I Have a Crush...

Okay, people, let's just get this out of the way upfront. I am married, but I am not dead. I believe in my wedding vows and am devoted to Oscar, but I did not lose my vision on the day I took Oscar's name. I still notice other men. (And a few women. Hi Salma. Call me!) And being that I am an incorrigible flirt, it is not surprising that from time to time, I find myself crushing on other people. This does not make me a slut. I do not act on these crushes. But I sure as hell enjoy them.

I have recently made a good friend online. We have never met, but we talk extensively throughout the day, when he's supposed to be working and I'm supposed to be doing something other than sitting on the couch. I've e-mailed his wife, and he's instant messaged my husband and we're both secure in the knowledge that we're crazy about our respective spouses and would never do anything to jeopardize those relationships. Of course, the fact that he and his wife live across the country from Oscar and I helps, too. But the bottom line is that we're no threat to each other, which leaves us free to carry on a pretty naughty flirtation.

The other night, he was going to be working extremely late, and I was planning on being at Best Friend's house (no, she still doesn't have a name...yes, we're working on it) for the evening. He asked me to keep him occupied by sending him racy text messages to his phone. I was quite happy to oblige. It started out pretty slowly, but quickly gained momentum, until Best Friend and I were heading home from running an errand and she told me that I needed to let him know that I was heading home to watch Stargate SG-1 with her and she was not going to tolerate my attention being divided. She had a point. I'd been acting like those girls who get into relationships and promptly forget that they have friends because their whole lives are consumed by the Boyfriend and what the Boyfriend is doing. I hate those girls. And I was being one of those girls. It was quite embarrassing. Of course, that didn't prevent me from starting up with the text messages again the minute I left her house, but at least I was able to put it on hold, for, what? An hour or so? That's progress right? Whatever. I'm a loser. I own that.

Anyway, the next day, I was out running errands with Best Friend and I told him he should feel free to send me inappropriate text messages, despite the fact that I knew it would vex and annoy her. (God, I suck.) It wasn't long before I got my first message. I texted him back while waiting at a red light. I got the next one while en route to our primary destination. I started texting him back at another red light, but the light changed before I was finished. I managed to continue writing it while driving by feeling out the keypad with my fingertips. At this point, Best Friend looked at me and said, "You're not seriously text messaging him while you're driving, are you?" I grinned sheepishly as I replied, "No, of course not. Trying to text message while driving is dangerous and I would never do anything remotely like that. Besides, I just sent it." Best Friend looked at me like I had just grown another head. "You're seriously obsessed with this guy, aren't you?" Again with the sheepish grin. "Yeah....I'm obsessed. I kind of have a crush. But don't worry...I'll obsess over him for a while until he does something that pisses me off or annoys me and then all will be back to normal. I'm like this with all of my crushes." I don't know that she felt very reassured by this, but she's been my best friend for more than 10 years and less than 15. We've seen each other through worse.

Project Time!

Oscar bought me a bicycle for Christmas. It's a beautiful bicycle, and I love it, but I've only been able to ride it once since I got it. I didn't get a child seat to go along with my bike and having a Turtle glued to my hip the majority of each day makes it rather difficult to get my pedal on. So a couple of weeks ago, Oscar and I got the child seat. And it was good. So naturally, it sat in the garage, waiting for us to find the time to navigate the instructions and attach it to my beautiful bicycle.

Oscar and I generally work very well together when assembling projects of this sort. Oscar thoroughly reads all instructions and gets all of his tools together and lays out the pieces. I huff in the general direction of the instructions and pass him tools and hand Oscar the piece he needs. No, that one...no, THAT one....no, THAT ONE . It's a system that works well for us. For this project, however, we seemed off. For some reason, Oscar asked me to read the instructions, and when I threw up my hands at the utter futility of it all because not one person who writes assembly instructions can manage to write them in English, Oscar took over the show and left me to sit on the sidelines and cheer him on.

As one can imagine, this did not go well. It especially did not go well because as Oscar was trying to assemble this beast of a child's seat, Turtle was running to and fro and hijacking Oscar's parts. The little L-shaped brackets became his "go-gos" and he was shooting everything with them. When he got sick of that, they became shovels and he dug around in the dirt with them. When that got old, he absconded with Oscars wrenches and used them as hammers. Why he didn't just grab Oscar's hammer, I will never know, but I will not be the one to stifle our child's creativity and imagination.

When Turtle started feeding rocks to our trees, I figured it was naptime, so I took him inside while Oscar continued to plow through the assembly process. When I came back out, Oscar was struggling to get a bolt on one of the screws. He kept dropping it, and it would roll off into parts unknown, and Oscar would have to go track it down and start all over. By the fourth or fifth time he dropped the bolt, I was snickering. Well, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, this was not the time for snickering. Oscar was having none of it. He was at war with this bolt and, in fact, with this whole process. This whole convoluted process in which nothing fits the way it should and everything has to be jerry-rigged and why can't they just build something that works the way it's supposed to the first time and WHY ARE MY INSTRUCTIONS WRITTEN IN CUNEIFORM, BY GOD??????

I was starting to worry about whether Oscar was going to make it out of this process alive and well. Although, I should have known better when he looked over at me and said, "You can't wait to get inside to blog about this, can you?" Well, clearly!

