year ago today was my due date and I was freaking out. I was also enormous.

I know I’ve done this many times and there’s very little regular readers don’t already know, but since I’ve been tagged by  lisamechelle I’ll do it again.

RULES: Each player of this game starts off with 10 weird things/habits/little known facts about yourself. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 10 weird habits/things/little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. At the end you need to choose 5-10 people to be tagged and list their names. No tag backs…

1. I’d have a Bert-style unibrow if I didn’t pluck obsessively.

2. After reading the book Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret when I was five or six I practiced raising my left eyebrow in the mirror until I could do it effortlessly. Now my eyebrows are uncontrollable. I have no poker face because my eyebrows give everything away.

3. People tell me I smile all of the time, which I find difficult to believe since I’m usually so damned cranky.

4. I read ridiculously quickly without trying. It was always painful in school when we had to read in class because I’d finish a good 10 minutes before everyone else.

5. The same goes with test taking. I always finish first and go back over my answers two or three times waiting until at least one other person has finished before turning it in. The standardized tests like the Praxis, where you’re not allowed to do anything when you finish are painful.

6. My fingernails are always dirty and uneven.

7. I am a terrible dancer. Truly terrible. So bad I had friends who used to show the part of their wedding video that featured my spastic dancing to everyone who visited their house. Fuckers.

8. My nickname for the Fiendling is Smooshy. Or Smushy. How would you spell it?

9. Aside from typos and a few lapses- Smooshy vs. Smushy- I am a naturally good speller.

10. When Uggs got popular a few years ago I was slightly bitter because the Uggs that I’ve worn as winter boots since 1997 were too water-stained to be fashionable. I’m not the type to wear them with miniskirts anyway.
I’m not tagging anyone, but if you choose to participate let me know in the comments and I’ll check it out.

Lawmummy tagged me for this meme which I’m pretty sure I’ve done before, but I can’t find it in the archives so I’ll give it another go.

Five things you might not know about me.
1. I seriously considered moving to Portugal to be with a guy I met on vacation.
2. Howard 100 is my favorite radio station, closely followed by Sirius 26, Left of Center.

3. When it came to dance and gymnastics I was hopelessly uncoordinated and I was always incredibly embarrassed when I was forced to engage in those activities in elementary school and summer camp. I could never do the grapevine properly and I once caused an entire line of people to fall when I turned in the wrong direction during an open dress rehearsal for a musical.

4. Last weekend I got a haircut and I hate it.
5. I’m five books away from completing the 50 Book Challenge and I have only two more days in which to do it. Last night, because I hadn’t read it and it seemed like an easy read, I picked up a book that I’d otherwise never consider reading from my pre-teen library. I got to page eleven in about two minutes, and it was so bad I had to put it down. The book? The Boy-Oh-Boy Next Door, a Full House book about Stephanie.

My cell phone officially shit the bed. I’d blame it on the Fiendling’s love of chewing technology, but really it’s my fault for letting him and dropping it a few times too many. We took a ride out to the cell phone store the other day, as I’ve been itching for a camera phone. It’s tough taking pictures for the Unfortunate Fashion pool when you have a real camera. It turned out that I wasn’t eligible for an upgrade until April so I’d have to pay way too much money for any phone at all, including their shitty, no-frills models. The woman at the counter, clearly in love with my handsome baby whispered, “Go across the street to Radioshack, buy a pay as you go phone and swap the sim card.” Sure enough, for $20 I got a cheap ass, but working phone, and if it lasts until April I’m golden. I can wait until then for a camera phone. It will be a belated birthday present to myself.

After purchasing my new, cheap phone we got news that we’ve been victims of identity theft. Sweet, right? We got a call from a store’s fraud prevention department thanking us for our order, which obviously we never placed. The fraud department was closed by the  time we called so we ended up talking to someone in the sales department who was pretty damn useless. He was able to tell us what was ordered and that it would be delivered to us, at our house, by Fedex the next day. Then the information got fuzzy. My name was somehow linked to the order and he said I’d placed it on 11/25/05. Huh?

The next morning, yesterday, I called back and spoke to the fraud department. Someone opened a store account in Boyfiend’s name online and ordered $3500 worth of cameras. Oddly, they put our address and phone number on the order. She didn’t have my name on any of her information, but she was able to give me the number to cancel Boyfiend’s store account and she canceled the shipment. When Boyfiend called later he was told that we had to each put fraud alerts on our names and social security numbers.

Of the three credit organizations I was able to see my credit reports for two. The one that I placed the fraud alert through wouldn’t let me see my credit report because they’re assholes who want you to buy fraud insurance before they’ll let you see your FREE credit report. Now I have to wait until they mail me some packet with some code so I can do it online. So far, based on the two I could see, it looks like I’m okay and that no one’s opened anything in my name. Boyfiend was only able to see one of his reports for some reason and that one was fine, but still, someone out there has our name, address, phone number and his social security number and opened an account in his name. They have my name too, which is completely different from his since I never changed it after we married. It’s all scary and pretty fucked up.

