-image-Jojo vs Hollow Squirrel: The Showdown

March 29, 2006 | Jojo, the Legend of Hollow Squirrel

For those of you who don’t know Jojo, he’s the one on the right. Hollow Squirrel is making a play from the left. He’s sly and unassuming…you may have overlooked him.

Hollow Squirrel has been with me since 1994 and before that, he kept watch over my friend John’s dorm room. John, in his infinite wisdom, saw the connection between me and Squirrel (the word “soulmate” comes to mind). He knew I could care better for him and his facial hair and sent me Hollow Squirrel shortly after graduation.

My well-coiffed squirrel has accompanied me from Michigan to Minnesota to Illinois and finally to New York. He’s put up with two different roommates (he misses you both….kisses!), numerous boyfriends, inquisitive guests, a wily ferret and my wonderful husband. Now… he’s got Jojo!

At first, Squirrel experienced some jealousy and resentment towards Jojo, not uncommon in bringing a new baby home. But as you can see from the picture above, Hollow Squirrel has overcome these feelings and now rejoices in his role as protector and mentor. He is steadfast in his care and concern for the little Jojo. And he always makes sure that Jojo’s hair is as properly styled and maintained as his own. Squirrel also pushes Jojo to work on tummy time, something Jojo does not enjoy on his own, but relishes when met with Hollow Squirrel’s encouragement and support. They also have fun together (look up, people!) In this picture, I captured Jojo and Hollow Squirrel lounging on the playmat, sharing some laughs. Or perhaps it was the monthly check for extra squirrel nipples. Whatever.

What I’m trying to say is that there is no showdown. It’s all love here, folks. And wet spots. Look at that ginormous one between the two of them. My lord.

-image-bathing suit shopping

March 26, 2006 | Mr. Squirrel, a girl's gotta shop

Oh the horror.

OK, it wasn’t that bad, but it definitely wasn’t good, and naturally, I still don’t have a suit for Florida. Last Monday, my friend Amber, her baby and me & Jojo went to the Big Mall in the area, and Amber was kind and brave enough to help me shop for bathing suits. She’s a fantastic helper, kind of like Suzanne**, my best friend, who, when asked her opinion of something that looks hideous on me, will say “it does nothing for you,” which is much better than when I shop with my mom. Her reaction to the same outfit would be to give my body a disapproving head shake and suggest that we go for a walk when we get home. And have a salad for lunch. So, day one of swimsuit shopping went poorly. The selection at Macy’s was pathetic and the few suits I did try on were ridiculously expensive and ug to boot.

(**ed. note: I have been rude and remiss not to mention the amazing nursing bra shopping assistance and support I received from two wonderful friends, Lisa and Lisa (the Cult Jam couldn’t make it), in my 36th week of pregnancy. Not only did they fly across country to keep me company for a long and hilarious weekend, but they accompanied me to the aforementioned Big Mall and helped me select several bras (and probably saw WAY too much stretched skin). Bra shopping…almost as bad as bathing suit shopping. I hope they can forgive me…)

So then Sunday, after my husband, baby and I looked at appliances at Sears (that store is d-i-r-t-y), we headed to the other/bigger Macy’s in the area…which is like 2 miles from its smaller, uglier brother. This Macy’s is far superior. I shouldn’t even bother with the other Macy’s except that it is in a far better mall. For now. But the crappy mall is being renovated and the Lord has answered my selfish prayers and a Cheesecake Factory is going in. I know it’s a chain and that will just sicken some people, but then you obviously haven’t been there and dined on the amazing Asian Chicken Salad. Am I right? Or their Crispy Spicy Beef? And their iced tea? Oh, I’m peeing myself! I might have even emailed them when I found out to share my enthusiasm and eternal gratitude. Hallelujah. Plus, seriously people, there are so few good restaurants here. It’s mind-blowing. Anyone who has visited us knows this sad truth.

ANYway, I head to the much bigger bathing suit section and start pulling tankinis off the racks. I give my husband a mission– watch Jojo and grab several sizes of all decent looking tankinis for me! Hurry! Now! Let’s go before the boy starts fussing! He sets into motion, calling out sizes, asking about colors and proudly hands over, with a big, silly grin, several bikinis. Oh well. He just looks so excited, so I decide to try them on. He and Jojo are out in this nice area outside the fitting room, with a half-moon shaped couch and a tv playing… MTV’s Spring Break. Lord people. I snag the spacious fitting room nearest them and whip on and off tankinis and bikinis…and even throw aside all body issues and run to the fitting room entranceway to breathlessly ask (while sucking in pooch): “I look awful, right?” Of course, he loves the red bikini with super short skirt bottom. Not that it’s a real bottom; it’s just a mindblowingly overpriced skirt “cover-up” ($60!). I tell him this, which he doesn’t understand, so I flash him what would happen in the water or just sitting down in this outfit. His eyes bug out (of course, I’m wearing underwear, people. sick.), but he still is set on me wearing this not-gonna-happen bikini and whoreskirt.

