There's something about October. And I've always kind of liked it.
The wind is always just a little bit eerie. Everything just a touch greyer. Except for an occasional spot of orange pumpkin on a brownstone.
But this year? I'm so over October.
Why did I ever think this month was the best one ever? It's the start of cold-and-flu season and never-ending coughing. The start of mice-looking-to-warm-up-and-get-in-your-apartment season. And now this weekend, it's going to snow. Seriously. The nerve of snow to show itself before November! Totally rude.
What next?
Ghost talk.
Yes. It has happened. A. has asked me if I believe in ghosts.
Now. You might think the best and easiest way to end this conversation would be to say "no such thing as ghosts." Only...who am I to say there aren't? Lots of reasonably intelligent people have had ghostly encounters. I have had one or two questionable ones. And let's be honest...if the ghost we are talking about is a deceased loved one, then maybe we want there to be ghosts after all. I personally would like to think there are one or two of them hanging around looking after us.
You think ghosts might like to babysit?
Anyway, I've had two questionable ghostly encounters. Here's one. Years ago, the husband and I were staying at a very remote inn in Scotland. Neither of us slept a wink that night. He had gotten attacked by midgies (little Scottish bugs)and was in the midst of a miserable allergy attack. I kept hearing strange noise like someone pacing in the hallway. But every time I opened the door to check, no one was there. Husband said "old building." I said "ghost." I mean, if you were a ghost, wouldn't you totally pick Scotland for haunting? Nice and gloomy.
And of course, I googled the inn once we got home and sure enough it did have a resident ghost. Hmmmm. Though when I googled some more, it seemed like pretty much every building in Scotland claimed to have one. Maybe it's good for tourism.
So. When A. asked me if there were really ghosts I said "some people think so." When her eyes widened, I said "but probably not."
So what do you think? It's almost Halloween. Tell me your creepiest, kookiest ghost tale. What have you got?
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Yay for boobies
If you are male and the title of this blog post excited you, you may want to stop reading right now. I'm serious. Stop. Right. Now. It's not what you think. It's not sexy. I promise.
Oh well. You've been warned.
Never in my life have I thought so much about my boobs. Not because they are so amazingly fabulous. But because I am breast feeding. And therefore as a working mom, always pumping. If I am not pumping, I am thinking about when I need to pump next. And where I can do it. And how I can keep it cold.
So you see, I am a bit obsessed.
This was especially apparent on my first business trip since going back to work after maternity leave. What made it especially challenging? I forgot the battery pack to my pump...meaning anywhere I had to pump, I had to plug it in. Nightmare.
This meant that while I thought I might wind up pumping in the airplane bathroom, I did not. Instead, I just stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, watching my boobs swell up like Pamela Anderson. I had to wait until I was back to the hotel for a marathon pumping session while watching a marathon of Sister Wives. Strangely addictive and horrifying at the same time.
Luckily, most of my time on the trip was spent at casting sessions, where I could excuse myself to pump in a very clean and tidy bathroom. Unfortunately, this also meant I kind of had to take over the bathroom for about a half hour, which meant everyone knew what I was up to. More talking about my boobs. I was starting to bore myself.
In case you are wondering, pumping itself can get pretty damn boring. Sometimes I talk on the phone while doing it or go on the computer. I read. I write. Other times, I do exercises. Yeah. I do. Standing up while pumping. You can totally do plies. Squats. Whatever. If I am stuck in a bathroom, it is better than staring at myself in the mirror since I will inevitably spot a new gray hair. Which makes me wonder if I am too old to have a new baby (too late!) and too old to be pumping. But still. Pump I do.
I can't help it; the boy is eight months old and still loves it. Our girl was never a super big fan of it and pretty much gave it up at around nine months. The boy, however, loves it. I would say that is one of his main hobbies in life. It's good for him. It's good for me. So this is why I do what I do.
Plus did I mention it burns a ton of calories?
Worst place I have pumped since going back to work? Probably in an Amtrak train bathroom that hadn't been cleaned in about 50 years. Worst experience? Being walked in on at the office while doing it (should have locked the damn door and he was more horrified than I was). A sign that I no longer give a crap about modesty? Allowing other people in my office while doing it (I was totally covered up and it was only once and the sound was pretty much humiliating for everyone and no, I don't recommend it).
As I type this, I'm sitting on an airplane, counting the minutes until I get home and don't have to pump. When I can feed a real live baby. So I can retire the pump for a day or two. I'm starting to feel like it's my boyfriend, which is not a good sign.
Oh well. You've been warned.
Never in my life have I thought so much about my boobs. Not because they are so amazingly fabulous. But because I am breast feeding. And therefore as a working mom, always pumping. If I am not pumping, I am thinking about when I need to pump next. And where I can do it. And how I can keep it cold.
So you see, I am a bit obsessed.
This was especially apparent on my first business trip since going back to work after maternity leave. What made it especially challenging? I forgot the battery pack to my pump...meaning anywhere I had to pump, I had to plug it in. Nightmare.
This meant that while I thought I might wind up pumping in the airplane bathroom, I did not. Instead, I just stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, watching my boobs swell up like Pamela Anderson. I had to wait until I was back to the hotel for a marathon pumping session while watching a marathon of Sister Wives. Strangely addictive and horrifying at the same time.
Luckily, most of my time on the trip was spent at casting sessions, where I could excuse myself to pump in a very clean and tidy bathroom. Unfortunately, this also meant I kind of had to take over the bathroom for about a half hour, which meant everyone knew what I was up to. More talking about my boobs. I was starting to bore myself.
In case you are wondering, pumping itself can get pretty damn boring. Sometimes I talk on the phone while doing it or go on the computer. I read. I write. Other times, I do exercises. Yeah. I do. Standing up while pumping. You can totally do plies. Squats. Whatever. If I am stuck in a bathroom, it is better than staring at myself in the mirror since I will inevitably spot a new gray hair. Which makes me wonder if I am too old to have a new baby (too late!) and too old to be pumping. But still. Pump I do.
I can't help it; the boy is eight months old and still loves it. Our girl was never a super big fan of it and pretty much gave it up at around nine months. The boy, however, loves it. I would say that is one of his main hobbies in life. It's good for him. It's good for me. So this is why I do what I do.
Plus did I mention it burns a ton of calories?
Worst place I have pumped since going back to work? Probably in an Amtrak train bathroom that hadn't been cleaned in about 50 years. Worst experience? Being walked in on at the office while doing it (should have locked the damn door and he was more horrified than I was). A sign that I no longer give a crap about modesty? Allowing other people in my office while doing it (I was totally covered up and it was only once and the sound was pretty much humiliating for everyone and no, I don't recommend it).
As I type this, I'm sitting on an airplane, counting the minutes until I get home and don't have to pump. When I can feed a real live baby. So I can retire the pump for a day or two. I'm starting to feel like it's my boyfriend, which is not a good sign.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
In case you're wondering...
It's pretty much impossible to feel cool when you're walking around with breast pump parts.
Not that my goal in life is to be cool. At all. However, I do work in an industry where you don't want to be a complete dork. Unless you're doing it ironically, of course.
And carrying your breast pump parts to the kitchen to clean them well, nothing ironic about that.
Just embarrassing.
That is all.
Not that my goal in life is to be cool. At all. However, I do work in an industry where you don't want to be a complete dork. Unless you're doing it ironically, of course.
And carrying your breast pump parts to the kitchen to clean them well, nothing ironic about that.
Just embarrassing.
That is all.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Living the wild life in Brooklyn
I don't like critters. Sorry my vegetarian friends. But I don't. So sue me.
That's why I chose to live in a city environment. Too many snakes and frogs and lizards in Florida for my liking. And in college, too many random gators. Yes, I know, ha, ha...I went to University of Florida, what could I expect. But seriously, the campus was crawling with the real ones. Anyone else remember the baby gator living in the pond by the student union? And I never understood why anyone went on romantic walks around Lake Alice....how romantic would it be if you stepped on an alligator? No thank you.
I realized once I got to the city that it has its own share of wildlife. Namely, the dreaded mice. When I first got here, I stayed in the NYU dorms where they had so many of them, you literally had to step over them. Then there was that mouse I accidentally toasted in our apartment over on 14th Street. After that, I thought it was a good idea to get a cat. It was. Didn't see any mice for about a dozen years.