In the end, Oscar was not only alive and well, but Turtle's seat was safely mounted to my bike. We took him for a spin in the afternoon and he loved it. This bodes well for my new resolution to keep Turtle away from the television more during the day. A resolution which I am sure will work out as well as my last resolution to get my ass off the couch more. In short, not at all. But a girl can dream.

A Brief Look at the Inner Workings of My Brain

I have been trying to lose weight for a while now. My weight has stubbornly insisted on staying much the same. The last couple of days, however, when I have gotten on the scale, I have noticed that the number has dropped by a pound and a half. "Really?" I thought. Is my hard work finally paying off? All the times I ate a yogurt and a piece of peanut butter toast instead of those delicious chocolate donuts I bought Oscar for breakfast....are they finally paying off? All the times I dragged my lazy ass to the gym instead of popping in another video for Turtle and vegetating on the couch....are they finally paying off? Then another thought occurred to me. "I just got a haircut....what if the pound and a half was all the hair I had chopped off?" Could my hair really have weighed a pound and a half? I know it's incredibly thick, but could it REALLY have weighed a pound and a half????

I have no answer for these questions. But I am thinking of shaving the rest of it off, just in case.

Sucks To Be You...

Turtle and I had a very busy day today. In addition to working a 40 hour/week job, Oscar also runs a computer consulting firm in his spare time. He has several high-priority projects in the works at the moment, so weekends lately have been less about spending time together as a family and more about making sure Oscar has enough time to finish coding before deadline. And with a deadline looming this week, I decided it would be best to get Turtle out of the house so Oscar could get some work done.

We started out by going to the gym. My gym is nice enough to run a kids' care area, so Turtle can run around and play with the other kids while Mommy gets her ass kicked on the treadmill. Turtle loves it there. He will whine and point vehemently out the window and in the general direction of the gym each and every time we go past it, regardless of whether or not we have already been there that day. Even if I wasn't already inclined to work out on a daily basis, Turtle would doubtless make sure that I did so. His selflessness is amazing for such a young child.

Normally, Turtle would go down for a nap after going to the gym. He wears himself out chasing the other kids and it's nice for me to be able to have some quiet time after going through such a vigorous workout. But we needed to stay out of Oscar's way today, so instead of napping, we went straight to Nana and Grandpa's house. Turtle loves Nana and Grandpa's house. It is his own personal Mecca. They have plenty of toys, as they have embraced their roles as grandparents with great enthusiasm. But most importantly, Nana and Grandpa's house has Nana and Grandpa in it, and Turtle thinks this is the closest thing to heaven he has found. Nana badgered me into eating something and tempted Turtle with some cookies. I should have taken some time to appreciate that a little more because the time he spent eating those cookies was probably the quietest 20 minutes he spent today.

Finally, after we were all fed, we decided to do some shopping, and soon found ourselves at a local department store. Turtle was running full bore up and down every aisle. This kid's energy level is amazing. I'm surprised, with all of the talk our politicians are doing about finding a cleaner energy source, nobody has suggested hooking up this nation's toddlers to large hamster wheels and letting them go to town. We'd never have energy concerns again.

But I digress. Turtle was in rare form, and I was having a hard time keeping up. Luckily, Grandpa finished up his shopping just in time and took him off my hands. Then it was checkout time and off to Target! Turtle ordered his Starbucks (he only drinks decaf....Don't judge me!) and we wandered the toy aisle. We didn't stay long, because by this point, Turtle was beyond tired, being now four hours overdue for his nap. We dropped off Nana and Grandpa and I listened to the screams of my overstimulated toddler as he lamented the fact that he was compelled to return home with his Mommy instead of staying at Camp Nana and Grandpa.

I fully expected him to fall asleep on the ride home, but no. I had to get him inside and take him back to his room and listen to the screams of my overstimulated toddler as he, this time, lamented the fact that he was being compelled to lie down in his crib. He actually fell asleep pretty quickly, but the irony of this child is that when he is the most tired, he sleeps the least, so it was not even an hour later that he woke up and demanded to be let out of the prison in which he found himself. Oscar and I brought him into our bedroom and we lay in bed and watched Pete's Dragon together until Turtle decided he'd had enough of that, too. The rest of the evening passed relatively quickly, thankfully, and at 8:30 we found ourselves at that blessed time of the day known as Turtle's bedtime.

(For those of you wondering when I'm going to get to the point of this story, already, and Sweet Baby Jeebus, woman, could you BE any more wordy???? the answer is, right now. And also? Bite me.)

We changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, gave him big kisses and down he went. Most nights, after such a routine, we won't hear another peep out of him until the morning. Tonight, however, was an exception. He cried when we put him down, but not more than 5 minutes or so and then Oscar and I were sure he had fallen blissfully asleep. After all, he HAD to be worn out from the day's activities and the lack of a decent nap. Oh sure, we thought, he was definitely asleep. Until about 20 minutes later when we heard a plaintive "Dah-ee? DAH-EEE!!!!" coming from Turtle's room. Oscar lifted his head and looked at me with that "Did I just hear what I think I just heard?" look on his face. I started snickering. I wasn't too concerned. I go through this with Turtle all the time. I have hardened my heart to his pathetic pleas for freedom. Mostly. But Oscar? Well, Oscar had a slightly different reaction. It went something like, "Oh sure...he knows YOU'RE not going to get his ass out of bed, so he calls MY name. Because why? Because I'M the sucker that's going to rescue him? No...just no." Poor Oscar. This continued, off and on, for about 45 minutes. And do you know what I was thinking? Because I was not concerned about my son being overtired, or my poor husband, whose heartstrings were being tugged in the worst way. No. I was thinking, "For the love of all things holy, I'm just glad it's you and not me!"

