Certainity. A Luxury We Can No Longer Afford.

This has been reposted from my American Mom in London blog, because yes, it's just that important to me.

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Shortly following the start of the worldwide economic meltdown, Mike turned to me one morning and asked, "But how does all this affect us?"

("Us" being folks with no immediate ties to the banking industry going about their daily lives.)

At the time, life around us hadn't changed much...

The London's streets were littered with just as many tourists as the day before. The shop lines on Kensington and Oxford Street were just as atrocious as ever, and the previous day our grocery store had run out of fresh bread before I could get there. It was business as usual.

Furthermore, we're decades away from retirement, well-educated, and completely debt-free. I assured Mike that we really don't need to worry, but his question still struck me as the "Gee, what else can go wrong?" of sitcom folly...

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What I'm about to tell you has been wallowing in the pit of my stomach and consuming my every thought.

I've avoiding talking about it until now, even with my family, because it's too difficult. Too complicated. Too personal.

When I started sobbing at Mass last weekend... while on the bus... and standing in line at the post office... and basically, any moment when I get five seconds to myself, I figured it was time to let it out.

So here, goes...

Our visas expire in 27 days and Mike's contract still hasn't been renewed.

Note, this is not to say that it wasn't renewed. Only that it hasn't, and his company seems to be in no rush. (Such the British way...)

On the other hand, the company has voiced on several occasions that it would LOVE to keep him on staff. His co-workers love him and are shocked that he hasn't been scooped up yet. However, the funding for the next project hasn't been secured and unless it happens within in the next four weeks, they can't...

Thank you, worldwide economic meltdown.

Everything could still change on a dime... er, ten pence, but for now, Mike has started job hunting again and when our visas expire, we'll have no choice but to move back-- uninsured, jobless, and homeless. (i.e. hobos)

This may come as a shock to most of our friends and family.

Why the hell would we turn our lives upside down, drain our bank accounts, sell our stuff, our home, and our car, and start all over for essentially six months of employment?

The answer is simple. I love my husband and it's great job. Not to mention, it's was an opportunity that we just couldn't pass up.

When he accepted the position, it was with the tacit understanding that it would be his for as long as he wanted it. We'd have a chance to see Europe, live abroad for a while, and build back our savings.

Of course, at the time, who could have foreseen the collapse of every single financial market in the world. (Certainly not the people "in charge"...)

We were just getting settled-- creating routines, desensitizing ourselves to the banking system, making wonderful new friends...

We very much want to stay, especially after everything we went through to get here. (Those of you closest to us, you know the stories. No need to rehash them here...)

As difficult as it has been to "adjust", the thought of moving overseas again, so soon and so suddenly, is exactly why I haven't slept in over three weeks.

Please don't tell me "It's going to be okay" or "We'll be fine". I won't be able to stand it. Not yet.

From Two to Thirteen... Overnight

As I was getting ready a few weeks ago, I heard some early morning rustling coming from my son's room.

Hurray! He's awake!

(Yes, I actually do miss my son when he sleeps... sometimes.)

I called out "Good Morning, Son!", and ran over to his door only to find that he was barricading it shut.

"Won't you let me in, Honey?"

"No, Mommy. My room. Go away," was all the "Good Morning, too" that I got that day and it BROKE. MY. HEART.

The kid's TWO!!!

I thought he'd love me forever and ever for at least another... I don't know, ten years or so.

I guess they do grow up too fast. Way too fast.

Blue Screen of Doom

Oh.

My.

GAWD!

I did NOT mean to take another blogging hiatus, but this time it had nothing to do with the writer's block, exhaustion, or utter lack of inspiration of which I also have been suffering lately...

This time it was a bad (evil, nasty, hiss, baa) "mandatory" Windows Vista Update that killed my blogging mojo... and my computer.

Yup, it zapped my brand new laptop and rendered it totally useless for over a WEEK ago... and, of course, where were the restore disks?

Ummm, tucked neatly in a box at my parents house on the other side of the world...

Stupid of me! I know, but trust me, it would be the last thing you'd be thinking about too if you were A) moving OVERSEAS and B) with a toddler who has never flown before...

... and so what if I opted to pack those five extra diapers instead?

In spite of all this, I still do NOT regret it... and neither do my fellow passengers on American Airlines Flight #384.