But mice are nothing compared to raccoons, as it turns out.
So we have a lovely roofdeck that's perfect for watching the sunset on summer evenings. One night, A. went upstairs with a popsicle, my husband and my sister's boyfriend. She came running downstairs, claiming to see a raccoon. Ha, ha, I said.
Really, she insisted. My sister's boyfriend snapped a picture to prove it. We figured it was just lost. Visiting. Wouldn't happen again.
The next day my husband went upstairs to check on the roof deck. Our raccoon friend had apparently invited a few friends over. They were taking a sunbath. These tough Brooklyn raccoons saw my husband and basically gave him the finger.
Our neighbor went upstairs to check out the situation and snapped a photo of one of the raccoons in our chimney. You know. Making itself right at home.
A: I think raccoons are cute. I'm glad we have a new pet.
ME: This is not a pet. This is a dangerous animal.
A: No, it's not. SHE POINTS TO A PAGE IN HER SNOW WHITE BOOK. Look. This raccoon helped Snow White.
ME: Snow White's an idiot. She took a poisoned apple from a witch. Please don't try to pet the raccoon.
A: I KNOW THAT!
This is followed by an eye roll. Awesome. Love those eyerolls.
It was time to call in the big guns. A trapper. Of course, this is NYC and everyone is trying to make a buck. All the trappers know that the city folk cannot possibly handle something like this themselves. Heck, we can't even carry our own groceries...how can we be expected to catch a wild beast? You'd be surprised the numbers I was quoted. Our fellow coop neighbor found the cheapest guy in town. Mike the Trapper. He placed and baited the traps. And lo and behold, the first night out, he caught something.
He came the next day to pick up the raccoon. I wasn't sure what to expect. A big strapping guy in a plaid shirt, perhaps? He would most certainly have a beard. Don't all trappers have beards?
Instead, a little old guy came huffing and puffing up our steps.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: You need an elevator.
ME: Yes. I know.
I was a bit worried Mike the Trapper was going to collapse.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: You're pretty. You Italian?
ME: No. Sorry.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Too bad. You're almost pretty enough to be Italian.
Now what is the proper response to this?
ME: Let's go get the raccoon.
We went upstairs. The metal trap was moving around on the roofdeck. Inside, a 20 pound beast was thrashing around, teeth bared. Mike the Trapper looked terrified.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Oh sh*t.
He picked up the trap by the handle.
ME: Um...you're not going to open that thing are you?
The raccoon growled.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Well, I guess I shouldn't release it.
ME: Definitely not.
The raccoon was now trying to pick the lock open with its teeth.
ME: Maybe you should bring it downstairs.
Mike picked it up. The raccoon continued to hiss and spit and basically act like Linda Blair. This guy wasn't going down without a fight.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: I think it might be rabid.
ME: Okay, then. Let's get it out of here.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Lots of raccoons around here. And bats.
At this point, we are near our apartment. A. poked her head out.
A: I want to see the raccoon.
ME: No.
A: Can we visit it at the park sometime?
ME: Maybe.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: I'll be back tomorrow with more traps. Are you sure you aren't Italian?
Still not Italian. Still hate critters.
That's why I chose to live in a city environment. Too many snakes and frogs and lizards in Florida for my liking. And in college, too many random gators. Yes, I know, ha, ha...I went to University of Florida, what could I expect. But seriously, the campus was crawling with the real ones. Anyone else remember the baby gator living in the pond by the student union? And I never understood why anyone went on romantic walks around Lake Alice....how romantic would it be if you stepped on an alligator? No thank you.
I realized once I got to the city that it has its own share of wildlife. Namely, the dreaded mice. When I first got here, I stayed in the NYU dorms where they had so many of them, you literally had to step over them. Then there was that mouse I accidentally toasted in our apartment over on 14th Street. After that, I thought it was a good idea to get a cat. It was. Didn't see any mice for about a dozen years.
But mice are nothing compared to raccoons, as it turns out.
So we have a lovely roofdeck that's perfect for watching the sunset on summer evenings. One night, A. went upstairs with a popsicle, my husband and my sister's boyfriend. She came running downstairs, claiming to see a raccoon. Ha, ha, I said.
Really, she insisted. My sister's boyfriend snapped a picture to prove it. We figured it was just lost. Visiting. Wouldn't happen again.
The next day my husband went upstairs to check on the roof deck. Our raccoon friend had apparently invited a few friends over. They were taking a sunbath. These tough Brooklyn raccoons saw my husband and basically gave him the finger.
Our neighbor went upstairs to check out the situation and snapped a photo of one of the raccoons in our chimney. You know. Making itself right at home.
A: I think raccoons are cute. I'm glad we have a new pet.
ME: This is not a pet. This is a dangerous animal.
A: No, it's not. SHE POINTS TO A PAGE IN HER SNOW WHITE BOOK. Look. This raccoon helped Snow White.
ME: Snow White's an idiot. She took a poisoned apple from a witch. Please don't try to pet the raccoon.
A: I KNOW THAT!
This is followed by an eye roll. Awesome. Love those eyerolls.
It was time to call in the big guns. A trapper. Of course, this is NYC and everyone is trying to make a buck. All the trappers know that the city folk cannot possibly handle something like this themselves. Heck, we can't even carry our own groceries...how can we be expected to catch a wild beast? You'd be surprised the numbers I was quoted. Our fellow coop neighbor found the cheapest guy in town. Mike the Trapper. He placed and baited the traps. And lo and behold, the first night out, he caught something.
He came the next day to pick up the raccoon. I wasn't sure what to expect. A big strapping guy in a plaid shirt, perhaps? He would most certainly have a beard. Don't all trappers have beards?
Instead, a little old guy came huffing and puffing up our steps.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: You need an elevator.
ME: Yes. I know.
I was a bit worried Mike the Trapper was going to collapse.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: You're pretty. You Italian?
ME: No. Sorry.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Too bad. You're almost pretty enough to be Italian.
Now what is the proper response to this?
ME: Let's go get the raccoon.
We went upstairs. The metal trap was moving around on the roofdeck. Inside, a 20 pound beast was thrashing around, teeth bared. Mike the Trapper looked terrified.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Oh sh*t.
He picked up the trap by the handle.
ME: Um...you're not going to open that thing are you?
The raccoon growled.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Well, I guess I shouldn't release it.
ME: Definitely not.
The raccoon was now trying to pick the lock open with its teeth.
ME: Maybe you should bring it downstairs.
Mike picked it up. The raccoon continued to hiss and spit and basically act like Linda Blair. This guy wasn't going down without a fight.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: I think it might be rabid.
ME: Okay, then. Let's get it out of here.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: Lots of raccoons around here. And bats.
At this point, we are near our apartment. A. poked her head out.
A: I want to see the raccoon.
ME: No.
A: Can we visit it at the park sometime?
ME: Maybe.
MIKE THE TRAPPER: I'll be back tomorrow with more traps. Are you sure you aren't Italian?
Still not Italian. Still hate critters.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Food for thought
So there's this scene in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer that always sticks out in my mind. It's where Santa has lost his appetite for some reason and Mrs. Claus is saying "eat, Papa, eat!" in a very distinct way that truthfully always reminded me of Goldie in Fiddler on the Roof. Was Mrs. Claus supposed to be Jewish? Or was this some Hollywood writer's clever way of letting you know who was writing the script?
In any case, I know it is a complete stereotype to say that a Jewish mom always wants to feed her kids. I hate to perpetuate this kind of thing. But for me, it is true. When A. started eating for the very first time, I loved the way her mouth sounded as she enjoyed all the new tastes. I have no idea why. I still love that she loves food; really, I have never seen anyone take such great pleasure in olives or sushi or chocolate chip cookies as she does.
And now there is Baby Boy.
If you read this blog at all you know that he was born with an esophagus connection problem that made the start of his life really challenging. Since then, he had to go back to the hospital once to have his esophagus dilated. This made it not quite so narrow and made feeding him sooooo much better. He loves to eat and literally smacks his lips when I come in the room. Baby Boy is so happy and smiley you'd never guess what the first eight weeks of his life were like.
And then one day, it happened. He stole a French fly off Daddy's plate.
