John Waters Gave me a Divine Nightmare

I watched Female Trouble last night. Too funny. Too vulgar. Too...real? Anyway. I was a fan of Divine long before I ever heard of John Waters. Sure, Hairspray was cool, but I only watched it for Divine. She was beautiful, brave and brilliant. An old VCR tape in my collection features her music videos, complete with interviews. Her soft breathy voice barely concealed the intelligent person behind it. How sad she left us so soon.

Because of Divine I watched John Waters movies. Initially, I considered them too lowbrow for my rarefied tastes. Would someone please pop some Herzog in the DVD before I totally barf?! But seriously, how can you laugh your ass off at Southpark and not love John Waters? Getting older can be kinda cool.

I’ve revisited his films with delight, embracing my inner white trash. Last night I chuckled and guffawed my way through Female Trouble. And I had such a nightmare! Hopefully, you’ve seen the movie, so you’ll understand where I’m coming from.

My hair was fantastically coiffed by my stylist Rodeyo, who bears and uncanny (but slimmer) resemblance to Divine. The voice match, BTW, is dead on. Continuing with my dream. I waited an hour “checking out” from a prestigious salon in a line that was half farmer’s market and half posh department store,. The proprietress (Mrs. Dasher) overcharged me ten dollars, to which I protested. She called forth a sinister, but Monty Pythonesque Spanish Inquisition crew to harass me for the money.

My punishment was not the comfy chair, but banishment from the stylish salon. In my dream, I could conjure no greater punishment than being forbidden to visit Rodeyo for a periodic haircut and highlight (yes, he's that good!). Horrified by my own shallowness, I woke up. This is probably unrelated, but today at the local grocery store, I tracked down a sales associate to insist on a reduced price for brand name milk ($2.99) since the store brand on sale ($1.79) had run out.

Clothing Crisis

You know that size you reach when your big girl pants are too loose, but you can’t comfortably fit into all those cute shorts you bought when you were skinny (skinny, being a relative term)?

Well, I’m there. A year before I got pg in 2005, I gave up sweets and refined foods. Over the summer I dropped over twenty pounds—I was again high school skinny. To celebrate, I bought lots of adorable outfits to last me, eh, well, a lifetime. Or until I put on over ten pounds.

Then I got pregnant and indulged in more cute outfits (thanks Mom and Dad!). After the birth, I successfully managed to loose all but ten pounds of my weight by November. In January, I went on Lexapro for PPD. Hello weight gain!

Except for periodic sweets binges the month Fontessa was here (brrr), I’ve eaten very sensibly. Nonetheless, I put on an additional fifteen pounds with the Lexapro. The only things I could wear were my baggy maternity pants and shorts, since I had optimistically tossed out my old comfy bottoms.

That is until I found a dusty rubber maid box in the attic! Yay! Hidden in it were several pairs of in-between shorts. Hurrah! What a godsend! My butt feels freeeee!

"Percy...Who's Queen?"

Thank you clarke-mas for the Amazon gift certificate! I picked out:

 

 

1. Black Adder II For shame! A shame that it has taken me this long to upgrade my Black Adder collection to DVD! Tennisfiend and I watched three episodes last night. “You have a woman’s purse, Milord..." Hee!
2. E.F. Benson A book of Short horror fiction by on of my favorite Victorian authors, E.F. Benson. This will replace the battered mass market paperback mouldering by my bedside.
3. Brian Hodge Another book of short horror fiction! This one is from a smaller press, Nightshade Books. I've read Hodge anthologized, but this is the first collection of his I've gotten my hands on. Yay!  
4. Horror Writers Association: How to Write Horror I won't be publishing horror fiction anymore than Clarke-mas will be launching a (full scale!) U-boat.

Coming soon..Adventure Jill's House of Wax Hoppy Toads.Wish me luck!

Nopalitos!

I excised twenty pounds of cactus by from the chain link fence around the pool today. I should have made a nopalito salad, the leaves were so tender and fresh. I fear, however, that we would perish from insecticidal poisoning since I've been blasting the resident black widows in that area a bit too frequently.

We've been teaching Tyoma about animals. Here's his tiger impression. :)

Baby Books!

Yay Mom and Dad! Much thanks to them for the load of baby books they bought for Tyoma! After reading Violet's House and every Priddy cloth book evah, ten thousand times over, I am so grateful to have something new to look at! Thanks a million!

1. Quiet/Loud What a sweet little book on opposites! It’s funny and very colorful.
2. Big/Little By the same folks as Quiet/Loud. Bright, playful images.
3. Little Rabbit Lost A board book with a story about getting lost and coming home again.
4. I Stink A story about a dump truck’s daily duties. Another colorful, funny book.
5. Goodnight Gorilla Probably my favorite book. Goodnight, Gorilla is an extended book of pictures that allows you to tell your own story. The illustrations are vivid and are absolutely precious!

French Open

Today was insane. It started out at six a.m. with a fussy baby. I put him down learly ast night since he skipped a nap and  because I wanted to race over to Ewbliette and Brotherkurt’s, A.S.A.P for game night. Of course, I raced back home less than two hours later, but that’s another entry. I promised to be up at the crack of dawn this morning to provide TF with annoyance-free French Open viewing.