Besides, my parents managed to find the disk and mailed them to me molto pronto. They were particularly motivated after I told them there won't be anymore web cam calls with their beloved one and only grandchild until they do...

In the meantime, my hubby, sexy, open-source lovin', techy programmer geek that he is, loaded a version of Linux on my computer, so that I could at least get online.

FAIL!

Everything took so excruciatingly long to load that I couldn't stand to do anything more than check a few e-mails each day before I was over it. I won't even go into the "mystery key strokes" and random prompts that would pop up as I typed...

(To all of you who received a typo-ridden emailed from me last week, now you know why...)

I'm not pro-Microsoft or anti-Linux or even think I'm cool enough for a Mac...

(What? Do you not have those debates with your husband, too?)

I just want my COMPUTER TO WORK, damnit!

The American Beef Industry: Garbage In, Garbage Out.

Times are definitely gloomy. We all need to cut back, tighten our belts, stop eating all that fancy, expensive food... like grass.

Politics for Dinner

Every night, my husband comes home with a new rant about the elections... usually something said on FoxNews, news about the candidates' stances on the war or national debt, etc.

He claims to only read this stuff while he's waiting for things to load at work...

However, judging from the amount of email he sends me each day, I think he secretly spends his entire day trolling the Internet for video clips or memorizing facts and figures to present over dinner.

I listen. We discuss. We usually agree and then, I change the subject... except he's not done yet...

He goes on, getting louder and louder and LOUDER still, to the point where he is shouting and scaring our child.

Our son actually burst into tears last week because he thought Mommy and Daddy where fighting. We weren't even though my husband was following me around the house shouting and I did tell him to "shut the hell up already".

If you must know, my husband and I claim to be disenchanted Republicans. We both agree with several of the key issues that the Republican party stands for... or at least, what they used to stand for. However, we also disagree with some big ones, too.

(I'm not interested in starting a debate, so won't bother to say which issues...)

The funny thing is I don't recall my husband being this passionate about politics during the last Presidential election. Nope, nope. We had to move OUT OF THE COUNTRY and ACROSS THE OCEAN for that to happen.

Of course, this time four years ago, I was listening to similar rants from my best friend (then roommate).

She also liked to quote FoxNews every night when she came home from work except it was always in agreement, rather than disgust... (smirk)

Yes, Eh, and Only Because You Keep Talking About It

It rains a lot in England, but it seems redundant to even mention it.

Everyone already knows that it rains a lot in England, and whether or not they've ever been here, everyone likes to point it out to us.... constantly.

"Oh it rains there a lot, doesn't it..."

"I bet you're sick of all of the rain already..."

"You must being going crazy with it raining all the time..."

People comment on the rain so much that sometimes, just to be contrary, I want to contradict them and say, "Well actually, it doesn't"

Of course, I don't because that would be a lie as it DOES rain here a lot, but you already knew that, now didn't you?

I don't even know why this makes me so cranky. It's not you. Promise.

I think I'm just sick of all the rain...

Every Vote Counts... I guess.

My mom signed off her last email with the following:

Got to go; Sarah Palin is going to deliver her speech at the GOP convention. Hope you can vote for them there. If you're still a Democrat, don't bother to vote. Take care.

Mommy

We have a lovely relationship otherwise...

One Step Forward, Ten Steps Back

A few weeks ago, my best friend sent me an update from our 10 year high school reunion...

I was a little surprised she went since she's the one who suggested that we completely blow off the five reunion, but then again... who really cares about the five year reunion?

We were still in school at the time (grad school, but still school), working at so-so jobs, unmarried, and childless. Other than living on our own instead of with our parents, not much had really changed since high school.

Ten years is a little different though. You would hope that a lot has changed. Being closer to 30 than 13, you would especially hope that people would have grown up and gotten over... well, all that high school crap.

I would have been interested to see what became of everyone. (Just not interested enough to remember where I put my invitation...)

I laughed out loud as I read who had married whom, who got really, REALLY fat, who was still a snobby bitch (as if I didn't already know), and about my ex-boyfriend, who apparently is...

Still.

Not.

Over.

Me... GAH!

The next few days, the photos, messages, and friend requests started popping up all over Facebook. As all of these people who I used to know reconnected, I started to feel a teensy ounce of regret and wistfulness over missing the reunion...

I noticed a lot of my classmates are married and/or new parents. Most have careers that are taking off or just finishing grad school. It would have been so interesting to hear all of the "how we got here" stories.