Don't worry, he didn't eat it. But it was pretty clear the boy was ready to eat. Our pediatrician wanted him to start slowly so his six-month birthday came and went without any baby cereal or baby food. Although I will admit to giving him a taste of popsicle. He loved it so much, I felt terrible for not letting him finish it. The thing is, his breathing started to sound "wet"...which is something that usually lets us know he isn't swallowing the way he should. So I pulled it away and he yelled at me like well, a baby. He's not much of a yeller either so I knew he was ticked.
Yesterday, we got the thumbs up to feed him baby food. So last night, he got his first taste of pureed sweet potatoes...made even thinner with milk. Just a few teaspoonfuls but man, he loved it. He ate it really neatly too, as though he was not going to waste a drop.
We sat and listened and made sure everything went down the way it should. It's different with him; while I don't want to think of food as the enemy, there is still a chance that at some point in his life, the food will get stuck and we will wind up back in the hospital. This is pretty common with guys like him.
I still love the little noise his mouth makes.
I just want him to love to eat like the way his sister does. He completely deserves it.
Tonight's menu....avocado. As Mrs. Claus would say, eat, baby, eat.
In any case, I know it is a complete stereotype to say that a Jewish mom always wants to feed her kids. I hate to perpetuate this kind of thing. But for me, it is true. When A. started eating for the very first time, I loved the way her mouth sounded as she enjoyed all the new tastes. I have no idea why. I still love that she loves food; really, I have never seen anyone take such great pleasure in olives or sushi or chocolate chip cookies as she does.
And now there is Baby Boy.
If you read this blog at all you know that he was born with an esophagus connection problem that made the start of his life really challenging. Since then, he had to go back to the hospital once to have his esophagus dilated. This made it not quite so narrow and made feeding him sooooo much better. He loves to eat and literally smacks his lips when I come in the room. Baby Boy is so happy and smiley you'd never guess what the first eight weeks of his life were like.
And then one day, it happened. He stole a French fly off Daddy's plate.
Don't worry, he didn't eat it. But it was pretty clear the boy was ready to eat. Our pediatrician wanted him to start slowly so his six-month birthday came and went without any baby cereal or baby food. Although I will admit to giving him a taste of popsicle. He loved it so much, I felt terrible for not letting him finish it. The thing is, his breathing started to sound "wet"...which is something that usually lets us know he isn't swallowing the way he should. So I pulled it away and he yelled at me like well, a baby. He's not much of a yeller either so I knew he was ticked.
Yesterday, we got the thumbs up to feed him baby food. So last night, he got his first taste of pureed sweet potatoes...made even thinner with milk. Just a few teaspoonfuls but man, he loved it. He ate it really neatly too, as though he was not going to waste a drop.
We sat and listened and made sure everything went down the way it should. It's different with him; while I don't want to think of food as the enemy, there is still a chance that at some point in his life, the food will get stuck and we will wind up back in the hospital. This is pretty common with guys like him.
I still love the little noise his mouth makes.
I just want him to love to eat like the way his sister does. He completely deserves it.
Tonight's menu....avocado. As Mrs. Claus would say, eat, baby, eat.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The baby holder
I'm not that kind of woman.
I don't ask to hold other people's babies. Not my thing. Never has been. Don't get me wrong; I always thought kids were cute and fun. But babies? Not as cute as everyone pretended they were. And definitely not that much fun. Way too needy. Kind of selfish, really.
And then I had my first baby and didn't want to put her down. Especially not around other babies, who all clearly had runny noses, stinky diapers and drool. My baby never had a runny nose (honest...didn't get sick her first year though she has more than made up for it since) and she wasn't a big drooler. And as turned out, she was super fun. Obviously, she just had a better personality than all the other babies out there. Those other babies were dicks when they cried. Mine was just trying to communicate with me.
So you would assume after having a baby, I would totally have no problem holding them. Might even crave it as some women claim to do. Nope. Not at all. Anytime I held another person's baby, I felt like I was cheating on my own. And at the same time I was making inevitable comparisons to my daughter...like, this baby is really way too fat UNLIKE MINE. This baby is kind of whiny UNLIKE MINE. Man, I'm glad my baby doesn't do THAT.
And now I have a second baby. And I can't put him down. And I hate to share him with other people. And every time someone else picks him up, I am inwardly critiquing the way they are holding him.
So the next time you ask to hold my baby, please don't be offended if I drop you in a vat of Purell first. And more importantly, don't be upset if I don't ask to hold your bambino. Because really, I just can't cheat on Baby Boy like that. And all my oohs and ahhs and coos, well, they will be rather forced.
I don't ask to hold other people's babies. Not my thing. Never has been. Don't get me wrong; I always thought kids were cute and fun. But babies? Not as cute as everyone pretended they were. And definitely not that much fun. Way too needy. Kind of selfish, really.
And then I had my first baby and didn't want to put her down. Especially not around other babies, who all clearly had runny noses, stinky diapers and drool. My baby never had a runny nose (honest...didn't get sick her first year though she has more than made up for it since) and she wasn't a big drooler. And as turned out, she was super fun. Obviously, she just had a better personality than all the other babies out there. Those other babies were dicks when they cried. Mine was just trying to communicate with me.
So you would assume after having a baby, I would totally have no problem holding them. Might even crave it as some women claim to do. Nope. Not at all. Anytime I held another person's baby, I felt like I was cheating on my own. And at the same time I was making inevitable comparisons to my daughter...like, this baby is really way too fat UNLIKE MINE. This baby is kind of whiny UNLIKE MINE. Man, I'm glad my baby doesn't do THAT.
And now I have a second baby. And I can't put him down. And I hate to share him with other people. And every time someone else picks him up, I am inwardly critiquing the way they are holding him.
So the next time you ask to hold my baby, please don't be offended if I drop you in a vat of Purell first. And more importantly, don't be upset if I don't ask to hold your bambino. Because really, I just can't cheat on Baby Boy like that. And all my oohs and ahhs and coos, well, they will be rather forced.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Pondering
What exactly? What is going through his head as he sits in his bouncy seat watching the whale, polar bear and little snow globe thing-y for minutes on end?
Yes, I know there are more pressing things going on in the world right now. But in our little corner of the planet, this is what I wonder about.
Baby Boy loves his bouncy seat. And we love it to since sometimes it allows us to eat a meal while he is amused. Not an entire one but hey, I am not complaining.
I turn on the toy bar and he stares at it like it is the most interesting thing in the world. What is he thinking? He appears deep in thought. Here are a few guesses:
"Why is it snowing inside the house?"
"What is snow?"
"That whale is wearing a very smug expression."
"If I stare at this whale long enough, maybe it will feed me."
"I think that whale kind of looks like a breast."
"If I keep kicking my legs, maybe I can fly."
"Dear whale: I am going to kick your ass one day."
"Do they really think I find this amusing? Are you surprised I only want to spend ten minutes in this thing? When are they going to get me a Kindle already?"
Yes, I know there are more pressing things going on in the world right now. But in our little corner of the planet, this is what I wonder about.
Baby Boy loves his bouncy seat. And we love it to since sometimes it allows us to eat a meal while he is amused. Not an entire one but hey, I am not complaining.
I turn on the toy bar and he stares at it like it is the most interesting thing in the world. What is he thinking? He appears deep in thought. Here are a few guesses:
"Why is it snowing inside the house?"
"What is snow?"
"That whale is wearing a very smug expression."
"If I stare at this whale long enough, maybe it will feed me."
"I think that whale kind of looks like a breast."
"If I keep kicking my legs, maybe I can fly."
"Dear whale: I am going to kick your ass one day."
"Do they really think I find this amusing? Are you surprised I only want to spend ten minutes in this thing? When are they going to get me a Kindle already?"
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
You just know
How do you know when people don't like the baby name you've chosen? Well, it's not too difficult. Here are some typical responses to what we've named Baby Boy:
"Well, you don't hear that one every day."
"Is that a family name?"
"What nickname does he go by?"
"What do you think the kids in school are going to call him?"
"What nationality is that name?"
"Lots of letters in that name. Spell it."
Good thing we're only trying to please ourselves. We are really happy with the name we've chosen for the little guy. It took almost eight months to think of it so if people don't like it, well, you can't please all the people all the time.
I don't really think the world needs another Max or Jaden or Aiden. So we'll stick with our somewhat unusual baby name, thank you. And anyway, we live in Brooklyn where we have met children named Sequoia and Cyrus and Atticus.