The red bikini highlights all the areas I want to hide. So I try to point this out to my husband quickly while still trying to avoid having other customers see me and placating Jojo, who is out of the stroller, attempting to walk on the couch and eyeing my boobs. Back when cellulite and pasty white skin were my biggest problems, I would just try to exercise more in the summer, work in some self-tanning creme to take the glare off, and ignore the thigh cellulite and streaks of self-tanner because I do not have the skill nor patience to apply it properly. Plus, I’m as close to alfuckingbino as they come, so I have to use the lightest self-tanner there is and kind of apply it everywhere. Otherwise, my arms are dead chicken pasty while my legs are dirty? streaky? sexy tan?? uh no. And does anyone else find alllll self-tanners smell a little like pee? Or is it just me?

Ok but now, forget the cellulite! Screw the streaky legs! Post Jojo, I’ve got three new “features” to hide behind a bathing suit: stretch marks, poochy tummy and massive boobs. Oh wait. A fourth: that dark line that bisects the tummy. Yes! I know! You wish you were a close friend or relative, too, so I could burn your retinas during a trip to the mall. The red in the bikini matched the stretch mark, it didn’t cover the tummy or boobs and the dark line was all full frontal and on display. So…no go. My husband didn’t notice these glaring, grotesque displays. He just thought my boobs “look awesome.” Nice babe. So then, I try on the one tankini that he chose for me because the thought the zipper would be perfect for breastfeeding:

Ok, I can see his point. But seriously, sweetie, did you not notice the HORIZONTAL stripes? On a bathing suit? How cruel! Plus, check out this model’s lack-a-rack. Yeah, I didn’t quite look like this. I tried it on in the fitting room and yelled out that I would not be coming out to show him. I did a couple side poses, sucking in the gut, pulling in my chest… but I knew it would never look good on me. And then… AND THEN… the zipper ripped open from the bottom up, creating a sort of cape effect and, obviously, flashing the goods. DUDE. What I do NOT NEED is another bathing suit mishap. It brought up some painful memories from a bathing suit malfunction in Mexico…on a pirate ship…in front of about a hundred tourists. So, I’ve got some serious bathing suit issues to work through before April 24.

ENOUGH! BASTA! I’m signing off before I dive into yet another rant. argh.

-image-Neglect

March 24, 2006 | Mr. Squirrel, a girl's gotta shop

Jojo is fine…no worries. That poor kid probably wishes mommy would neglect him for a few minutes and quit kissing him. But seriously…have you SEEN him? Ugh. Delicious. No, the family member not getting any lovin’ these days is my poor husband. Thankfully, funding ran out to NY state’s department of Good Lovin’, because I would certainly be getting a visit from the Get Your Freak On police. I’m just tooooo tired. And when I go up to bed, the last thing I want to do is have sex. I want to read a bit, then fall asleep. I know I’m not alone here, people.

So last night, my husband and I are talking in bed and getting ready for another not-even-close-to-restful night of “sleep” when he reaches over, touches my crotchal zone and says “oh good, it’s still there…it hasn’t shriveled up and fallen off like my peeper.” I about died. From laughter. Then guilt. But, he confessed that he’d much rather sleep than have sex. I never thought I’d see the day.

And on a good note, Jojo is skipping one of his three nighttime feedings (2 nights running)! He went 6 hours between feedings and the only things suffering are my huge, lumpy breasts (TriNip not affected, because people, it’s JUST a teeny tiny bump not a full blown mammory). Hopefully they’ll adjust to the change in schedule and Jojo will stick to this schedule. Now I just need to work on getting back to sleep after the 4/5am feeding instead of lying there wondering what we’ll do today and if I’ll have time to read the book on feeding and if I’ll have time within the next 59 days to drive an hour to the outlet mall to return the green J. Crew capris with koi embroidered on them because really… do I need them for $34.97? And I should have gotten the blue sweater instead of the pink…WHY WHY WHY did I buy hot pink? And I should have returned the green and white casual (but SO frickin’ cute) skirt and gotten some work pants in case I’m going back to work. And I definitely shouldn’t have spent so much on me when we’re trying to afford a kitchen renovation. Ugh. I should probably just take it all back. What if my milk dries up? What if I’m not introducing rice cereal to Jojo in an appropriate way and creating a lifelong eating disorder? When is the optimal time to feed him cereal? When should I give him sweet potatoes? How do you spell potatoes? Is there an “e”? Damn Dan Quayle for forever confusing me on the plural of potato. Seriously, I was confident in my spelling of the starch until the spelling incident. Dan Quayle, new parent jitters and guilt…all keeping me from much needed sleep. yawn.