Then, I came across the profile of boy who I had the BIGGEST crush on my sophomore year. He just graduated with an MBA from Harvard and he still has not idea I exist... and even though I'm happily married and living a fabulous life in London, that still makes me wilt.

Then, there was the boy who had the biggest crush on me. I knew it and I chose to ignore it... Well, he's a published author now and I can't even keep up with my blog.

There were the kids I used to make fun of, the kids that used to make fun of me, and so forth...

...and just like that, I was transformed into the self-conscious, nervous girl with the dorky glasses and hairy legs because her mom won't let her shave her legs. (Seriously.)

The one that went to junior prom stag, took dance instead of tennis, and worked crew instead of starred in the play because she never got picked for anything... and was lame enough to get upset by it.

Of course, none of that matter now, but as my best friend put it best in her e-mail:

This entire event undermined everything we had worked for and become over the last 10 years in terms of coming to know ourselves and the new self confidence that brings - it turned even me into the nervous high school girl I once was and [my husband] saw the embarrassing and awful regression as soon as I walked in.

I guess I'm glad I missed it after all.

Is it '08 or '80 again? I forget...

I know, I just did a post about a fashion (or rather, how completely out of touch I must be) but I saw something last week and just could NOT resist talking about it...

I was walking past H&M last week and spotted these in the window.


I mean, is this really what the kids are up too these days?

Culture Clash

I was in the middle of explaining to a store clerk that my family and I just moved to London when he complimented me on how well I spoke English...

"Why, I can understand you perfectly," he added for good measure.

I clarified that's GREAT especially since we just moved here from the UNITED STATES of AMERICA (but thank you, nonetheless).

Even though I'm perfectly aware that I'm SHORTER and BROWNER than most folks, I tend to forget that I'm Filipino sometimes. Having been born and raised in the US, it's not like it really impacted my daily life.

I shopped at Wal-Mart, celebrated Thanksgiving with green bean casserole, and pled the fifth just like everyone else I knew. I grew up with Saturday morning cartoons and sugary cereal. I even know all of the Presidents and state capitols.

When nosy people ask where I'm from, I always say, "the US" and leave it at that, but I know what they are really after...

As one of the locals so quaintly pointed out during our recent trip to Greece, "No, no. You're not an American. Not in the face. Now, where… you… from?"

Okay, so if pressed further, I will begrudgingly clarify by saying that my parents are from the Philippines, but I am from America. This is then usually followed by one of the following:

"No, I can't converse in Tagalog, but I can understand it when spoken."
"Yes, I've been to the Philippines and yes, it is quite lovely."
"No, I will not clean your house/ know your next door neighbors' cousin's wife's who is also Filipino/ make you chicken adobo."

Okay, that last one was just a joke, but you get my point. I am proud of my heritage, but it's just tedious to explain to the casual acquaintance or souvenir vendor.

When it comes to identifying with a people... I'll have the Sonic Buger, onion rings, and a Cherry Limeade. Umm, better make that a Butterfinger Blast. (Mmm, Sonic...)

I knew moving to London was going to be a bit of "culture clash". What I didn't consider was how many cultures would be clashing...

For instance, the closest food market to us is a Middle Eastern/Polish grocery with no less than 25 types of salami and a separate sections for pierogois. The store clerks speak to one another in their native language, but not to anyone else...

The other night, I went there to buy authentic Greek yogurt when I overheard a couple nearby arguing in French. I walked past them quickly and ran into a group of girls dressed in hijab and discussing Mexican food.

If you think I'm joking, here's a photo of the frozen peas I also purchased that night...


The packaging is written in Arabic, even the heating instructions. Fortunately, I already know how to defrost peas. What I don't know if how to operate my British appliances...

What is this Celsius, they speak of?

Tales from Home Shopping

I've told you before what home shopping junkies my parents are. They call their finds "economical" and "practical". I simply call them "compulsive" and "random". You never know what you'll find squirreled away all over the house...

For instance, I happened upon this item while rummaging under the stairs the other day...

I'm sure it's a brilliant invention and I'm sure it's revolutionized grilling as we know it, but I just wonder how much grilled chicken my two empty-nester parents go through to justify a whole "thingy-ma-bobber"...

Okay, so I DID move back in with them last week and I'm sure was all the justification they needed to make several new purchases yet to be discovered.