Don't worry. It's still better than a Boy Named Sue.
"Well, you don't hear that one every day."
"Is that a family name?"
"What nickname does he go by?"
"What do you think the kids in school are going to call him?"
"What nationality is that name?"
"Lots of letters in that name. Spell it."
Good thing we're only trying to please ourselves. We are really happy with the name we've chosen for the little guy. It took almost eight months to think of it so if people don't like it, well, you can't please all the people all the time.
I don't really think the world needs another Max or Jaden or Aiden. So we'll stick with our somewhat unusual baby name, thank you. And anyway, we live in Brooklyn where we have met children named Sequoia and Cyrus and Atticus.
Don't worry. It's still better than a Boy Named Sue.
Monday, March 14, 2011
So there's this new bachelor in town...
At the moment, he weighs 5 pounds, 11 oz. He can get a bit feisty and he's totally obsessed with my breasts. But what can I say, I'm in love.
So in case you haven't heard, our son showed up about 5 weeks early. This is not entirely surprising since our daughter showed up 4 weeks early. What a lot of you guys may not know is, he was born with a condition called TEF (tracheoesophageal fistula) which is an abnormal connection between the esophagus and the trachea. I could go into a very long and drawn out explanation or I could just tell you that his esophagus and stomach were not connected when he was born. That's where our story begins.
Now....I truthfully feel that the best way to get through life happily is to try to just focus on the here and now. This is why I skip high school reunions (plus high school sucked). That said, we've had a long strange trip these last few weeks and maybe our story will help someone sometime. I don't know. Here goes:
I couldn't have been happier when I got pregnant this summer. We took all the prenatal tests and everything looked good. And then during an anatomy scan via sonogram....the baby's stomach was hardly visible. Huh. What did this mean? Lots of various theories and more tests later (fetal ecocardiograms and MRI's, etc) and it seemed all the doctors agreed that our son more than likely had TEF. The good news? It could be fixed. The not great news? It's something you have to keep an eye on the kid's whole life...since once they fix the esophagus, it is very narrow and can cause choking. It can also cause your kid to accidentally aspirate food into his lungs and cause pneumonia. And your kid is way more susceptible to germs and respiratory illnesses.
So not that I am the type of person who skips through pregnancy all aglow and feeling all mother earthy anyway. But...this finding put a major damper on things, to say the least. I don't know if I smiled the last trimester at all.
January rolled around and on top of everything else, sonograms revealed the baby wasn't growing as much as he should have been. So the doctors strongly felt Baby Boy needed to come out. I had a C-section. My ob said it was up to us if we wanted the C-section or not but that if the baby had TEF, he might be in distress during the birth process. That was all we needed to hear. I did the C...though I really really really didn't want one and was kind of terrified.
When Baby Boy was born, he did indeed have TEF. There were about 20 doctors there in the delivery room....surgeons, neonatologists, the works. They whisked him off to the NICU and immediately hooked him up to a gazillion tubes...IV, ventilator, etc. Three days later, they performed the surgery to connect the esophagus and stomach. They managed to make the connection even though the esophagus was exceedingly narrow.
Slowly slowly Baby Boy weaned him off IV and give him breast milk via tube. And then....we got a call that Baby Boy was having trouble breathing. Xrays showed something on his lungs. You don't really know what terror is until you get a phone call saying "either your son has pneumonia or some sort of consolidation on his lungs." Not a fun night.
Eventually, they figured out that Baby Boy was leaking lymphatic fluid from the operation. Apparently, this happens sometimes. Stupid lymphatic fluid, go away. They put in a chest tube to drain it. They put him on special formula that is easily digestible for kids who have had surgery. Eventually, they started him back up on breast milk again.
Meanwhile, weeks went by. The NICU is like that....it's like Vegas...all kinds of sounds and lights and you never really know what time it is.
For those who don't know what a NICU is, that's the nursery for really small or sick babies. If you ever want some perspective on life, spend some time in the NICU. You will begin to think that what you do for a living is really really stupid. Doctors and nurses perform miracles every day. Sure, there are a few bad seeds out there but most of them are really quite amazing. They walk among us like regular people when in fact, they keep people alive.
At the NICU, we had our favorite nurses. We had a couple not-so-favorite and one we so strongly disliked we asked off our case. She was a night nurse told us our son's respiratory rate was 7. The normal rate is in the 90's...and anyone who spent any time in the NICU would know that a rate of 7 would be highly dangerous and close to impossible. If I could understand that as a definitely non-medical person, I was very concerned that she could not see that. But she was the exception, not the rule. Mostly, I saw my son receive a lot of tender loving care in the NICU and his victories were the nurses' victories too.
Eventually, Baby Boy made progress. He was moved out of the incubator and into a crib. Still hooked up to lots of monitors but no tubes. I went to the hospital to breast feed him and stayed as long as possible every day. I felt strongly about being home for dinner every night so everything would seem "normal" to our daughter. Of course, she is smart and sensed things were absolutely not normal at all. But we pretended it was.
In the meantime, I joined this little club of parents who were at the NICU every day. Reading and talking and singing to little three pound babies. And pumping. And pumping. And pumpin. Man, do I hate the pumping room at the hospital. They were these weird little sectioned off areas where women could pump breast milk for their babies. There was one woman I called The Pump Singer....she would pump and sing every day. Really annoying, in case you're wondering. Plus she sang the oddest things. Mac the Knife? Really? Boogie Woogie Buggle Boy? I guess we all have to do what we need to do to keep our spirits up. At one point I was tempted to shout out "Free Bird!" but I restrained myself.
There came a time when I started to feel like I worked there. Maybe it was when I started running into people I knew at the cafeteria. Or when I could tell residents looking for certain babies where they were. "Oh, the Smith Twin B? She got moved into the other room." At any rate, it seemed as though it was time for Baby Boy to come home. All the nurses said he was ready. And finally one day, when we least expected it, he was.
We brought him home in a pouring rain storm last Sunday night. We had one of those old school Brooklyn guys as our car service driver which I thought was a great introduction to the neighborhood for Baby Boy. When he dropped us off, he said "Now he's back in Brooklyn where he belongs." In like the best Brooklynese on the planet. And it's true. Baby Boy is back where he belongs.
And one day, when Baby Brother isn't a baby any more and is doing something that could really endanger himself (and he will if he is anything like his father) I will bust out the Jewish guilt remind him of everything he put us through and therefore he MUST stop doing what he is doing immediately, our hearts just can't take seeing him get hurt.
I can't wait for that day.
So in case you haven't heard, our son showed up about 5 weeks early. This is not entirely surprising since our daughter showed up 4 weeks early. What a lot of you guys may not know is, he was born with a condition called TEF (tracheoesophageal fistula) which is an abnormal connection between the esophagus and the trachea. I could go into a very long and drawn out explanation or I could just tell you that his esophagus and stomach were not connected when he was born. That's where our story begins.
Now....I truthfully feel that the best way to get through life happily is to try to just focus on the here and now. This is why I skip high school reunions (plus high school sucked). That said, we've had a long strange trip these last few weeks and maybe our story will help someone sometime. I don't know. Here goes:
I couldn't have been happier when I got pregnant this summer. We took all the prenatal tests and everything looked good. And then during an anatomy scan via sonogram....the baby's stomach was hardly visible. Huh. What did this mean? Lots of various theories and more tests later (fetal ecocardiograms and MRI's, etc) and it seemed all the doctors agreed that our son more than likely had TEF. The good news? It could be fixed. The not great news? It's something you have to keep an eye on the kid's whole life...since once they fix the esophagus, it is very narrow and can cause choking. It can also cause your kid to accidentally aspirate food into his lungs and cause pneumonia. And your kid is way more susceptible to germs and respiratory illnesses.
So not that I am the type of person who skips through pregnancy all aglow and feeling all mother earthy anyway. But...this finding put a major damper on things, to say the least. I don't know if I smiled the last trimester at all.
January rolled around and on top of everything else, sonograms revealed the baby wasn't growing as much as he should have been. So the doctors strongly felt Baby Boy needed to come out. I had a C-section. My ob said it was up to us if we wanted the C-section or not but that if the baby had TEF, he might be in distress during the birth process. That was all we needed to hear. I did the C...though I really really really didn't want one and was kind of terrified.