A Word About Hair 2: Follicular Boogaloo

As much as I am in love with my cha-cha hair, Oscar is not so enamoured with his hair. Oscar is having issues. Oscar is 29 years old and, well, Oscar is going gray. Only he doesn't like to acknowledge the gray, so if you see him on the street, please do not peer at him with that perplexed expression while you try to figure out if those are highlights, or if this really cute guy, who looks so YOUNG, is honestly going gray. It makes him cranky, and since you're not the one who has to go home with him, I'd consider it a personal favor if you would just pretend that those little gray hairs don't actually exist. Consider it your good deed for the day.

In any event, Oscar and I both had hair appointments the other night, and Oscar had scheduled it such that we were going to have plenty of time for him to have his hair colored. He wanted to hide the gray, which we do not actually call "gray," because that would imply that Oscar is old enough to actually have gray hair, and which we instead call "albino hairs" because that somehow makes him feel better. Oscar had been looking forward to this appointment for quite some time. That would change quickly.

Once we got into the salon, and got caught up with our stylist, she asked what kind of color he wanted and they briefly discussed what he'd like to do. They didn't get very far before there was a brief lull in the conversation and I piped up, with a pout, that I didn't want him to color his hair, because I like the little albino colony. Little did I know what I was starting. The next thing we knew, our stylist was jumping on the bandwagon, saying that she was so glad I had said something because she wanted to tell him he shouldn't color it, but she didn't want to overstep. Now that I had said something, however, she wanted to point out that the salt and pepper look is very sexy and he should be proud of his hair. Then the stylist next to ours perked up, saying, "Are you thinking of coloring your hair? Why? Girls love the salt and pepper thing. And you're so cute! It's a really hot look. You should keep it." And the client of the stylist next to ours then threw in her two cents and said he should really rethink the color because he looks very attractive with the albino hair. Four women and five minutes of pestering later, and Oscar crumbled like a house of cards. No color for him. Just a cut, thank you. I considered it a victory...I am very fond of his hair.

Sadly, on the drive home, I realized that I might have made a mistake. Oscar's issues with his hair run a little deeper than I had previously believed. The albino hairs make him feel old. They remind him that he is almost 30, and that he hasn't accomplished as much as he would have liked by this point. They taunt him. They force him to face his own mortality. In short, they make Oscar feel all frowny inside. While talking to a friend about it later, he pointed out that it wouldn't have hurt for Oscar to color his hair, as it would surely grow out soon if he decided he (and his cha-cha wife) preferred it au naturel. *cue the silence that resulted as that little nugget permeated my thick skull* Well, gee....why didn't I think of that?

We have another hair appointment in four weeks. I have a feeling Oscar will be getting some color. I will keep you informed.

A Word About Hair

I got my hair cut last night. I wasn't sure I was going to talk about it because I get my hair cut once a month and rarely does it warrant conversation. But this was a little bit different. I walked out of the salon feeling...special. Bouncy. Cha-cha, even. Still...I was nervous about saying anything. You know how sometimes you get a cut, and the stylist blows it dry and makes it look "just so" and then you get home and never again can you recreate that look? Maybe it's still cute, but it's not "just so" and you start to question if there's some magic powder in the gel in the salon, or whether your stylist has made some deal with the devil to get you to fork over $50 for cutting your hair and the package deal includes making your hair look more fabulous than you can ever make it look with your mortal hands. Yeah, so I didn't want to jinx it.

But while we're on the subject, a related item about my stylist: In short, I kind of love her. In fact, I would totally have her babies if she wasn't completely capable of doing so on her own. (Well, not "on her OWN"...I mean, biology still works the same way for her, even if she HAS made a deal with the devil...but, you know what I mean.) I used to be a Great Clips kind of girl, mostly because I was cheap, but in part because I hadn't really found anybody who inspired me to pay more than $20 for a haircut. But then I met my stylist and not only is she incredibly fun and hilarious, she knows hair. I can walk in and tell her I'm having angst about my hair and say "Do something" and she does. And it's always fabulous.

Even so, I haven't been excited about my hair lately. I've always had short hair, but I was wanting something different, so I grew it out a bit. It was a little longer than chin length, and cute, of course, but something still wasn't quite right. And every month I'd go back to the salon and say "Do something" and she would, bless her, but something still wasn't quite right. And then, last night, it was perfect. So, you know, YAY! and all, but she always makes me look good in the salon, and in the back of my mind, I was still thinking that I was going to find some way to make it look not as YAY! when it was just me and the blow drier.

BUT! Miracle of miracles, people, she gave me the perfect cut. Not even I could mess it up when I went to style it today. It's cute and sleek and modern and takes very little maintenance. It looks hot. I look hot. I'm practically a MILF, (and you must know how strongly I feel about the hotness of this haircut if I'm willing to employ that overused and vaguely disgusting term for emphasis)...and that is exactly why I'm not posting a picture of myself with said hot haircut. I would hate to have to turn you down when you show up at my door, pledging your devotion, because you are under the spell of the hotness. I am not good in pressure situations, and I don't know how well I'd be able to handle the "letting you down easy" portion of the program. But don't worry, we can still be friends.