As if they need any excuse... just ask my mom's tacky funky collection of "diamonite" jewelry, the unopened boxes of SpaceBags, and their recently upgraded FoodSaver.

Oh, and of course, the Tony Little Gazelle....

All acquired when my sisters and I weren't looking and least suspected it.

This afternoon, while they were at work, I went ahead and blocked QVC...

Shhh!

Blogging on Boring British Bureaucracy

I've avoiding blogging about the process of acquiring our dependent visas for the UK because I imagine it would be as stressful and tedious to read as it is to endure...

First and foremost, I was super annoyed that Hubby spent all of his time designating “foster homes” for his Star Wars toys and thirty-year-old Legos instead of submitting the paperwork for our dependent visas. Which, by the way, was something we were supposed to have done before we booked our flights to London… Oops!

I mean, really… wasn’t it enough for me to get us packed, get the house on the market, and get our affairs in order? Dealing with the paperwork to get us over there was basically his ONLY task!

But, as I am constantly reminded, "There's nothing you can do about that now. You just need to deal with it..." (Umm, still mad. grrr...)

With Hubby's work visa having been secured by his office, I figured, my son and I could simply go over (undetected) as tourist and apply for our dependent visas once we go there... WRONG!

Earlier this week, I received a personal call from the BRITISH EMBASSY…

…and no, it was NOT as high-profile and important as it sounds.

Hubby had contacted the embassy on our behalf and a representative was merely calling to follow up. She was very polite, and more importantly… helpful.

She also assured me that my "little plan" was (insert prim British accent here) “absolutely not allowed. No, no, no. That is… FORBIDDEN”.

Apparently, a few months ago there was a policy change in which foreigners are not allowed to enter into the UK unless they have a guaranteed return ticket OUT of the UK. I imagine holding cells and all the glamour of being DEPORTED....

Well then. I suppose I’ll just go ahead and rebook our flights now...

Okay, so the process isn't actually not THAT terrible. There are actually some useful websites which I was already using, so at least I was on the right track...

The hard part is handing over all of our original -- not photocopies and not even certified photocopies, but our ORIGINAL birth certificates, marriage license, and passports to a faceless entity with little to no reassurance of their timely return (if at all...)

I also have to provide three months worth of bank statements, which I assume is meant to prove we're not paupers coming to mooch their national health care or some such.

Once it's all sent, I wait-- wondering if I dotted all of the Is and crossed all of the Ts and hoping that we get approved.

Until that happens, my son and I will continue to live with my parents, to their utter joy and satisfaction...

INDEFINITELY.

Boo.

What? No corn syrup dipping sauce?

I promise I not to become a snotty ex-pat, constantly ranting about the Euro and how far superior life in Europe is in comparison to the United States...

But there are just some things that are so quintessentially "American" that I am quite all right with leaving behind.

Such as...

We so are the fattest country in the world, aren't we....

Grass Greener?

Yesterday, my sister-in-law called to "check up on us". She had heard the news about Hubby losing his job, but I'm not sure if she was calling to commiserate or rub in it...

I filled her in on the basics, but after the hundredth time of repeating them, I just didn't have the heart to go over the details. I also left out most of the big parts like...

... finding out the unemployment benefits that we were naively counting on to see us through because everyone we knew said would be so freakin' awesome (like "70% of Hubby's previous salary" awesome) will barely cover groceries for a week. That's NOT 70%... Boo! Hiss! Texas.

On top of that, they get still get taxed... federally. Um, Insult, meet Injury.

... finding out that the toothache that I thought was merely stress-related is actually my wisdom teeth coming in about 10 years too late and a week before we lose all of our health insurance.

No, we can't even afford COBRA (see above). At least, the dentist prescribed some beautiful painkillers until they can be removed.

Of course, once I took one of the beautiful painkillers and was lying in bed happily stress-free, my husband comes in to tell me that our son spiked a fever. Again, no health insurance in a week, but at least for this one, I can call my mom.

Basically, all of the parts that I don't really care to discuss with anyone right now, so I casually changed the subject and asked how they were doing... big mistake.

My brother-in-law (Hubby's youngest brother) has just accepted a wonderful new job. It's a great opportunity that pays double the salary and apparently offers endless growth. She'll get to stay home with the kids like she claims to have always wanted. However, it also means that they will have to move.