When Baby Boy was born, he did indeed have TEF. There were about 20 doctors there in the delivery room....surgeons, neonatologists, the works. They whisked him off to the NICU and immediately hooked him up to a gazillion tubes...IV, ventilator, etc. Three days later, they performed the surgery to connect the esophagus and stomach. They managed to make the connection even though the esophagus was exceedingly narrow.
Slowly slowly Baby Boy weaned him off IV and give him breast milk via tube. And then....we got a call that Baby Boy was having trouble breathing. Xrays showed something on his lungs. You don't really know what terror is until you get a phone call saying "either your son has pneumonia or some sort of consolidation on his lungs." Not a fun night.
Eventually, they figured out that Baby Boy was leaking lymphatic fluid from the operation. Apparently, this happens sometimes. Stupid lymphatic fluid, go away. They put in a chest tube to drain it. They put him on special formula that is easily digestible for kids who have had surgery. Eventually, they started him back up on breast milk again.
Meanwhile, weeks went by. The NICU is like that....it's like Vegas...all kinds of sounds and lights and you never really know what time it is.
For those who don't know what a NICU is, that's the nursery for really small or sick babies. If you ever want some perspective on life, spend some time in the NICU. You will begin to think that what you do for a living is really really stupid. Doctors and nurses perform miracles every day. Sure, there are a few bad seeds out there but most of them are really quite amazing. They walk among us like regular people when in fact, they keep people alive.
At the NICU, we had our favorite nurses. We had a couple not-so-favorite and one we so strongly disliked we asked off our case. She was a night nurse told us our son's respiratory rate was 7. The normal rate is in the 90's...and anyone who spent any time in the NICU would know that a rate of 7 would be highly dangerous and close to impossible. If I could understand that as a definitely non-medical person, I was very concerned that she could not see that. But she was the exception, not the rule. Mostly, I saw my son receive a lot of tender loving care in the NICU and his victories were the nurses' victories too.
Eventually, Baby Boy made progress. He was moved out of the incubator and into a crib. Still hooked up to lots of monitors but no tubes. I went to the hospital to breast feed him and stayed as long as possible every day. I felt strongly about being home for dinner every night so everything would seem "normal" to our daughter. Of course, she is smart and sensed things were absolutely not normal at all. But we pretended it was.
In the meantime, I joined this little club of parents who were at the NICU every day. Reading and talking and singing to little three pound babies. And pumping. And pumping. And pumpin. Man, do I hate the pumping room at the hospital. They were these weird little sectioned off areas where women could pump breast milk for their babies. There was one woman I called The Pump Singer....she would pump and sing every day. Really annoying, in case you're wondering. Plus she sang the oddest things. Mac the Knife? Really? Boogie Woogie Buggle Boy? I guess we all have to do what we need to do to keep our spirits up. At one point I was tempted to shout out "Free Bird!" but I restrained myself.
There came a time when I started to feel like I worked there. Maybe it was when I started running into people I knew at the cafeteria. Or when I could tell residents looking for certain babies where they were. "Oh, the Smith Twin B? She got moved into the other room." At any rate, it seemed as though it was time for Baby Boy to come home. All the nurses said he was ready. And finally one day, when we least expected it, he was.
We brought him home in a pouring rain storm last Sunday night. We had one of those old school Brooklyn guys as our car service driver which I thought was a great introduction to the neighborhood for Baby Boy. When he dropped us off, he said "Now he's back in Brooklyn where he belongs." In like the best Brooklynese on the planet. And it's true. Baby Boy is back where he belongs.
And one day, when Baby Brother isn't a baby any more and is doing something that could really endanger himself (and he will if he is anything like his father) I will bust out the Jewish guilt remind him of everything he put us through and therefore he MUST stop doing what he is doing immediately, our hearts just can't take seeing him get hurt.
I can't wait for that day.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
"She's like an itsy bitsy Barbie doll with the soul of Mother Theresa."
My new year’s resolution was not to be a complainer. Most things we complain about, we can’t change anyway, we are just randomly bitching, so why bother? Plus no one likes a whiner.
So I’m not whining or anything, but last week really kind of sucked. Our girl got a cold that turned in RSV (a respiratory thing that is pretty serious for little kids) and wound up in the hospital for three days. And our baby boy might show up any day so that’s a bit on the stressful side too. But just for the record, I’m not complaining. Nope. Not a bit. Just stating the facts. If I was the type who really blew sunshine up your ass (my favorite phrase from my friend Suzanne) I would even say it could always be worse.
Anyway, suffice to say with everything going on, I did not watch The Bachelor last week. I know. Priorities, priorities. I did watch it last night, minus a brief interruption to read bedtime stories. In case you are wondering, Rapunzel ends happily and with a pretty spiffy haircut (though alas, a brunette which apparently is a catastrophic ending when you are a four-year-old girl). Here’s my thoughts overall (on the Bachelor, not Rapunzel):
Brad is a stressball. He is so worried about America hating him again that he will do anything to ensure he won’t. Meaning he is being very careful around the girls. And I don’t think you necessarily fall in love being careful.
Brad has no sense of humor. He might even be the type you need to explain a joke. And then he says “wow, that was funny.”
Brad is a sucker for girls below the Mason Dixon Line. If you think this is a sexual reference, then you need to get out more.
So here is about the point I tuned in. Brad was out on a date with the Ashley the Southern nanny. She is like 22 years old and seems younger. Okay, fine. They are going to record “Kiss from a Rose” together. A sure sign that Seal is doing what he can to afford Heidi Klum. I heard they throw themselves a wedding every year, that could get kind of expensive. Anyway, they warn the sound engineer that they are going to sound awful. They do not disappoint. The sound engineer holds his head and says “that’s dreadful.” And it is. It is only when you hear the real Seal singing (which he does) that you realize that he is very incredibly talented and Brad and Ashley are frighteningly bad.
The rest of the date is pretty boring…lots of talk of her dad who passed away. Not that I am not sympathetic but this is boring television. They kiss, she gets a rose, no big surprises.
Back at the mansion, there’s going to be a group date. I can’t remember everyone going on but the simple fact is Michelle is one of them. Michelle is the resident psycho, in case you’re wondering. Apparently the group date is them filming an action movie. Sigh. So stupid. Why do they bother? These sorts of things they film always turn out incredibly lame. Luckily this is when my girl requested I read her Rapunzel and I gratefully accepted the distraction.
By the time I tuned back in, Brad was having a heart-to-heart with Chantel O. Not to be confused with Shawtel the Mortician. How can you tell these two apart? Chantel O. is the one who works for her dad’s used car dealership. She is also SPOILER ALERT! the supposed winner. She is crying about something by the time I get to them and then they make out.
Then everyone is in the swimming pool. During Alli’s alone time with Brad, Michelle sneaks up behind them and waits for Alli to leave. She then attacks Brad. This doesn’t help her get the rose, which goes to Shawntel the Motician.
Next day, next date. This time it is with Emily, the sweet country gal with the tale of woe. She’s the one who lost her fiancé in a place crash and has a daughter. Of course, Brad doesn’t know any of these. He decides to take her to wine country because really, what’s more fun than wine country? Except he decides to get there via prop plane. Doh! Naturally, Emily doesn’t explain any of these to Brad, just sits there like a lump. He asks what she is like and she says “I’m like everybody.” Really? That’s the best you’ve got? I realize you don’t want to be Debbie Downer and tell your sad tale but right now you’ve got about all the personality of chopped liver. Not that you know what that is, being from West Virginia and all.
Brad is getting frustrated, thinking she is just another hot blonde with no personality. Finally, she fesses up and tells her sad tale. For some reason, this makes Brad happy….she isn’t dreary because of him! Or because she has no personality! She is dreary because her life is sucky! Yay! Someone with well-deserved angst!
It’s cocktail party time. A few highlights? Michelle telling Brad that they are in a “fight” and he hasn’t seemed to notice it. Madison the Vampire telling Brad she’s thinking of leaving because she doesn’t deserve him. Uh huh. Really, it’s because your contract only had you appearing on two shows and you need to get back to auditions. Here is how the rose ceremony panned out. Keep in mind that Ashley, Emily and Shantel the Mortician have roses already:
Rose #1: Michelle
Rose #2: Chantel O.
At this point, Madison and her vampire teeth dramatically walks out and leaves. Do we care? No!
Rose #3 Lisa (who?)