-image-”It might be a third nipple…”

March 21, 2006 | Me

That’s what the lactation consultant said today about the hole on my areola that leaks milk. Did I just say “hole on my areola?” Oh yes. Yes, I did. I know, I know, “areola” isn’t the best word. Kind of like panties, moist or slacks. But back to my leaking areola. For several months now, I’ve had this slow drip from this zit-like bump under my right nipple. It comes and goes, but as you can well imagine, seeing milk drip from a non-nipple area is kind of freaky. So I finally had a minute to call the lactation consultant and ask her about it.

Her first thought was that it is a third nipple, and apparently, they’re not too uncommon. I’m like “but does it look like a regular nipple…because I definitely don’t have three nipples?!?” I think I would know if I had three nipples. They’re kind of hard to miss, or so I would think. I guess, instead, the consultant now believes it’s a Montgomery gland, which is…well… just not as fun. And in fact, I think after some internet research, which of course, can be very sketchy, I have to admit: I just damn might have a fucking third nipple.

But people! Didn’t you hear? Extra nipples are the new ‘in’ accessory! I’m so far ahead of you two nipplers. I’ll still talk to ya’ll and stuff, but if I find out you’re slapping on prosthetic nips, I’ll so call you on it. Don’t be a faker. Just live with your deficiency. I’ve done some research on extra nipples for your edification:

• Sometimes extra or third nipples are called supernumerary nipples. But only doctors and pretentious assholes call them that.
• Extra nipples are most often found under the breast, in the armpit or in the groin area.
• 2% of women have an extra nipple and even fewer men have them. Of course, this guy won the coveted third nipple lottery, as did this one. Mind you…you may not realize you have a third nipple because…
• Extra nipples are difficult to detect because they are often small, misshapen and can be mistaken for a mole or freckle (or in my case, a zit. sexy!).
• Unless… you have a frickin boob growing on the back of your thigh, like this 74 year old man, who never wanted it removed since it didn’t leak or anything. But dude, you have a breast on your leg.

-image-mind-boggling

March 15, 2006 | bitterness

So I hit Old Navy and Target last night for a quick, momma-needs-out escape. Old Navy… I fucking hate your stupid ass stubby pegs in your dressing rooms. Anything that weighs more than a tissue-thin tank top slips off the peg and falls into a heap onto the other crappily-made clothes. MADDENING.

I tried on

• 2 tank tops
• 2 sweaters
• 1 pair of jeans
• 1 pair of khakis
• 1 pink tankini top
• 1 empire waist tank

I left with

• 1 vow to write Old Navy about their stubby, useless, infuriating peg choice
• 1 case of low, low self esteem

Let’s just say I’ll be buying my Spring and Summer wardrobe at Housecoats ‘R’ Us.

With a crushed spirit and wet purse (I have the really annoying habit of putting bottled water in my purse and not tightening the cap), I headed to Target. Here, I got distracted by the baby and area rugs sections. I held back on the 5×8 foot rug, but Lucas scored a swim hat, shirt and trunks. So cute!! I also picked up some rice cereal for him.

When I got home, I showed my husband all the awesome loot from Target, and then commenced reading the back of the “cereal box,” which is an ad for their line of (crappy) Gerber Onesies. This is their first point:

“Typically, the right size for baby clothing is double the baby’s age (a three month old wears a size six month, etc.)”

What? Did I read that right? WHY WHY WHY? WHY not just fricking have a 3 month old wear fricking 3 month clothing? Why confuse us? It. Makes. No. Sense. So all of you kind souls who bought infant clothing for Jojo or any other baby and then had to hurriedly tell the mom “Ididn’tknowwhatsizetoget?!!”…it’s ok. It’s not you. It’s the assclown manufacturers. Gift receipts. That’s all I’m saying. All this incredulous headshaking has given me a headache.

-image-Not to pour salt in your wound…

March 14, 2006 | TV/movie addiction

but, Anne, are you ok?

-image-I’m not lazy…

March 9, 2006 | Jojo, The Office

I’m just procrastinating! I was planning on just posting a picture of Jojo and leaving it at that. But (some of) you deserve to know more. But all of you deserve a smile from my son. He’s so happy here. sigh. This photo was not taken today.

But, back to procrastinating. I’ve been struggling this week because drumroll I was offered a part-time job stomach clench. Many nosey and well-intentioned people have asked if I’m working or planning on returning to work, and I’ve given everyone the same story. I finished up my master’s degree in May and haven’t worked since. Over the summer, I finished up some projects around the house and just took care of myself and in utero Jojo. My husband repeatedly said I had the most important job around! If I knew THEN what I know know, naturally, I would have slept hella more and signed up for NetFlix. And gotten a tv for the bedroom, where the only air conditioner lived. There had been a tv, but then my husband dropped it. I may be digressing (and complaining), but it was the SECOND 25 inch tv that my husband has dropped in three years. Yeah. It’s a talent.