Yeah, moving sucks, but you would think that this would still be really, really exciting for her...

Nope. Not her.

After throwing a big hairy hiss about having to move... wait for it, wait for it... a messily hour away for this fabulous, lucrative job, she told me that she only conceded after he PROMISED that they never... ever...move... again.

She also gloated informed me that his salary was only "going to get better year after year" (i.e. they never have to worry about money again) and they fully expect to get three times what they paid for their house in selling it.

In light of our current circumstances, it's difficult NOT to be jealous hearing all this... even if that last part was just plain petty and hurtful.

I didn't feel the need to disclose to her our highly tentative plans of moving wherever Hubby's next career move lands us, whether it be across the country and across the globe....

Knowing how she reacted to moving across their home state of Oklahoma, I didn't really think she would be very supportive anyhow.

That, and quite frankly, I had had enough of talking to her.

My sister-in-law isn't entirely short-sighted, self-centered, and insensitive. She did offer me some words of comfort... I think.

"At least I only have the ONE kid... ", she told me, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean...

Is the Doctor in?

When I was sick a few weeks ago, I realized it would probably be a good idea for Hubby and I to have a primary doctor...

I usually depend on my pediatrician mom for (free) medical care, but even she has been prodding me to "grow up" and find my own doctor already...

Hubby was kind enough to make all of the arrangements for me at a local clinic (and offer to stay with the tyke while I went). It was one of those places with a number of family doctors and specialists on staff. I was fine with seeing any of them, provided they could see me THAT day...

I didn't bother to get the specifics of who I was seeing-- just a name, a time, and a location, and off I went. I paid my co-pay, flipped through some outdated magazines, and finally met with... the nurse practitioner?!

Okay, let's just say that my concerns weren't exactly properly addressed and I had to come back for a second visit. That meant taking my son along and paying a second co-pay, so this time I asked to see the DOCTOR!

Not wanting to offend anyone, I was polite and discreet with my request. The receptionist, however was not. She simply said:

"Seeing the nurse is just as good as seeing the doctor... Besides, you didn't sound sick enough to see the dooooo-ctor, but I'll go on and squeeze you in today..."

"Ermmm, thanks, but not in my experience..."

I'm no medical professional here, but if I had just gone through 4 years of schooling, followed by another 6 years, followed by life as an intern, resident, etc... Spent all of that time studying for exams, boards, and licenses. I would be a tad miffed and insulted by that comment.

Furthermore, who is the receptionist to be assessing my medical condition (over the phone, no less) and determining whether or not I was "sick enough".

I was sick enough to call. I was sick enough for me and my insurance company to pay someone to examine me. In my book, that's sick enough.

I've noticed that this exact same thing happens at my son's pediatrician. His doctor only sees us if it's a well-check or if she happens to have time. Otherwise, we're sent to her nurse, whose advice the doctor usually contradicts at our next well visit anyway...

My husband and I both grew up in medical families, with each of us having one doctor-parent. Doctor-parents who have been practicing medicine for so long that they still have their "house call" bags, which they still use on occasion. We're talking old school...

As you can imagine, growing up with doctors in our immediate family, there was little reason for Hubby nor I to seek medical attention outside of our home. However, we did get to witness first-hand how a medical practice ought to be run.

My mom, as I mentioned, is a pediatrician. She sees all of her own patients, personally answers all of her own calls, and makes a point of getting to know the families. When people make an appointment with her office, it's an appointment to see her.

This is the only way I've ever known for doctor visits to be and I obviously don't know much about the "state of modern medicine", so please forgive my ignorance.

I don't mean to belittle nurses, but I just want to know...

When did nurse practitioners start taking the place of doctors? Furthermore, when did doctors stop having time for their patients... even the ones they consider "minor cases"?

Birthday V2.0: Part II

If you missed the first installment, you can find it here.

As you smarty pants out there have probably figured out, there was just so much birthday stuff to blog about that I decided to do a series of posts versus one very long one. This is probably fitting since my son's birthday has pretty much consumed my entire existence for the past two weeks... at least.

If that sounds like the equivalent to other people's vacation photos to you, then please feel free to tune out this week. I will totally understand. Totally.

Now where was I? Ah, yes... So, guess what rolled into town but only for a very limited engagement?

Ummm, only an opportunity to ride on Thomas the Tank Engine ON my son's birthday.