Rose #4 Jackie
Rose #5 Ashley H the Dentist
Rose #6 Marissa
Rose #7 Britt
Rose #8 Alli
Rose #9 LInsy
Rose #10 Meghan
Rose #11 Stacy….
Who’s out? Three blondes: Sarah the Debutante, Kimberly and of course, Madison. I think I remember this from last time…Brad is definitely more in the brunette camp. Next week, we see that Brad takes the women to be on Loveline with Dr. Drew. Because that’s always a good idea…to talk about sex with people you haven’t had any with yet.
That’s it folks. Not particularly funny but I do the best with what I’ve got.
Happy snowy, sloshy Tuesday.
Nan
So I’m not whining or anything, but last week really kind of sucked. Our girl got a cold that turned in RSV (a respiratory thing that is pretty serious for little kids) and wound up in the hospital for three days. And our baby boy might show up any day so that’s a bit on the stressful side too. But just for the record, I’m not complaining. Nope. Not a bit. Just stating the facts. If I was the type who really blew sunshine up your ass (my favorite phrase from my friend Suzanne) I would even say it could always be worse.
Anyway, suffice to say with everything going on, I did not watch The Bachelor last week. I know. Priorities, priorities. I did watch it last night, minus a brief interruption to read bedtime stories. In case you are wondering, Rapunzel ends happily and with a pretty spiffy haircut (though alas, a brunette which apparently is a catastrophic ending when you are a four-year-old girl). Here’s my thoughts overall (on the Bachelor, not Rapunzel):
Brad is a stressball. He is so worried about America hating him again that he will do anything to ensure he won’t. Meaning he is being very careful around the girls. And I don’t think you necessarily fall in love being careful.
Brad has no sense of humor. He might even be the type you need to explain a joke. And then he says “wow, that was funny.”
Brad is a sucker for girls below the Mason Dixon Line. If you think this is a sexual reference, then you need to get out more.
So here is about the point I tuned in. Brad was out on a date with the Ashley the Southern nanny. She is like 22 years old and seems younger. Okay, fine. They are going to record “Kiss from a Rose” together. A sure sign that Seal is doing what he can to afford Heidi Klum. I heard they throw themselves a wedding every year, that could get kind of expensive. Anyway, they warn the sound engineer that they are going to sound awful. They do not disappoint. The sound engineer holds his head and says “that’s dreadful.” And it is. It is only when you hear the real Seal singing (which he does) that you realize that he is very incredibly talented and Brad and Ashley are frighteningly bad.
The rest of the date is pretty boring…lots of talk of her dad who passed away. Not that I am not sympathetic but this is boring television. They kiss, she gets a rose, no big surprises.
Back at the mansion, there’s going to be a group date. I can’t remember everyone going on but the simple fact is Michelle is one of them. Michelle is the resident psycho, in case you’re wondering. Apparently the group date is them filming an action movie. Sigh. So stupid. Why do they bother? These sorts of things they film always turn out incredibly lame. Luckily this is when my girl requested I read her Rapunzel and I gratefully accepted the distraction.
By the time I tuned back in, Brad was having a heart-to-heart with Chantel O. Not to be confused with Shawtel the Mortician. How can you tell these two apart? Chantel O. is the one who works for her dad’s used car dealership. She is also SPOILER ALERT! the supposed winner. She is crying about something by the time I get to them and then they make out.
Then everyone is in the swimming pool. During Alli’s alone time with Brad, Michelle sneaks up behind them and waits for Alli to leave. She then attacks Brad. This doesn’t help her get the rose, which goes to Shawntel the Motician.
Next day, next date. This time it is with Emily, the sweet country gal with the tale of woe. She’s the one who lost her fiancé in a place crash and has a daughter. Of course, Brad doesn’t know any of these. He decides to take her to wine country because really, what’s more fun than wine country? Except he decides to get there via prop plane. Doh! Naturally, Emily doesn’t explain any of these to Brad, just sits there like a lump. He asks what she is like and she says “I’m like everybody.” Really? That’s the best you’ve got? I realize you don’t want to be Debbie Downer and tell your sad tale but right now you’ve got about all the personality of chopped liver. Not that you know what that is, being from West Virginia and all.
Brad is getting frustrated, thinking she is just another hot blonde with no personality. Finally, she fesses up and tells her sad tale. For some reason, this makes Brad happy….she isn’t dreary because of him! Or because she has no personality! She is dreary because her life is sucky! Yay! Someone with well-deserved angst!
It’s cocktail party time. A few highlights? Michelle telling Brad that they are in a “fight” and he hasn’t seemed to notice it. Madison the Vampire telling Brad she’s thinking of leaving because she doesn’t deserve him. Uh huh. Really, it’s because your contract only had you appearing on two shows and you need to get back to auditions. Here is how the rose ceremony panned out. Keep in mind that Ashley, Emily and Shantel the Mortician have roses already:
Rose #1: Michelle
Rose #2: Chantel O.
At this point, Madison and her vampire teeth dramatically walks out and leaves. Do we care? No!
Rose #3 Lisa (who?)
Rose #4 Jackie
Rose #5 Ashley H the Dentist
Rose #6 Marissa
Rose #7 Britt
Rose #8 Alli
Rose #9 LInsy
Rose #10 Meghan
Rose #11 Stacy….
Who’s out? Three blondes: Sarah the Debutante, Kimberly and of course, Madison. I think I remember this from last time…Brad is definitely more in the brunette camp. Next week, we see that Brad takes the women to be on Loveline with Dr. Drew. Because that’s always a good idea…to talk about sex with people you haven’t had any with yet.
That’s it folks. Not particularly funny but I do the best with what I’ve got.
Happy snowy, sloshy Tuesday.
Nan
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
"Can I ask....are you wearing fangs?"
Soul searching. Intensive therapy. Groveling. That's what last night's Bachelor Show was all about. Does that sound fun to you? Mmmm....not so much. But surprisingly, not a terrible show. Then again, after the last season, the bar is rather low...
So we begin the show with Brad talking about alone he felt after leaving both girls standing at the alter last time. How he is "closed off" and spent three years in intensive therapy. In case you don't believe him, we get to meet his shrink. What?! Really? Is this engaging television? As if reading my mind, the producers begin what I call "the chest montage."
Now. I'm not saying they shouldn't. Brad has a great chest. And since he appears to be...well, vertically challenged, they may as well play up the chest. But it was starting to look like a Skinamax Late Night Feature. C'mon....the shot of him in the pool with the water glistening off him? Really? Is that necessary? And could his tattoo of a cross possibly be any bigger? Is he trying to ward off vampires? Or just Jewish girls? Anyway...
We also spend some time get a little glimpse of the girls that will be vying for his attentions this season. There is Ashley the Dentist who believes dentistry is an "art form and the mouth is my canvas." There is Shawntel the funeral director. There is Michelle the Man Eater from Utah who tells her five-year-old daughter "mommy needs to find a husband." Then there is Madison the Vampire. Now why do I think that any real vampire would not be named Madison? Oh wait...there aren't any real vampires. There are however, girls who have perhaps read a few too many Twilight books and think they will up their chances of hooking up with Robert Pattinson if they get their teeth carved into fangs. Yes, she did, my friends. Girlfriend's got fangs and they appear to be permanent.
There is also the sad story of Emily from Charlotte, a very blond Southern belle who looks a bit like Holly Madison without the implants. She got engaged at 19, her fiance died in a plane crash and she finds out the day after that she is pregnant with their daughter. This tale is just too sorrowful for ABC's supposed "happy ending" if you ask me but I wish the poor thing well.
Okay. In the meantime, Chris and Brad have a sit down about what he's been doing for the past three years. Brad spends a lot of time blaming his father for the way he is. Now. I do think it sounds like Brad had kind of d-bag of a father. However, I think at a certain point...like say in your mid-thirties perhaps....you need to start taking responsibility for your own actions. Not to quote Dr. Phil but "you've gotta rise above your raising." Okay, I just quoted Dr. Phil. So sue me. I promise, I really don't watch it on a regular basis. I get most of my real wisdom from Patti Stranger.
Now for some reason, ABC thought it would be a good idea to bring back Deanna and Jenny and have them "confront" Brad about leaving them at the altar. Why? They are both engaged to other people. And this is actually Deanna's second engagement...clearly, they have moved on. Brad is very humble and sweaty and says things like "you guys made me a better person." Jenny says "I'm hopeful for you." Deanna says "I'm skeptical it will work out for you." At least she is consistent.