Friday I got a call from the stupid tech department of the computer warranty company. At the time it looked like they were going to replace my laptop. The manager was waiting for official confirmation. That was Friday. I’ve heard nothing since. So I might get a new laptop free. Or I might not. We’ll see.

After a rather uncomfortable week my sister-in-law, with contractions five minutes apart arrived at the hospital to learn she was only a centimeter dilated and was going to be sent home. But then they checked her urine and saw she had pre-eclampsia  and admitted her anyway. The Fiendling’s first cousin, a beautiful baby girl with a lot of hair, was born yesterday around 6 p.m. via c-section.  Mom and dad were exhausted, but happy. I can’t wait to go back to the hospital to visit today.

I feel like this has been the longest week ever and it’s only Thursday.

You’d think, based on my previous obsession with them, that as soon as the jeans fit, really fit, I’d have said something, but somehow that milestone passed without too much fanfare. The jeans are now slightly too big. In fact, all of my pre-pregnancy pants, at least those that are seasonably appropriate are a little on the loose side.

The scales say I’m not quite down to pre-pregnancy weight, which I believe since my tops are all still too small. I’m not certain (like the pants it could just take time) but I’m pretty sure the Fiendling officially stretched out my ribcage forever, and my extra-small and small button-down shirts will never button without weird gaps again. Even the t-shirts are way too small, hitting my belly button instead of my waist. But that’s okay. I can live with a stretched out, uneven ribcage if it means I can wear my way too expensive jeans.
It took about nine months, just like all the books said. I thought that despite the 60 pounds I’d somehow get around that and lose all the baby weight by six months, but I was wrong and three extra months weren’t so bad. Now that my stomach is flat and my ass is regular sized I can go back to obsessing about whether or not my arms look fat.

• I just had a really hard time deciding whether or not to watch the Gilmore Girls or One Tree Hill. Gilmore Girls won, but only because it recorded a day earlier. Boyfiend and the Fiendling are both sick now that I’m well (well being relative since I still have bronchitis which only seems to strike in the middle of the night through the early morning hours) which means that I get the TV to myself after 9.30. No Eagles, no Flyers, no shows on the History channel that I’d probably find interesting but refuse to give the chance. So here I am drinking wine (a lovely 2001 Merlot) and watching Gilmore, which was actually pretty good last week, though I’m underwhelmed so far this viewing.
• Earlier today I found myself pondering that the toilet flusher gets stuck sometimes and the water runs and runs.  However it seems like it only runs after I’ve pooped. Is that because I flush the toilet extra hard? Or is it merely coincidence?
• Yesterday the following sentence came out of my mouth as a truck refused to let me cross even though I was fully in the street when it passed: “Nice. You’re so fucking Jesusy with the cross hanging from the rearview mirror that you have to cut off a woman with a stroller.”
• The Fiendling has an amazon wishlist, yet I’m too embarrassed to pass the link on the appropriate parties. I don’t want it to seem like begging, yet I don’t want a buttload of inappropriate toys that will just clutter up the house. It’s a conundrum.
• I planned on hosting a Hanukkah dinner Sunday night because my mom (Jew) told me she wanted to come over Sunday to make latkes. Then my dad (non-Jew) called last night and asked why I was having Hanukkah a week early. I looked it up and sure enough he was right and my mom was wrong. So I emailed everyone and told them I was an idiot and rescheduled for next weekend.
• This past weekend it occurred to me just how much I miss Junkiegirl. Waah.
• The Gilmore Girls is so lame I may have to stop it and watch OTH instead. I am so cool.

Brining a turkey makes all the difference.

Paula Deen’s country stuffing is good, but regular stuffing is better.

One should never try new vegetable recipes on Thanksgiving. Everyone’s too busy eating the other stuff to care.

Banana Republic is finally selling shirts that hit below the waist. Belly shirts be damned.

A stomach virus, though I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone, is a great way to lose the rest of the baby weight.

The combination of a stomach virus and a new, longer-length shirt from Banana Republic ensures that people will say, “You don’t look like you just had a baby,” at your high school reunion.

Nothing pleases a woman more than hearing the phrase, “You don’t look like you just had a baby,” from a number of different people.

No one on my mother’s side of the family can be trusted. They are all crazy in different ways and no matter how I try to stay out of it, I’ll always be dragged in.

Headbands look awfully cute on a short haircut.

One.9 Merlot isn’t bad at all, even if you’re not watching your carbs.