Transfixed by the match, Tennisfiend rooted for the Swede, Roger Federer. This was a much anticipated match in our household. TF fretted with the rake out back during commercial breaks and coughed nervously during important points. Tension is contagious to me, so I stayed well away. Despite my best efforts to keep baby quiet, he fussed noisily and skipped his morning nap. At lunch I noticed that two more teeth were coming in. That is a total of SIX teeth in the past three weeks!!! Yikes!

Exhausted by the match and dissapointed by Federer's loss, TF took a long afternoon nap, while I coped with squirmy baby. It was too hot to read or play in the house, so we trekked outdoors and played near a sprinkler. After TF woke up, I plunked naked baby in the issy-pissy pool and patted papa on the head, saying, “He’s all yours.”

The swim distracted baby and relieved mama. I used the time to puree baby food and listen to music. Post swim activity included MORE fussing followed by a gargantuan poop; necessitating two for clean up (unless I hosed baby off by the roses). After I put baby down to sleep, I drove to the local specialty store and bought sushi and white wine. Ahhhh!

Zonked Out

I was a big ole party pooper tonight. After shamelessly inviting myself to Ewbliette’s Friday night, I showed up, drank a glass of wine, gabbed halfheartedly and whizzed home. Earlier, I was so psyched to get out! I pretty much tossed the baby in the crib with one hand while picking up the car keys with the other. 

But the hot drive over made me drowsy, despite the blasting AC and blaring radio. After I arrived, I flopped down on the couch next to an overworked and exhausted Rodeyo. We mindlessly watched a re-run of Shrek on TBS, feeling sleepier by the second. Chuck joined us a few minutes later, enviably chipper. He sat between Rodeyo and me, making pleasant conversation. I perked up when I recognized that his manner of speaking was oddly familiar. He spoke with an uncommon clipped precision. His words were distinctly enunciated (especially the t’s and s’s) and the cadence of his speech strongly resembled--Crispin Glover! Joy!

I’ve run into Chuck about a half dozen times, but this was the first time that I really noticed him. A quiet, bespectacled member of the high IQ crowd (150), Chuck has genuine amber eyes that coordinate unexpectedly with his orange hair, which he wears braided tightly to the nape of his neck. He is lanky, mustachioed and dresses conservatively in chinos and a worn button-down shirts. Upon realizing that I was scrutinizing him, he became embarrassed and flustered. I quickly noted that his ancestors could have been Vikings, and politely moved my focus to the lovely glass of wine Ewbliette brought me.

With wine bottle in hand, Ewbliette and I retired to the back porch. She discussed her work as an accountant at NMSU, including the impending close of the fiscal year, complete with associated deadlines and psychotic co-worker reactions. Naturally, her work has been outrageously draining, and included several hours of additional work earlier this morning and afternoon. Poor tired girl!

Me, well, I was sooo zonked. The baby is teething and I am coping with the psychological effects the dual loss of our television (broken!) and my computer (Tennisfiend decided to host his Russian DVD festival on my computer)! Usually the hub of great conviviality, the back porch turned into a scene from Shaun of the Dead.

So, Ewbliette looked at me and I looked at her and we simultaneously decided to get together later, when we had more energy. Sometimes you just need to breathe the same air as your best friend and then go home and sleep. Ironically, we both perked up as she walked me to my truck, chatting amiably for several minutes. The subject of Chuck came up. She said “You know what surprised me about him? He’s only 21 years old!” To which I replied, “Whaa?!” Maybe it’s the mustache or slightly receding hairline, but I would have sworn he was in his early thirties. Whoa.

Dogs Are Pragmatic

Since baby was born, Misty has spent time at my parent’s place. She has close to an acre of sloped grassy yard to roam and cats galore to chase, not to mention the extra attention Mom and Dad lavish on her.

Misty’s first post-baby stay was almost three months long, punctuated by brief visits home. Since then, we have worked out a “visitation” schedule. Weekdays, Misty stays home with us and on weekends she stays with my folks. When I brought out the leash Friday morning, Misty did her usual berserk dance, following me impatiently until I buckled her in the front seat of my SUV (yes, she wears a doggie seatbelt).

Today was different from the scheduled doggie drop-off.  I hauled both baby and his carriage along for a stroll in my folk’s shady green backyard.  When I arrived, Dad was perched under the colossal mulberry tree, playing guitar and singing Tennessee folk songs.

My experiment with the stroller failed. Baby was not interested in touring the expanse of grass and trees. Instead, he insisted on sitting in grandma’s lap. Wearing a look of intense concern, the little one watched grandpa strum the guitar and sing.

All the while Misty ran and ran and ran, until her black flecked tongue quadrupled in size, hanging out of her mouth sideways. She eventually flopped down between mom and me, looking contented. It seemed perfectly sensible that the highlight of her week is a visit with my parents.

I remembered growing up in this huge, green backyard. I cavorted and collapsed much like Misty. Life is so peaceful under the cool shade of the mulberry; I think we’ll visit more often. 

Finger Dream, ETA

The underlying tension from my dream probably stems from Tennisfiend’s work trouble. A few days ago, we discussed his disapproval of board members taking ridiculous risks.

Their strategy has already landed the company in serious trouble. Some workers have been going without proper pay checks for the past four months (us for example) and vital employees are looking for other jobs; their absence will bring the company down. 

We still wrangle with the decision to stay or go. TF has decided to do the hard thing and remain with the company indefinitely, but his resume is up to date just in case. I guess this is the amputation choice disguised. Will the future re-arrange itself to make our life more pleasing?