Overheard

Hotass has been through hell and back after breaking up with her boyfriend on Valentine's Day. It's been messy, and emotional, and traumatic. And through it all, she's remained very concerned for him because of his Issues. So I can't say I was particularly surprised when Hotass breezed in this morning and said "Hi, how are you? I'm so late for work. Oh, and Boyfriend and I are back together!" After a few minutes of her undressing and letting that settle, she came back out and explained the circumstances and then mentioned that they were going to go to Disneyland together for the weekend. They had talked to a few of Boyfriend's friends, and had gotten the scoop on where to go in the park, which rides to enjoy, what food to eat, etc. And she was very excited about the trip. I could tell Hotass was on an emotional high, which was overdue after the emotional lows she's been experiencing lately. So of course that left her wide open for me to say the following:

"HOTASS! Congratulations! You just got back together with your boyfriend! What are you going to do next? 'I'M GOING TO DISNEYLAND!!!!'"

Yeah, okay, I'm all about the cheap joke. Don't judge me.

Sometimes the Posts? They Write Themselves.

So, in my continuing quest to better myself, I decided to go to Barnes and Noble last night and see if I could find any books or music to stimulate my higher-brow tastes. Oscar and Turtle decided to come with me, so we made it a family affair. We got dinner, and walked back to the store. While I looked through the books and music, Oscar took Turtle to play in the kids' play area. I found a few things, but didn't buy anything (I'm thinking it's time to get a new library card.) On the way out, Turtle found a really cool book, built into the mouth of a hand puppet. It's less creepy than it sounds, really. Turtle fell in love with it. He picked up the box and handed it to Oscar, who looked at me with the "What do I do?" eyes. I, being quicker on my feet, told Turtle that the cool puppet book couldn't come home with us but he could visit it again soon and say it's time to say "bye." Turtle said, "BYE!" and waved. (All together now.....Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!)

In any event, we head back to the car and get the Turtle settled into his car seat. Oscar gets into the driver's side, and we start pulling out of our parking space. And we're backing up....and we're backing up...and we're backing up....and it's late, so there's really not that many cars around us......and it doesn't matter, because all of a sudden *THWACK* *BUMP, BUMP*.....

Me: Um, babe?
Oscar: Don't worry, we just hit a tree.
Me: *silence*
Oscar: What? Did you think we hit another car?
Me: Well, I knew we hit SOMETHING.
Oscar: Yeah, oops. I thought I had enough space to get between the planters.
Me: Uh-huh.

But really? That's not all. It gets even better. Cut to 10 minutes later and we're exiting the freeway to go home. We're stuck behind a big SUV, whose driver is admittedly being an idiot. And Oscar is getting frustrated. And the steam starts coming out of his ears, and when he finally can get around this SUV, whose driver has obviously touched a nerve with my otherwise unflappable husband (she says, ironically), the following exchange occurs:

Oscar: GAWD! Little Dude, you are SO going to learn how to drive the RIGHT WAY!

*beat*

Me: That's why you're learning to drive with Mommy, Little Dude.

And that was my evening, in three acts.

Only the Best Intentions

After mulling over my random observations yesterday, I decided to take action and fix some things that have been bothering me about my life lately. Resolution #1: Get off my ass more during the day. Ever since Turtle started becoming more self-sufficient, and by that I mean he can now entertain himself instead of looking to me for his daily dose of brain-warping, I've started spending more time on my laptop with my ass firmly planted on the sofa cushions. I mean, I do get up to crayon with the little man and play "go-gos" (his word for guns) and set up elaborate tracks made of ramps and blocks so he can race his cars. But when he's happily watching one of his movies, or taking his naps, I am most often found on the couch with my computer on my lap, surfing blogs and reading random celebrity gossip sites.

So yesterday, I decided today would be the day I started over. I would make more of an effort to get out of the house with the Turtle. We'd go to the park and run around and play and when I got my bike fixed, we'd take bike rides together and take advantage of the nice part of living in Arizona - really mild winters. I'd clean the house and start organizing some paperwork and get some things in order that I'd let slide. In short, I would limit myself to a couple hours on the computer at the beginning and the end of the day, and the rest of the time, I would be Productive.

I......did not get off to a good start. We didn't get moving until 11:00 this morning, after Turtle had already been up for almost four hours. But we did get moving! I put on some grungy clothes, a hat and my tennis shoes and we set off on our little adventure. I was really looking forward to this. It's a beautiful day and I couldn't wait to watch Turtle go down the slide. He gets the biggest kick out of that. Honestly, I had the best intentions. But, we didn't get more than two cul-de-sacs down the road when Turtle started running through the rocks on somebody's property, tripped, and fell into a big pile of burrs. He started crying instantly, and when I picked him up, he had drops of blood all over his hands and face. I picked all the burrs off of him and got him home so I could clean him up. His hands and face actually don't look so bad now that he's clean. But his torso is covered in ugly red welts.

Turtle recovered quickly enough and was back to playing with his trains in no time. I suppose I could use this as an excuse to crawl back onto the couch and continue along as we were before, but I was really enjoying our walk and I think the reasoning is still good. I need to be more active, and going to the gym is not always enough. I am sure we will try again. So when you see a woman in a hat, walking with a little boy in full body armor, say hi. We'd love to stop and chat.