We just HAD to go. I booked our tickets four months ago when I first heard about it and convinced my playgroup to do the same. It was supposed to be my son's ONE big birthday celebration with his friends. HA! (But more on that later....)

Planning that far ahead of time with a group a two-year-olds is always very dicey. I've been known to cancel outings the morning of, simply because my son woke up with a 'tude. Usually it's not a problem when the activity in question is playing in the park or dropping by a friend's house, but these tickets cost $60!

In my book, that's a lot of money to just say, "Pfff... I guess we'll just stay home if you really don't want to wear pants today..."

The ride itself was pretty uneventful. I believe the highlight for my son was being in a moving vehicle and NOT confined to a car seat. Frankly, he and his friends looked a little stunned to be there the whole time...

We were one of the last groups to get off the train, so by the time we got to the front there was a huge line to get your picture taken with Thomas. We braved it anyway, but just as we were about to take our turn Thomas had to leave for another "adventure".

This is Thomas pulling out of the station... and although, you don't see it, my son and I yelling and shaking our fists. "25 minutes until the next photo op. Peep! Peep!"

Bu-bye-bye, Thomas. You jerk!

In the meantime, there were other photo ops available. This Sir Topham Hatt with not-my-kid...

My son and his friends wanted nothing to do with Sir Topham Hatt. I mean, just look at the size of him in comparison to an "average" kid! I wouldn't want anything to do with him either. Furthermore, we wanted nothing to do with the line to take photos with him (especially not after our experience with Thomas.)

...and this is Sir Topham Hatt telling me to get back in line and stop...

ahem! ahem! "...causing confusion and delay...."

hehe! Yeah, I couldn't resist.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this (to the whole Internet), but I think I was actually MORE excited about our adventure with Thomas than my son or any of his friends...

We eventually got our "official" photo with Thomas.

See, that's our family on that day our son turned 2!

Party Planning: Part II

My son's big birthday weekend is coming up. The BIG 0-2 and there's so much to do!

But, what am I doing? Nesting, apparently...

This past weekend, I busted out the ladder, ammonia and vinegar, and the hose and insisted that we clean all of the windows- inside and out, front and back, top to bottom. So, of course, it's been raining on and off all week...

I also cleaned the oven, polished the hardwood floors, and bleached the washing machine.

None of which has anything to do with the twenty family and friends coming over for dinner on Saturday. A dinner that is happening after the Gymboree party with the sixteen two-year-olds, by the way.

In fact, I'm trying NOT to think about the twenty family and friends expecting me to feed them something other than "nuggies'n mac cheese" (as my son's best friend calls lunchtime at my house...)

A few nights ago, it occurred to me to order my son's cake. It wasn't really a big deal since the party was still a week away at the time, but I figured I should at least narrow down which licensed character to have on top of it...

My son has been into Bob the Builder and Thomas the Tank. Well, not so much Bob since he saw it dubbed in French, but he still gets pretty darn excited about Thomas the Tank.

Even though the last two birthday parties we've gone to were Thomas-themed, I should probably just go with it anyway. However, truth be told, my son's most favoritest show EVAH is actually....

THEEEEEEE... PRICE... IS... RIGHT! This lights. The colors. Drew Carey's charm and enthusiasm. My son is so engaged. He even claps and smiles when the contestants win their showcase. It's VERY cute.

*************************************************************************************

Update: So, even though my son is totally into the "Price is Right", and boy-howdy is he ever. I didn't think anyone else would "get it"; maybe not even him looking back on the photos twenty years from now. Plus, everything that my son seems to like about the show (the lights... the colors... etc.) doesn't exactly translate well into cake form...

I decided to go with Gymbo the Clown, Gymboree's lovable, but not exactly well-known mascot.

Naturally, I set to work drafting a layout of exactly how I want to cake to look, complete with multiple reference photos of Gymbo taken from different angles.

Did I mention that this is for a cake... for a two-year-old's birthday party...

Yeah, why am I so anal?

What Did You Expect?

What is it about motherhood (or the hint of impending motherhood) that makes people think your personal life is public domain?

Case in point, take this conversation I had with a friend last week. She called me while I was in the middle of a (particularly difficult) shopping trip with my son to confirm that...

SHE: Hey, in case you were wondering if K is pregnant. She is definitely NOT!

ME: Um, I wasn't but, all right, what brought that up?

