Friday, February 13, 2004

Babycare made easy

Free food! Went to fancy restaurant with my job and just ate up a storm. But sadly, could not drink. And this is the thing you see. Taking care of the baby this way is soooo easy. What do I have when I go to these fancy work-related restaurant things. Steak--every time. That's all I have to do to provide for the little sucker. Eat a stake, some wilted greens. Or, in the case tonight, some spinach with black truffle butter. That spinach was without a doubt the most amazing delicious spinach I have ever had. I would turn tricks for that spinach.

At the moment I have to do almost noooothing to keep the baby alive, nourished, clean, safe now. I have to cut rich Angus beef into bite sized pieces. I have to order a side of juice and greens and gobble those greens down. Sometimes I find myself also getting profiteroles (actually, they had a more exotic name but I forgot what it was) but that's optional--just a little added bonus for my little offspring. I do have to pee and sleep more on his behalf. I have to be itchy. Occasionally a strange vinegary smell clings to me. But this--this is nothing! So damn easy!

That's all I have to do now. In a month it will all be over and the processes will develop a frightening complexity. Oh God help me. Every day that goes by I think: Uh, is there any backing out now? Is it too late?

The answer is yes, yes it is too late. Lazy me. Now I'm going to pay. I've felt guilty for so long about all my character flaws and always wondered: Will it be a relief when the jig is finally up and everything irresponsible I've ever done and inclined to do comes back to me? Will the final clang of the door of freedom shutting behind me be a relief given that I've waited and dreaded so long?

The answer there is no, no it will not be a relief. C'mon. How dumb can I be? We know we're going to get old and die. Is that a relief when that happens? (Well, it might be in theory but no one seems to think so when push comes to shove.)

I keep thinking about our yearly mottos and how we forgot to make one up this year. Well, the year I lived alone in the Midwest it was "{Insert Midwestern city name}: It's not that bad!" And the year I left grad school after so many carefree and halcyon days it was "I had my fun and now it's over." That might not be a bad one for this year...My temporary motto is going to be: "Give until it hurts." This is it. I'll be selfish again perhaps but it will never again be OK to be selfish.

Here's something that makes no sense: I feel this intense love for the unseen baby while also fearing that I will not love the unseen baby.

Luckily, I didn't have to turn any tricks for the spinach. Just had to be schmoozed...amazingly, incompetent me already has a job whereas some of these poor suckers--who probably really are better than I in some way I could never in a million years admit to myself (who can't help looking down on them a little--my one big chance to look down on someone)--don't have a job. Of course, I wish I could say the same thing about my darling beloved Chico. Maybe I shouldn't look down on them come to think of it. They need a job. Instead of giving the job to someone who is the most qualified my urge is to give it to someone who is the most needy. The single mom, etc. Well, I'll be pushing for that anyway. I doubt it'll work but it's worth a shot.

I know it is not exculpatory in any way but I swear if I do ever look down on anyone I only look down on white men with Ivy League degrees. It's not really looking down--more like I think on their behalf 'is that all there is?'

It makes it all the more amusing when I get my comeuppance...they were coming to us begging hat in hand for a job and I think: Hmmmph! And then of course the job they end up taking is way better than my job. 'Cause their Ivy League degree is better than my Ivy League degree. And whenever you are smug about anything you always get your comeuppance. Well, I do anyway.

I wish everyone did.

Ken and Barbie break up

from everything is wrong

Thumbsucking adults... Gosh, now I'm sorry I gave it up! I thought you were supposed to.

From Idletype

Thursday, February 12, 2004

What's the definition of marriage?

Marriage is defined as the union of a straight man and a straight woman...

Or not!

The emphasis on definition is so silly:

Sample sentence: Oh...a couple of my friends Bob and Phil got married last weekend. I can even say "Two of my friends--each of whom has a penis--were married last weekend."

Am I not allowed to say that?

Did you just understand the above sentences? I rest my case.

You might say: Wait! Where? But if I say "in Toronto" I think the question is easily answered.

I'm confused: You can actually pass a law that defines the word differently? And then what happens to the people who use the illicit definition? Hmmmm.

But hey, if you are so worried about definitions how come it doesn't bother you that the Massachusetts legislature can pass an amendment such that the constitution that demands equal treatment under the law now exempts one group of people living in Massachusetts from equal treatment?

It's so comforting to know that Democrats and Republicans all agree about one thing and that's gay people can't get married! Finally, something they can all agree on! Maybe the whole country can happily unite around this one compelling issue and all the rancor will finally fade away.

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

The brother pops the question

Our engagement story: The first time he proposed, my husband panicked and asked me in the laundry room of his parent's house because I was upset he was leaving town and he wanted to cheer me up. Then, he lived somewhere else, we broke up with great bitterness and rancor and got back together a long while later. We were still way in love though. So when he asked me as a way of restarting our relationship I think I said something like: "No way! It would never work!" I think I may have gasped in horror. Maybe not those exact words but there was one of those movie epic "noooooooohhhhs" in there like when the mother in law finds the daughter in law hanging from the rafters in the barn. Since he took up randomly asking me at weird moments it's kind of hard to put our finger on the 'yes' moment. I think we were sitting on the grass somewhere after one of those exhausting walks I used to drag him on. He would walk with me in sleet, snow, rain. How could I not marry him? Well, there were lots of reasons not to but we sort of waited it out until we forgot them.

I wanted to spend my life with him. He's amazing. But we were actually capable of having such long fights that we would sometimes even skip meals to continue them. (In my family, that's normal.) So although we were meant for each other I was afraid we might starve. For some reason, this doesn't happen any more.

There are some other details I am leaving out. But it's good for the engagement moment to capture the kind of couple that you are. E.g., I'm the kind of pregnant wife who says things like: "I feel that weird hatred for you coming back." And "It's strange that I'm so in love with you and yet you are annoying me so much." And he's the kind of husband who laughs at me. He knows when to ignore me and when to be amused and I can't think of a better quality in a man. At least one insane enough to marry me.

I hope he doesn't read this. We have different versions of every event throughout our relationship. It's like Rashomon in our house, man.

This is Dooce's description of her marriage and her past and how it all worked out. Some day maybe I'll really talk about marriage. For me, marriage is not at all that you find someone that is so perfect and wonderful that you love them every minute and you are so perfect and wonderful, etc. No, instead it's more like you are both just the same idiotic schmoes you always were but somehow you are so in love and somehow you end up being better to each other than you are to anyone else in the world--and maybe better than you thought humanly possible. I.e., I would kill anyone else I had to see all the time but him I actually love.

AND SHE HAD HER BABY. AND HER BABY IS DANG CUTE. I'm afraid this pooping post takes her to new levels of brilliance. How does she do it? Who else could take such a subject and give it the golden gleam of brilliance. What Melville was to whaling, Dooce is to bodily functions.