Recent Observations

1. Bookmarks
I was looking over my Firefox bookmarks today. Of the blogs I read regularly, and whose next posts I am most eagerly awaiting, a disproportionate number are written by gay or bisexual men. (I would question what this says about me, but I already know.) Not only are they well-written and thought-provoking, they update regularly. I can usually expect a post from one of them at least once a day. And really? That's my standard. I'm a stay-at-home mom. I want new content on a daily basis. There's only so many times I can watch Pete's Dragon before my brain starts to rot. So provide me some distraction, and I will follow you anywhere. I'm that easy.

2. Flirting
I have been carrying on an online flirtation with a fellow blogger. It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I love to flirt and will do so any chance I get. That said, I haven't had much of an opportunity to exercise my skills lately. I could tell that this was a problem when I started this online flirtation. I was clearly outmatched. I would be upset about that, but I have been having way too much fun. According to Oscar, I have even been girly-giggling. I think it's time to start remembering that I'm not just a wife and a mom. I'm also a woman with needs, people! And that buzz I get from flirting? I need that. I'm addicted.

3. Inferiority
One thing I noticed while getting my flirt on with my fellow blogger was that I've been neglecting some other needs too, such as my intellectual development. I'm a smart woman, but I'll be damned if I didn't feel like a kid hoping to join the adults' table as I was trading e-mails with this man. It has been somewhat disconcerting. I seem to have forgotten that I enjoy things like art and books and music. Pop culture nonsense seems to have invaded my brain and set up shop. Not that there isn't a place for pop culture nonsense. But I'd like to hope that my interests are more well-rounded than my activities would have implied lately.

Also disconcerting is the realization I have recently come to that I am a big geek. I knew I was a geek growing up. If I hadn't figured that out on my own, there were plenty of people in the more popular cliques in school to help make me aware of that fact. I guess I had hoped that once I left school, got a job in the real world, got married and bore a child, I would have outgrown my geekiness, as well. No such luck. My inner geek is alive and well. Not that I have a problem with this, per se, but it was thrown into sharper relief when I started speaking with someone who seems considerably more cultured than I. I think I'd have to have more internal fortitude than I currently possess not to question my path at this point. I'm not saying that I plan on giving up any of my geeky interests. I am relatively comfortable with who I am. There are some things I'd like to change and I'm working on those, but I'm okay with the geek. It's just that....well, when you're growing up, don't you always think you're going to be a much cooler adult than you are a kid? Finding out that you are no cooler now than you were 15 years ago is bound to make you sit back and reflect.

McDreamy, my ASS!

I try not to watch too much tv. For a while, after Turtle was born, I was back and forth between VH1 and Food Network all day long. I was convinced that Turtle was either going to grow up to be a groupie or a chef, but I couldn't stop myself. It just sucked me in. Now, however, if I'm watching tv, it's usually the Disney Channel or an animated movie. And I feel like I'm the one that's suffering from some sort of weird brainwashing experience, because I find myself singing the "what did you learn?" song from JoJo's Circus at random and completely inappropriate moments. That is probably why I find myself living for Sunday nights. Sunday nights are all about Mommy's tv show. Sunday nights are all about Grey's Anatomy.

I can't wait for Sunday nights. I think about how awesome it would be to have Bailey in my life and how much I want to give George a hug. I create my own little fantasies about hanging out with Christina and putting the moves on Burke. And then there's Patrick Dempsey. Oh, good god, do I love me some Patrick Dempsey. Love. LOVE. But Patrick Dempsey's character? McDreamy? Oh, good god with the hate. Haaaaaaaaaaaaate. HATE.

This man can not make a decision to save his life and it drives me up a wall. I want to like him, I really do. But I can't live with the wishy-washy crap. Dear God, man, commit to something. ANYTHING. Just stop jerking people around. It's so unbecoming.

I know I shouldn't be so invested in the lives of fictional characters, but I believe this is some sort of genetic weakness of mine. I can't stop. I think about what they need to do to fix their lives. I agonize over their hurts and celebrate their triumphs. Yesterday, in the middle of Joann's, I actually sang the Stargate SG-1 theme song to my mother in the scrapbook embellishments aisle. Yes, it has words. Yes, I'm a total geek for knowing them. No, don't judge me. I'm invested, people!

So McDreamy is breaking my heart by being so unforgivably indecisive. I'm in the minority of people who actually like his wife on the show, Addison. And I would like to see him make it work with her, but at this point, even if he dropped Addison and went back to Meredith, I'd be happy, so long as he ACTUALLY dropped her instead of dropping her, but still taking every opportunity to smell her hair and share meaningful glances with her in the elevator. I know, I know...I'm taking this too seriously. But if this keeps going on, the next thing I know, I'm going to be finding some excuse to fly to Seattle and talk some sense into that man. It shouldn't be hard to find him. I know where he works.

The Case for Kissing

I think I mentioned, Oscar and I have been together for 10 years. When we first met, we were so hot for each other, it was almost ridiculous. I could hardly be in the same room with him without wanting to rip off his clothes, even though we didn't start having sex until we'd been dating for about 6 months (Hey! I'm a big flirt and I have a brazen little mouth on me, but that doesn't mean that you can bat your eyes at me and my pants are going to fall off. Unless you're Salma Hayek.) (Don't judge me!)