SHE: Yeah, well she's been wearing these puffy tops and empire waists lately. They're in style, but it looked like she was starting to show... So, I just HAD to ask her point blank, "Are you...?"

ME: Oh, and how did that go?

SHE: BAD-LY. She said something about getting back on Weight Watchers and running a marathon before and needed to do it again... Anyway, I was so mortified! I tried to cover it up by saying that it was probably just the shirt that made her look...

ME: Fat?

SHE: She just looks like such CRAP these days. I figured she must be pregnant!

At this point, my son started screaming LOUDLY in the middle of the store and I had to let her go, but there really wasn't much more to say after that other than, "WOW!"

Who would have thought that a tantrum could be a welcomed interruption?

After like, every last friend I have has told me that she's pregnant, with one due any day now and another expecting twins, I can't turn down a glass of wine without some raised eyebrows and downward glances.

Okay, so it's more like FIVE of my friends, but I'm serious about the wine...

Not only am I even more self-conscious about my own tubbiness, I hid the fact that I had that nasty stomach bug for two weeks simply to avoid the conversation that starts with, "well, did you pee on a stick... do you know for sure, it's just a bug... You never knoooooooow"...

Actually, yes I do and it's none of your business... Geeez!

The Dos and Do Nots

Over Easter brunch with several other families, one of the guests "casually" dropped an announcement...

He's writing a screenplay.

...and suddenly, the other guests got very interested in the smoked salmon and melon salad we were feasting upon.

What did you say was in this salad again? It's delicious... Oh, is that my son breaking something in the other room? I better go... Hey, I had a really good poop today. Anyone wanna to hear about that...

Okay, maybe not that last thing, but almost anything to avoid talking about this guy's screenplay.

He brought it up again, but only to admit that he hadn't actually written anything yet, but merely purchased the special, super-duper software for it.

To which I replied, "You mean, Microsoft Word..." (Smart Ass) I got a huge laugh, but don't think he appreciated that comment...

We probably could have been more supportive of our friend. So why weren't we? Pondering this incident, I realized it's because I'm jaded and cynical.

There comes a point in every bourgeoisie existence where everyone you know has, at one point or another, had aspirations to do something creative... without actually doing anything creative.

In other words, that whole "planning to write" a screenplay... No one plans to become a writer. They write.

No huge proclamations. No fanfare. No premature pats on the back. They simply write.

Come see me when your first draft is completed. I'll be happy to press "spell check". Just don't think I'm going to get all googly-eyed and impressed when you talk about all the special formating your new software will automatically do.

Luckily, my husband, with his USC film degree and years of working in the film industry, was not in the room when the screenplay was brought up. I can only imagine the dose of "reality" he would have provided...

Later in the privacy of our own home, when I told him about our friend planning to write a screenplay, he merely said, "Yeah, him and everyone in L.A. Pfff... Good Luck!"

Spring Break, Stomach Flu, and Bob the Builder, too

There were plenty of witty and clever blog posts taking shape in my head this week... or at least, I thought so...

Unfortunately, every single one was stifled by the EVIL and ENERGY-SUCKING stomach virus that I've been suffering through... I don't want to even go into how I supposedly contracted it. (I SWEAR, I wash my hands, people!)

I suppose germs are just part of the territory when you're a parent, but still... Ick! Ick! Ick!

The local ISDs are on Spring Break this week and the weather has mostly been GORGEOUS, so there was plenty for us to see and do. Except I couldn't get out of bed.... Fuggedabout leaving the house!

So instead of play dates and the zoo as previously promised to my son, we watched a ridiculous amount of TV, including a Bob the Builder DVD that defaults to FRENCH! (Thank you, Netflix)

Ou, est-ce que je devrais dis, "Bob le Bricoleur"?

Four semesters of college French and several "anti-nausea" pills, I found it entertaining.

My son? Not so much...

Eh, c'est la vie!

When we eventually left the house, it was to pick up my younger sister and her boyfriend from the airport. Both teachers, they were returning from Las Vegas, where they were "spring breaking" and, guess what they brought home for my son???

Yep, he loves it. You could even say, he thinks it's slots of fun (Ha! Ha! Ha!)

Then again, I'm sure anything is more interesting than one's favorite (non-French-speaking) show dubbed in French.

Hope you all have a wonderful Easter Weekend!