Okay. It's limo time. Time to meet the ladies. These are just my initial first impressions so you can try to keep track of them all:
1. Chantal. This is the used car salesperson from Seattle. Dark hair, green dress, basically cute. Gets out of the limo and says "I have something for you from every woman in America, Brad." She then proceeds to slap him in the face. Brad looks honestly surprised so if this was a set-up, it was at least well-acted. It kinda made me like her. I think it scared the hell out of Brad.
2. Kimberly. A pretty blonde in sparkly purple. Kind of does weird stuff with her mouth.
3. Alli. A very tall brunette in green with huge boobs. And as she points out later, a big tush. The Kardashian of the group.
4. Ashley. Well, butter my biscuit...a real Southern belle living in NYC, working as a nanny. Very skinny and the camera adds ten pounds. She grabs Brad's butt. Or as we like to call it in our house "heiny." Or booty. Or tush. Or bum. We talk about that area of the body more than I would like, actually.
5. Meghan. A Girl in weird pink shoes. I'm all for weird pink shoes but these weren't even cute. Don't remember anything else about her.
6. Marissa. A cute brunette in a light pink prom dress. Asks Brad if he is okay being with someone whose whole life revolves around sports? Duh.
7. Lindsy. A redhead from Dallas wearing a red dress. I thought most redheads didn't wear red because it washed them out? Redheads, care to comment?
8. Ashley the Dentist. Not to be confused with Southern Ashley. She is wearing a few too many sparkles for my taste.
9. Rachail. The Manscaper. This is what she calls herself. Trying to make waxing body hair sound more interesting than it is. She has the first really truly bad spray tan of the night. I think it makes her look kinda old.
10. Madison the Vampire. She purrs "you look delicious." She is a pretty blonde wearing red (GET IT??) so Brad seems not to notice her extended eye teeth. This is officially my pick for the ABC plant. No way this girl is for real.
11. Melissa. A blondey blonde who does a running leap into Brad's arms. Luckily, she is about the size of a ten-year-old boy so it isn't hard for him to catch her.
12. Renee. Another nanny, this time in a blue prom dress. Kind of annoying voice.
13. Christy. Bad posture girl. Needs a bra with better lift, if you know what I mean.
14. Jackie. An artist from New York. Kinda looks like Rachel on Glee. I think she is too New York-y (meaning she is either Jewish, Italian or Hispanic) for him.
15. Sarah P. Another blonde but this time in more of a debutante kind of way. A bit matronly. Makes him get on one knee and pretend to propose.
16. Lacy. Wearing lavender. That's all I got.
17. Lisa P. Another New York girl. Blonde in a black bubble skirt.
18. Shawntel the Funeral Director. A brunette wearing yellow.
19. A hand beckons from the limo. It is Britnee! No, not that Britnee. But Britnee with the Bump-It. If you don't know what a bump-it is, you are truly missing out. It is some sort of cone that you stick in your hair to give you "lift." If you are north of the Mason-Dixon line, you have no need for one of these things. Poor Britnee. The only thing worse than being named that is having it spelled with two ee's.
20. Stacy. A bartender from Boston. Has that scratchy, I've-spent-too-many-nights-in-a-bar-kinda-voice. Since Brad owns a couple of bars, I imagine they will get along just fine.
21. Jill. Shiny black hair wearing black. Kinda looks like a tall Morticia Adams. Tells Brad immediately she is looking to get married. Always a bad sign, if you ask me.
22. Lisa from Kansas. Comes out the limo wearing red ruby slippers. No, I'm not joking.
23. Rebecca from CA. Kisses Brad immediately. Good thing since we never see her again.
24. J. That's her whole name. Wow, maybe I don't need to think of a name for my unborn child, just an initial. It's very minimalist, that's for sure. She is so minimalist, she kind of just disappears and we never notice her again.
25. And lastly, we have Keltie. Who extends her leg up the length of the limo. Oh dear. But wait! She's a Rockette! Maybe she can Brad a discount at Radio City to see the phenomenally bad Christmas Show. Sorry, but it really sucks.
26. Next we have someone who think might be named Sarah L or Sam L, my notes are too messy. Anyway, it doesn't matter since we hardly ever see her again.
27. Emily. The sweet Southern belle with the sad sad tale. Brad is entranced by her thick as molasses accent.
28. Britt. A chef and food writer who looks like a mermaid. Seriously, totally Darryl Hannah from Splash.
29. Michelle the Maneater. Wearing a jungley-print dress, perfect for hunting husbands.
30. Oops. I've got one out of order here. Lauren in gold. Hair in some intricate twist. I forgot her because well...she seems kinda forgettable. Brad forgot about her too.
Next begins the cocktail party. Otherwise known as "Brad pleads his case." He has the same conversation with every girl there about how he has changed, soul-searched, blah, blah blah. Highlights included the Manscaper waxing Brad's wrist and talking about how she has waxed men's "under carriage". Jackie singing a made-up song in a kind of wanna-be Broadway voice. Alli asking Brad if he could handle her big booty. And Renee and Alli trying to steal Brad away from each other time and time again.
Emily tells Brad she is a "coal miner's daughter" and I am waiting for her to bust into some Loretta Lynn. No deal, though. The fun part is Brad asking Madison the Vampire if she is wearing fangs. She assures Brad she is here for "the right reasons." Bachelor blood, of course.
The first impression rose goes to Southern Ashley, who told him that no matter what, she was there to be his friend. Kind of lame in my opinion but the man is a sucker for a Southern drawl. Here is how the Rose Ceremony played out:
1. Michelle the Maneater.
2. Kimberly the blonde from NC
3. Madison the Vampire who pretends to bite him.
4. Emily the Sweet Southern belle.
5. Raichel the Manscaper
6. Keltie the rockette
7. Ashley the Dentist
8. Meghan the Morticia Look Alike
9. Lisa M the girl from Kansas with red slippers
10. Lindsy the Redhead from Texas
11. Alli....the Kardashian
12. Sarah P the Debutante
13. Marissa the Girl in the Prom Dress
14. Britt the Mermaid
15. Stacy the Barmaid
16. Shawntel the Mortician
17. Jackie the Glee Girl
18. Melissa the Skinny
19. Chantal the Slapper
Who's out? Do you really care? We hardly know these people at this point. Britnee the Bumpit is gone. So is Lisa P from NYC. We see scenes from this season and it appears they have decided Michelle will be the crazy one in the house. She also somehow gets a black eye.
That's all I got folks! We're off to an interesting start...I think. Thoughts? Anyone? Anyone?
Happy Tuesday,
N
So we begin the show with Brad talking about alone he felt after leaving both girls standing at the alter last time. How he is "closed off" and spent three years in intensive therapy. In case you don't believe him, we get to meet his shrink. What?! Really? Is this engaging television? As if reading my mind, the producers begin what I call "the chest montage."
Now. I'm not saying they shouldn't. Brad has a great chest. And since he appears to be...well, vertically challenged, they may as well play up the chest. But it was starting to look like a Skinamax Late Night Feature. C'mon....the shot of him in the pool with the water glistening off him? Really? Is that necessary? And could his tattoo of a cross possibly be any bigger? Is he trying to ward off vampires? Or just Jewish girls? Anyway...
We also spend some time get a little glimpse of the girls that will be vying for his attentions this season. There is Ashley the Dentist who believes dentistry is an "art form and the mouth is my canvas." There is Shawntel the funeral director. There is Michelle the Man Eater from Utah who tells her five-year-old daughter "mommy needs to find a husband." Then there is Madison the Vampire. Now why do I think that any real vampire would not be named Madison? Oh wait...there aren't any real vampires. There are however, girls who have perhaps read a few too many Twilight books and think they will up their chances of hooking up with Robert Pattinson if they get their teeth carved into fangs. Yes, she did, my friends. Girlfriend's got fangs and they appear to be permanent.
There is also the sad story of Emily from Charlotte, a very blond Southern belle who looks a bit like Holly Madison without the implants. She got engaged at 19, her fiance died in a plane crash and she finds out the day after that she is pregnant with their daughter. This tale is just too sorrowful for ABC's supposed "happy ending" if you ask me but I wish the poor thing well.