We are still pretty damn hot for each other, but as you can expect, 10 years and one kid later, our sex life is not as active as it used to be. I imagine we're still having sex more often than a lot of married couples with children. But we're also not looking for any excuse to duck into a nearby storage closet and get busy.

And yet, Oscar's kisses still make my knees melt. Not the fast pecks I get as I'm walking out the door or the perfunctory, "Hi, how are you?" kisses I get when he comes home from work. I'm talking about the ones that take time. The soft ones that make me close my eyes and drown in the sensation of being loved. The hard ones that quicken my pulse and make me want to feel his skin against my own. The light brushes of his lips against mine when we're breathing the same air, but in no hurry to close the gaps. The deep hungry ones when it's as if our tongues are at war and we can't get enough of each other.

I love kissing him and being kissed by him. So it's a bit of a surprise to me that we had sort of forgotten the art of the make-out session. I mean, don't get me wrong...we kiss a lot. But it's usually towards some purpose. To say hello, goodbye, I'll miss you, I forgive you, I want you, I love you. Rarely do we kiss just for the sake of kissing or of feeling that closeness and intimacy that comes from having his lips on my lips.

Last night, though, we had an argument. It was a stupid argument, which came about mostly because it had been far too long since we'd connected. But I had plans and those plans didn't leave time for the usual make-up sex, nor, really, would I have been in the mood for it if I did have the time. What I wanted was to feel connected to this man...to remember why I love him as much as I do. So I told him to follow me into the bedroom and take off his shirt, and I took mine off as well, and we crawled up onto the bed and kissed. Over and over again. Long drugging kisses. Hot fast kisses. With no purpose in mind other than to kiss and reconnect. It was a vivid reminder of the early days of our relationship.

I'm not going to get into what happened once we were done exploring how many different ways our lips could connect. But I will say that by challenging ourselves to kiss - just kiss - without the underlying goal of it leading to more, the end result was a deep sense of satisfaction and smug smiles on both our faces. Needless to say, from now on, we'll be taking more time out of our schedules to devote to that activity, and, you know....whatever we might be in the mood for after that.

Bodily Functions: An Exploration

Oscar and I have a son, Turtle, who is two. Turtle is VERY two, actually. Although I have to commend him for his consideration...he always goes into hiding to have his temper tantrums. He does not like to inconvenience us with unseemly expressions of negative emotions. In any event, Turtle is an extremely intelligent little boy, but his verbal communication skills have been a little slow to develop. For a while, we thought he was speaking Korean, but neither Oscar nor I speak Korean, so we can't confirm this theory.

Lately, we've been noticing that Turtle is actually speaking in sentences, in English, no less, and that we're actually able to understand some of them. Granted, we're not having deep, meaningful discussions about the state of the world or politics or whether the Diamondbacks actually have a shot of doing something this year. Mostly he speaks to demand more food and to point out that the lump over there? Is a kitty. But I can't complain. It's just nice to be able to communicate with our son and find out what's going on in his mind.

Yesterday, it was particularly enjoyable. This is an actual conversation I had with my son yesterday, right after he got up from his nap:

Him: I ha' poo.
Me: You have poop? You made poopies in your diaper?
Him: I ha' poo.
Me: You made poopies? Well, let's change your diaper, buddy.
Him: No.
Me: Buddy, if you made poopies, we need to change your diaper. Let's go.
Him: *melodramatic cry*
Me: Come on, dude...over to the changing table.
Him: *running over to the window* I ha' poo.
Me: Yes, I know you have poop, buddy. That's why we're changing your diaper.
(I pick up Turtle and put him on the table, peeling his clothes off and getting the new diaper ready.)
Me: Buddy, you don't have poop.
Him: I ha' poo.
Me: You don't have poop, buddy. You just went pee.
Him: Pee? *big grin*
Me: Yep, pee. No poop, little man. Just pee.
Him: I ha' poo. *big grin*
Me: Nope, you didn't make any poopies, buddy. You just went pee. Mommy won the diaper lottery. Woohoo!
Him: Woo. Hoo.


I ha' poo.
Me: Nope. Just pee.
Him: PEEEEEEEEEE! *giggles madly*
Me: Yep, you went pee. Good job, buddy.
Him: Pee!


Poo?
Me: Nope, no poop, little dude. You went pee in your diaper.
Him: I ha' pee.
Me: Very good, little man....go play with your toys.

As I see it, this conversation illustrates two very important points. Number one, my son is brilliant, because he can barely talk, but he has mastered the art of the Who's on First? comedy routine. Number two, a man's inclination towards laughing at his bodily functions? Starts at birth.

Reason #57,567(c) To Hate Valentine's Day

Did I mention that I'm married? I met my husband, let's call him Oscar, 10 years ago. Hotass introduced us, actually. We were all in college, and Hotass had been hanging out with him for quite a while. She regaled me with all sorts of stories about their exploits to the point that I had stopped listening and started rolling my eyes when his name was brought up, so imagine my frustration when I finally met this man and couldn't remember a single one of the million sordid little details she had told me.