As of Thursday I’ve eaten:

• English muffin with butter (this was a very poor choice with severe consequences)
• chicken broth (maybe a cup and half total)
• toast (5 or 6 slices)
• applesauce (maybe half a cup)
• rice (about a quarter cup)
• a few crackers

Considering my last real meal was half of a turkey sandwich on Wednesday, shortly before the great stomach illness took hold, you wouldn’t think that I’d have spent the last several days watching the food network nonstop, but I have and I just can’t stop. I’ve fallen deeply in love with Giada and everything she cooks. I can’t get enough of Paula Deen and would love to be a guest at her Thanksgiving dinner even though she uses entirely too much mayonnaise and calls sweet potatoes stuffed with marshmallow and rolled in coconut a vegetable. Michael Chiarello is creepy, though I plan on trying a number of his recipes. I despise Sandra Lee with all of her powdered spice packets. Alton Brown is probably someone I’d enjoy hanging out with, especially while he deep fries a turkey. Emeril isn’t nearly as annoying in his half hour show as he is live though none of his recipes have wowed me. Rachael Ray’s voice is grating and her recipes suck balls. I’m also rather fond of the Barefoot Contessa though I’ve only caught a few minutes of her making a pie crust in a food processor. Apparently it’s all about the ice water.

Later

I had to edit this to add that I just watched the Iron Chef America battle Cranberry with team Bobby Flay/Giada DiLaurentis vs. Mario Batali/Rachael Ray. Bobby Flay has always seemed like a bit of a dick, so it was no surprise to me that he and Giada didn’t make such a good team. She obviously needed reassurance but he was too wrapped up in what he was doing to help her out. On the other side, Rachael who was sweaty, flushed, frustrated and totally out of her element was calmed by the ever-supportive Mario calling her “honey-bunny” and enjoying himself visibly. I’d never seen much of Batali in action before, and based on this show I like him. I don’t know if it was his presence on her team or the fact that she was obviously nervous and her perkiness was somewhat subdued, but Rachael Ray was actually likeable and her pasta dish looked like something I’d want to make. So maybe all of her recipes don’t suck balls.

I’m not good at making friends. Aside from Doodlebug, who I was set up with, I haven’t made a new friend in years. I know that that’s not unusual, especially since I’m old and married and lame, but having mom friends is important and I only have two who live nearby. In the past eight months I’ve managed to chat up at least half a dozen moms at the playground, but I’ve never quite made it to the next step, the playdate step, which is clearly where I need to be right now.

A woman pushing a stroller down my street once gave me her phone number. When I called and left a message I never heard back. Another woman in Target, clearly desperate for friendship never called back either. Yet, Doodlebug somehow manages to get invitations to weekly strolls in the park, coffee dates and who knows what other mom/baby meetings.
I know that many people make friends online and make the transition to a real friendship. Not me. Aside from the people I actually know in real life I haven’t really befriended any bloggers. I’ve private messaged with people on my local message board and I’ve emailed with a number of people sporadically, but then they stop emailing back and I start to feel insecure and bad about myself. I wonder how I’ve offended them and I go back over my sent mail and scour it for anything that could be taken the wrong way. Later I realize I’m the one who forgot to write back, and I feel like an asshole, an insecure asshole who doesn’t know how to make friends, all over again. Insecurities aside, the majority of the people I’ve written to live so far away we couldn’t be friends in real life anyway.

Because I’m so bad at maintaining contact it’s a wonder I’ve ever actually met any bloggers in real life on purpose. But once, just once, I did. We met at a bar in my old neighborhood for food and drinks and I felt awkward. Really, really awkward. I wasn’t sure what to talk about. No one seemed to be talking about their blogs and that was all I really knew about them and all we outwardly had in common. We made conversation and I certainly didn’t have a bad time, but I noticed no one was really banging down my door trying to arrange future meetups, nor was I brave enough to try to try to arrange any myself. Getting together with that particular group just kind of made me feel old and lame and sad because I really wanted to make friends and failed.

So the other day (now last week) when I ran into a blogger at the playground I said hi even though I was afraid to. A few months ago I’d tried to get her involved in another project and she’d said no and even though it wasn’t personal I’m not good with rejection. I assumed she probably didn’t want want to talk to me, but I knew if I didn’t say something I’d just stare at her and she’d probably think I was some sort of creepy stalker so I said hi and we chatted, awkwardly. I had at least half a dozen questions I wanted to ask her, but based on my previous experience with bloggers not talking about their blogs in real life meetings I didn’t, even though she asked about blog-related things in my life. I tried to act as though I wasn’t completely intimidated, but I was, and when she gathered her kids and left I felt like I’d failed a pop quiz.

Anyway, it’s nice out today. Hopefully the Fiendling will take a nap soon and afterwards we’ll go to the playground. Maybe I’ll manage to score a playdate this time.