Okay. In the meantime, Chris and Brad have a sit down about what he's been doing for the past three years. Brad spends a lot of time blaming his father for the way he is. Now. I do think it sounds like Brad had kind of d-bag of a father. However, I think at a certain point...like say in your mid-thirties perhaps....you need to start taking responsibility for your own actions. Not to quote Dr. Phil but "you've gotta rise above your raising." Okay, I just quoted Dr. Phil. So sue me. I promise, I really don't watch it on a regular basis. I get most of my real wisdom from Patti Stranger.
Now for some reason, ABC thought it would be a good idea to bring back Deanna and Jenny and have them "confront" Brad about leaving them at the altar. Why? They are both engaged to other people. And this is actually Deanna's second engagement...clearly, they have moved on. Brad is very humble and sweaty and says things like "you guys made me a better person." Jenny says "I'm hopeful for you." Deanna says "I'm skeptical it will work out for you." At least she is consistent.
Okay. It's limo time. Time to meet the ladies. These are just my initial first impressions so you can try to keep track of them all:
1. Chantal. This is the used car salesperson from Seattle. Dark hair, green dress, basically cute. Gets out of the limo and says "I have something for you from every woman in America, Brad." She then proceeds to slap him in the face. Brad looks honestly surprised so if this was a set-up, it was at least well-acted. It kinda made me like her. I think it scared the hell out of Brad.
2. Kimberly. A pretty blonde in sparkly purple. Kind of does weird stuff with her mouth.
3. Alli. A very tall brunette in green with huge boobs. And as she points out later, a big tush. The Kardashian of the group.
4. Ashley. Well, butter my biscuit...a real Southern belle living in NYC, working as a nanny. Very skinny and the camera adds ten pounds. She grabs Brad's butt. Or as we like to call it in our house "heiny." Or booty. Or tush. Or bum. We talk about that area of the body more than I would like, actually.
5. Meghan. A Girl in weird pink shoes. I'm all for weird pink shoes but these weren't even cute. Don't remember anything else about her.
6. Marissa. A cute brunette in a light pink prom dress. Asks Brad if he is okay being with someone whose whole life revolves around sports? Duh.
7. Lindsy. A redhead from Dallas wearing a red dress. I thought most redheads didn't wear red because it washed them out? Redheads, care to comment?
8. Ashley the Dentist. Not to be confused with Southern Ashley. She is wearing a few too many sparkles for my taste.
9. Rachail. The Manscaper. This is what she calls herself. Trying to make waxing body hair sound more interesting than it is. She has the first really truly bad spray tan of the night. I think it makes her look kinda old.
10. Madison the Vampire. She purrs "you look delicious." She is a pretty blonde wearing red (GET IT??) so Brad seems not to notice her extended eye teeth. This is officially my pick for the ABC plant. No way this girl is for real.
11. Melissa. A blondey blonde who does a running leap into Brad's arms. Luckily, she is about the size of a ten-year-old boy so it isn't hard for him to catch her.
12. Renee. Another nanny, this time in a blue prom dress. Kind of annoying voice.
13. Christy. Bad posture girl. Needs a bra with better lift, if you know what I mean.
14. Jackie. An artist from New York. Kinda looks like Rachel on Glee. I think she is too New York-y (meaning she is either Jewish, Italian or Hispanic) for him.
15. Sarah P. Another blonde but this time in more of a debutante kind of way. A bit matronly. Makes him get on one knee and pretend to propose.
16. Lacy. Wearing lavender. That's all I got.
17. Lisa P. Another New York girl. Blonde in a black bubble skirt.
18. Shawntel the Funeral Director. A brunette wearing yellow.
19. A hand beckons from the limo. It is Britnee! No, not that Britnee. But Britnee with the Bump-It. If you don't know what a bump-it is, you are truly missing out. It is some sort of cone that you stick in your hair to give you "lift." If you are north of the Mason-Dixon line, you have no need for one of these things. Poor Britnee. The only thing worse than being named that is having it spelled with two ee's.
20. Stacy. A bartender from Boston. Has that scratchy, I've-spent-too-many-nights-in-a-bar-kinda-voice. Since Brad owns a couple of bars, I imagine they will get along just fine.
21. Jill. Shiny black hair wearing black. Kinda looks like a tall Morticia Adams. Tells Brad immediately she is looking to get married. Always a bad sign, if you ask me.
22. Lisa from Kansas. Comes out the limo wearing red ruby slippers. No, I'm not joking.
23. Rebecca from CA. Kisses Brad immediately. Good thing since we never see her again.
24. J. That's her whole name. Wow, maybe I don't need to think of a name for my unborn child, just an initial. It's very minimalist, that's for sure. She is so minimalist, she kind of just disappears and we never notice her again.
25. And lastly, we have Keltie. Who extends her leg up the length of the limo. Oh dear. But wait! She's a Rockette! Maybe she can Brad a discount at Radio City to see the phenomenally bad Christmas Show. Sorry, but it really sucks.
26. Next we have someone who think might be named Sarah L or Sam L, my notes are too messy. Anyway, it doesn't matter since we hardly ever see her again.
27. Emily. The sweet Southern belle with the sad sad tale. Brad is entranced by her thick as molasses accent.
28. Britt. A chef and food writer who looks like a mermaid. Seriously, totally Darryl Hannah from Splash.
29. Michelle the Maneater. Wearing a jungley-print dress, perfect for hunting husbands.
30. Oops. I've got one out of order here. Lauren in gold. Hair in some intricate twist. I forgot her because well...she seems kinda forgettable. Brad forgot about her too.
Next begins the cocktail party. Otherwise known as "Brad pleads his case." He has the same conversation with every girl there about how he has changed, soul-searched, blah, blah blah. Highlights included the Manscaper waxing Brad's wrist and talking about how she has waxed men's "under carriage". Jackie singing a made-up song in a kind of wanna-be Broadway voice. Alli asking Brad if he could handle her big booty. And Renee and Alli trying to steal Brad away from each other time and time again.
Emily tells Brad she is a "coal miner's daughter" and I am waiting for her to bust into some Loretta Lynn. No deal, though. The fun part is Brad asking Madison the Vampire if she is wearing fangs. She assures Brad she is here for "the right reasons." Bachelor blood, of course.
The first impression rose goes to Southern Ashley, who told him that no matter what, she was there to be his friend. Kind of lame in my opinion but the man is a sucker for a Southern drawl. Here is how the Rose Ceremony played out:
1. Michelle the Maneater.
2. Kimberly the blonde from NC
3. Madison the Vampire who pretends to bite him.
4. Emily the Sweet Southern belle.
5. Raichel the Manscaper
6. Keltie the rockette
7. Ashley the Dentist
8. Meghan the Morticia Look Alike
9. Lisa M the girl from Kansas with red slippers
10. Lindsy the Redhead from Texas
11. Alli....the Kardashian
12. Sarah P the Debutante
13. Marissa the Girl in the Prom Dress
14. Britt the Mermaid
15. Stacy the Barmaid
16. Shawntel the Mortician
17. Jackie the Glee Girl
18. Melissa the Skinny
19. Chantal the Slapper
Who's out? Do you really care? We hardly know these people at this point. Britnee the Bumpit is gone. So is Lisa P from NYC. We see scenes from this season and it appears they have decided Michelle will be the crazy one in the house. She also somehow gets a black eye.
That's all I got folks! We're off to an interesting start...I think. Thoughts? Anyone? Anyone?
Happy Tuesday,
N
Monday, January 3, 2011
Sucker
Yes. That's me. Because I will attempt to watch The Bachelor tonight.
Do I have better things to do with my time? Well, yeah. Like sleep. Prepare for the baby that is set to show up in this house in about six weeks. Clean. Do work. Etc, etc.
But instead I will watch Brad the Bachelor, the finicky, kind-of-short, somewhat hickish Bachelor do his thing. And then write about it.
It's a sickness, I tell you.
Who's with me?
Do I have better things to do with my time? Well, yeah. Like sleep. Prepare for the baby that is set to show up in this house in about six weeks. Clean. Do work. Etc, etc.
But instead I will watch Brad the Bachelor, the finicky, kind-of-short, somewhat hickish Bachelor do his thing. And then write about it.
It's a sickness, I tell you.
Who's with me?
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