Oscar and I have been attached at the hip since day one. And, with the exception of some bumps in the road, we have had a great relationship. So you would expect that we would have big plans for Valentine's Day, right? Not so much. You know how some people make decisions with their heads and some people make decisions with their hearts? Well, Oscar is in the former category, and I am in the latter. And while, yes, we should celebrate our differences and opposites attract and variety is the spice of life and blah blah blah clichecakes, this can be a problem when you get to a day that's devoted to overblown declarations of eternal devotion and expensive, but tasteful, gifts from the heart. So when Oscar asked me if we were celebrating Valentine's Day this year, I said, "No, let's not worry about it. We don't really have the money to do anything big, and it's really just a cheap commercialization of a feeling you should feel compelled to express every day, not just on one predetermined day and in the socially accepted method of 'nice dinner, flowers, chocolates.'' (Yes, I really do talk like that. Don't judge me.) Now, while there is some truth to this (I always do appreciate the little things that Oscar does for me "just because" a lot more than those he's mandated to do for me on Valentine's Day), I mostly said this because gift-giving is not Oscar's strong suit, particularly when we are on a tight budget, and with Christmas a recent memory, I figured he didn't need the pressure.

So my expectations were low on Valentine's Day. We had no plans for dinner out, and I wasn't anticipating any special deliveries to the house that day. But then, something weird happened: Oscar insisted on taking our truck to work. Most days, Oscar rides the bus to work, or, if he misses the bus, he'll ask me to drive him in. But on Valentine's Day, he insisted on taking the truck himself. Insisted. My mind started racing. Did he change his mind? Is he going to pick something up for me on the way home and, having left me stranded at the house with no transportation, ensure that he will have a sweet, romantic gift for me but I will have nothing for him and score ALL of the "Awesome Spouse" points up for grabs that day? I didn't know what was going on, but the seeds were planted in my mind, and I was just waiting to see if they'd bear fruit.

Can you see where this is headed?

The day ended with no card. No gift. No special dinner. He hadn't used the truck to do something really cool in order to surprise me. And I couldn't be upset, because I had told him not to worry about it. I had told him not to get me anything. But I was disappointed...really disappointed...and the worst part was that it was all my fault. See, I know that Oscar thinks with his head and I think with my heart. So if anyone is going to be sneaky and insist on taking the truck in order to get a really cool gift as a surprise, it's going to be me. I know this. I KNOW THIS. And I got my hopes up anyway. I am a moron.

I told Oscar later about my silly fantasy about why he'd insisted on taking the truck that day. He sheepishly said he insisted on having the truck because we had both been sick and he didn't want me to have to worry about driving him back and forth all day. My adorable, practical husband....

Reason #57,567(b) To Hate Valentine's Day

I have a best friend. We have known each other for more than 10 years, but less than 15. There are not enough words in the universe to convey how completely fabulous she is. Which is why I can't give her a name here yet. Someone that fabulous deserves an equally fabulous name and so far....the creativity to come up with a name that is a) not pretentious, b) adequately conveys the fabulousness, and c) rocks both our socks? Is eluding us. So for now, we'll just say she's my best friend and leave it at that.

In any event, my best friend is working in a Hallmark store as she puts herself through college. (Psychology major. And she is brilliant, in addition to fabulous, so the free analysis is valuable instead of annoying. But I digress.) Best Friend was working yesterday. On Valentine's Day. I would normally have felt an enormous sense of pity for her because of this, however, it led to a priceless conversation over IM later in the evening that made me laugh out loud. So really? The payoff was worth it. The text of that conversation is below, although by posting it I realize that I am letting you in on my deepest, darkest secret: my best friend is smarter than I am, and wittier.