Jesus, people, I can get off track. The possible job. I decided to go for it. As I mentioned before I got sidetracked bitching about my husband dropping expensive tvs… when I thought about going back to work, I had a list of requirements:

1. part-time
2. at a local college or university
3. working with students, staff and administration in an environment similar to my master’s program internship
4. not sucky pay

I really thought this would never happen. Good part-time jobs don’t happen. I was kind of relieved that this wouldn’t happen, because then I’d have to leave Jojo and find daycare and possibly suck at this phantom position. But damn, my internship supervisor contacted me and went down my list check check check check. And she even added a fifth: I basically don’t have to apply. I can just have the job if the grant money comes through. Plus…
6. state benefits
7. an “in” for future full-time work
8. the office is 5 minutes from a Wendy’s

Ok, I really should try to forget #8. But I just love the square burgers. And their fries just taste healthier. I just won’t get a Frosty, ok? And no Biggie Size. I promise.

So. Now what? I mean, I guess the grant money may not come through and then I’ll be safe to live in fear of failure at a new job. And I won’t have to leave Jojo or find daycare for Jojo. But then again, one of my good friends suggested we take care of one another’s kids (she has a one month old) and work opposite hours, as she works from home. Oh gosh. It’s looking more and more like this could work out.

What if I’m no good at this job? What if Jojo is super pissed at me? What if he prefers to spend time with Amber instead of mommy? Argh. Stomach. In. Knots.

-image-because sometimes

March 8, 2006 | random randomness

mommy doesn’t have time to post something of her own… she gives you THIS:

http://porktornado.diaryland.com/albumcover.html

Enjoy! Oh, and it really comes courtesy of my husband, who claims he innocently stumbled upon the site while searching for something work-related. uuuuuh right.

-image-What the

March 5, 2006 | random randomness

bleeeeeep? And I didn’t even watch the pre-show. So, I’m sure I missed some other major headshakers.

1. The size of Michelle Williams’ head. Or was it just the size compared to that ruffley dress? I couldn’t tell, as again, I stupidly missed the preshow. But damn, sister, you look like a pinhead.
2. Rachel McAdams’ hair and dress matched. Was it just my tv’s coloring, or was it a deep urine tone?
3. Lauren Bacall. Was it the teleprompter font size? Did she forget her glasses? Or…did you, too, notice her death grip on the lecturn? B.O.O.Z.E.R.
4. The amount of bronzer on JLo. Next time, share some with that creepy skeleton sitting next to you.
5. Fire! Fire! Wow. This is all too much for the Crash song. Stop. Please. The slow motion acting is killing me.

That’s five, and I’m being gentle. And I’m going to bed. WEAK showing, I realize that. I’ll just have to read up on the rest of the ridiculousness tomorrow. Maybe next year I’ll be back on my game.

6. whoa Mickey Rooney, I thought you were dead. Well…that’s debatable.

ok I’m really going to bed. Night ya’ll.

-image-Wasted bobka

Uncategorized, Mr. Squirrel, random randomness

That’s an oxymoron, people. Bobka is never wasted! It’s Oscar night, and that means it’s Oscar Party night at my neighbor’s house. Each year, the cinephile down the street hosts an Oscar party. Last year, I wasn’t invited. The year before, I was. This year, I made the cut again. I don’t know why I missed out last year. We hadn’t talked nearly as much, so perhaps that was it. Or perhaps it was because I’m one of those types of people who gets nasty when other idiots talk during the monologue and roll my eyes when they ask assinine questions like “What’s Brokeback Mountain about?” But whatever, I was all revved up to head over to Kate’s tonight. I’d baked bobka. I’d planned what to wear. And then…

The party was cancelled. Apparently, my friend’s moronic boss called to remind her that she had to work tonight, and this was news to Kate. She’s beyond livid and rightly so. That’s grounds for a big FU, I say. But, my husband was so excited because the beautiful Brokeback Bobka I baked is up for grabs.

The bobka, recipe courtesy of Suzanne’s grandmother, amazes all who eat it. I knew I wanted to bake one for the party but had to put the Oscar spin on it. And, because the bundt pan makes the bobka seem like a mountain range, I was like “winner! winner! Brokeback Bobka!” Seriously. That was my reasoning. And then my husband said, “it looks like a butt. And a hole. A butthole. You made a butthole.”

But damn, it’s goooood.

Ok, I gotta pump.