Her: Speaking of "babe", and yes I am using pretentious and overused quotation marks on "babe" and you will understand why once I relay my story to you...
Her: I'm at work, right?
Me: Oh, god.
Her: And it's Valentine's Day, right?
Me: Oh, god.
Me: Okay, you're taking a really long time to type and it's scaring me.
Me: No, really, I'm frightened now.
Her: And I work at a Hallmark store so it's busy as hell and people are cranky and pushy and impatient and all "oh my God I have to get something for my wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/mother/son/niece/first cousin twice removed/rottweiler and what do you mean you don't have any of those lions that were advertised on tv for THREE WEEKS and I'm only just now coming to get because I am lazy and forgetful and too stupid to realize that other smarter people came in when they first saw the commercial because hello? with the national advertisement and the selling out potential? and now they're sold out and that is so not acceptable and blah, blah, blah itsallaboutmecakes"
Me: Oh, god.
Her: (You really should be, because I'm not even near the good part yet)
Me: Oh, god.
Her: So, yeah. With the selfish, impatient idiots. But I'm okay with that. Really, I am. I've worked retail off and on for a decade; I know how people get on holidays. And there's always enough nice, friendly, sympathetic "I realize that I have no right to complain that you don't have what I want because I'm shopping on the day of and I'm a loser, so no worries" people to even things out.
Me: God bless them.
Her: But then...But then there are the ones who do something unexpected. Something so unanticipated, so unforeseen, that all you can do is sit there and go "Did that really just happen?" for like three minutes. And then turn to every co-worker who was nearby and witnessed it and say "Did that really just happen?" And then seek out all the co-workers who didn't witness it and relay the story to them and then say "I can't believe that just happened".
Me: Oh, god.
Her: Like when the person at the counter and that person's friend were being loud and obnoxious in the way that loud and obnoxious people are, and they get rung up and then they of course want to borrow your pen because they need to fill out the card now because they're in a hurry and they can't be bothered to actually own a pen, and they take up three feet of counter space and five minutes of your life you will never get back debating over what exactly to write in the card, and then when they're done they walk over to you and hand you the pen and say, in a completely cliched sleazy/snooty tone...
Her: "Here you go, babe."
Me: They. Did. Not.
Her: And really, you hear it and you get annoyed because dude, you are not any customer's babe - or their sweetheart, honey, pumpkin or any other endearment they might come up with - but you are not stunned. Because while you haven't been called babe before, you have been called all those other things and so while it still bugs the shit out of you, it doesn't surprise you and you know how to deal with it.
Her: Until you turn to take the pen from the hands of the person tossing the pen and the "babe" at you.
Me: Oh, god.
Her: And you don't see an aging, bald, gold chain bedecked gentleman with a paunch and leering grin on his face.
Me: OH, god.
Me: (I'm really scared now.)
Her: Or a preening, too handsome for his own good, suit-wearing stuffed shirt who thinks he's doing you a favor by flirting with you in the cheesiest way known to man.
Me: Oh, god.
Her: Because when you turn, you realize it's not a man at all.
Her: It's a woman.
Me: How did I know that was coming?
Her: No, it's not a woman.
Her: It's a girl.
Me: I'm sorry....that does not compute.
Her: A fifteen-year-old, too-much-makeup-wearing, too-little-clothes-wearing, vapidly-talking-to-her-equally-vapid-friend girl.
Me: Oh....Oh no.....Oh, god.....
Her: And yet, even though she is a fifteen-year-old girl, she still manages, through attitude and intonation, to be both the balding sleaze and the preening asshole at the same time.
Me: So, let me get this straight...some half-our-age little nitwit with no sense of propriety or subtlety, walked up to you and tossed a pen and a "babe" in your direction, and she....lived?
Me: You're slipping, sweetheart.
Me: And I say that with all the necessary irony.
Her: : And you watch her walk away, okay strut away in heels way too tall for any self-respecting double x chromosome endowed person, with her friend and while there's a part of you that wants to fix her with your most withering glare - which you're told is quite impressive and intimidating - and say "Excuse me?" in just THAT tone of voice, you don't say anything.
Her: Because that part of you is drowned out by that larger part, that part of you that can still, even after ten years in retail, be so shocked by something that all it can do is stare incredulously and ask "Did that really just happen? No, REALLY? Did that really happen?"
Me: Wow.....I am....without words, actually.
Her: And that part of you is still in control hours later as you're relaying this story to your best friend and even as your typing the words, you are still thinking to yourself, "Really? No, REALLY?"
Her: Fifteen.
Me: Dude, I hear you.
Her: Sixteen, max.
Her: And she's calling me, and probably many other people, "Babe". Not babe. "Babe."
Her: In quotation marks.

Reason #57,567(a) To Hate Valentine's Day

(I realize that at some point, it's going to become necessary for me to write something up about the people who will be prominently featured in this space, but we're not quite there yet. So forgive me for jumping right in with the introductions. I'm sure that soon, you'll have heard enough of my stories to make up for the lack of a quick reference now.)

So...I have this friend. We'll call her Hotass, because that's what she told me to call her. Hotass has been dating this guy for a while. He's a really nice guy, and they are very cute together. But he also has Issues. And while he's been working on his Issues, it's not an easy relationship. They both care about each other very deeply, but you know how sometimes that's not enough? Yeah. So things came to a head the night before Valentine's Day. And yesterday? Hotass had to break up with her boyfriend.

Now, a breakup is bad enough in and of itself, but on Valentine's Day, you can just magnify the experience at least tenfold. There's the gifts that have to be returned. And the breathless anticipation of a romantic candlelight dinner that gets replaced by gut-wrenching sobbing over a pint of Ben and Jerry's. If you're lucky, your other friends are either dateless, or not doing anything, so you at least can have someone to help shovel ice cream into you and repeat "You did the right thing" over and over again like a mantra. But if you're not...if your friends are all coupled off and enjoying romantic dinners of their own with their significant others? Just draw the warm bath and break out the razor blades, because Sweet Baby Jeebus, it would be faster and easier than sitting through the insipid commercials about the "I'd marry you all over again" crowd that are coming on during the innocuous Law & Order episode you put on to distract you from the heartbreak.

I recently got an e-mail about the male answer to Valentine's Day....March 20th is now Steak and Blowjob Day, so that men everywhere can get a little something that makes THEM happy after going to all the trouble to get us women the "gifts that perfectly express their love" on February 14th. And I think men have the right idea. Let's replace Valentine's Day with something else....something a little more achievable. Something that isn't completely tied up in societal expectations and cloying romanticism. I'm thinking from now on February 14th should be Lobster and Cunnilingus Day. Who needs a card? A little shellfish and some action, and I'm happy. Ladies?

No, really, are you happy now?

I don't know how I let you guys (you know who you are) talk me into this. But you did...so here I am, and hopefully I find something to say that's worth reading, or really, I'm going to blame you.

I honestly don't know what kind of random minutiae is going to end up consuming this blog. But my life lately has been a series of WTF??? moments, so it stands to reason that eventually, it will all end up being recounted in gory detail here. Stay tuned and we'll see what fun is in store...