Then Again, He Lives in France

David Sedaris once said that he volunteers with elderly citizens because he wants to see their homes. He turns them into characters, exploiting them much like I do with my ESL students.
Pause to marvel at our shameless "research."
This afternoon I walked into two senior houses that should be quarantined, boarded up, nailed shut, stomped on and away from.
One man had signs around his lawn, porch, and doors that read "Beware of Dog." He has no dog, yet his house smells as if he were harboring one or more, perhaps deceased. Odors that burn the cilia from nostrils.
Another woman invited us in to see pictures of her 58 foster children. We had to eat lunch outside because her home stank so strongly of old carpeting that the group gagged while she spoke.
We worked outdoors at both places.
But this David Sedaris lives in Paris. Do old people stink in Paris? Do they invite you in for food you could not possibly consume lest it get caught in your windpipe causing you to spend longer in the home of vile stench? Do they have dogs? How about dead dogs beneath floorboards? Eh? Eh?

Neigh

I had to admit to a very understanding stylist yesterday that I hadn't had my hair cut since February. And that I dye it at home. And that last week, I didn't wash it for 5 straight days. And that it took five days of conditioner to release the snarling mess of mortar-encrusted-100-degree-dust-baked-cucaraccha-nest I created. She looked sympathetic.
Still, I cannot help but think I am being punished for Acts Against Hair.
If what existed before was a trial bang, she assigned me a full-fledged, eye-level bang.
I perpetually tilt my head because now this bang is all up in my grill (try'na get me to a ho-tel).
I feel like a shetland pony.

Dinner Giggles or, How I Spit Milk All Over Creation

Oh, Crap.
She's at it again.
Whenever we get around each other at mealtime, Carly makes me laugh so hard that I spit out any liquid I'm holding. She waits until I've got the glass to my mouth and then says something like this:

Carly: Did you just say boughten?

Dad: No. I said, bought in.

(huge pause)

Carly: I never know whether it’s bought or boughten, so I just say 'purchased.'

Bob Sponge and his friend Diego

Bob Sponge and his friend Diego
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

I am back.
24 hours, one bus, 41 youth. No word yet on whether we left anyone at our pee/meal stops. We sometimes counted and occasionally approximated.
Mostly we just wanted to get home.
Under the burning sun of the arrid desert, we made cement FROM SCRATCH and reenacted stories from the Old Testament in Spanish--equally difficult. All because we love God. What a taskmaster, that guy.
This week I suffered my first ankle injury. I'm not even sure how. Also, I won't tell you that my ankles are fat anyway so that I have to make a distinction betweeen a fatty fat and a regular fat ankle, but I will tell you that there were rocks everywhere, including the soccer field (which is less a field and more a flat place with many rocks and much dust). Do not be alarmed, I did not partake. Soccer involves too much running and, in Juarez, too many bloody noses.
I did, however,
1. Avoid sunburn. This is getting to be my specialty. And it's good, because I would have had the farmer-ist tan in the history of the world.
2. Learn how to say cement like people from Tennessee: "sea-meant." Call me and I'll say it for you.
3. Meet Bob Sponge, SpongeBob's Mexican twin, thanks to Diego (the cutest bowl haircut you have ever witnessed. See above).
4. Grow some dreadlocks, which I had to wash because of the bug population. Apparently, you have to declare them in customs if you're bringing back animalia.

Peter, Paul, and Me

I just ate the equivalent of an alka seltzer pill sans water.
I am a woman who follows directions. I am a woman who READS directions.
Tonight, when Carly handed me an "Airborne" tablet. I looked at it, thinking only, "I must consume this with speed. It has 17 herbs and nutrients. It will keep me from getting infected by the germs in confined spaces."
And then I chased it with water.
And then I burped.
My head is spinning a little.
But to my point:

I'm leaving on jet plane (coach bus),
Don't know when I'll be back again (a week from Saturday),
Oh, babe, I hate to go (Actually, I'm pretty excited)

So kiss me and smile for me (Or just leave a comment)
Tell me that you'll wait for me (You can wait that long)
Hold me like you'll never let me go (Hold me in your Favorites and check again in a week).

Me and the Bean

Me and the Bean
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

This is Tommy.
Tommy, say hello to the people.
Tommy cries a lot and it makes his little chin tremble.
I think he cries because he hasn't figured out the boob yet. He'll get it.
I went to the hospital last night and made many inappropriate jokes about breast-feeding and the gelatinous matters of birth.
Having never given it, I know that God will smite me when it is my turn.

Best parent moment:
Tommy has an eye-goo problem, which John points out to Anne who then becomes delirious with worry when the nurse tells her it's 'common': "They expect me to trust her? They have no doctors ON CALL? I trust the one with the MD."
"With all due respect for your position and what you've just been through...Anne, she has had more experience with this than you."
"But he could be going blind, John."
"Well then, we'll sue."

Baby Update and a Comparison

Tomato Face
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

As of last night, the new baby count became two.
(Congratulations to the happy new parents. May your sleep be long and your patience longer.)
I will have pictures as soon as the parents leave their children alone long enough for me to photograph and not ask permission.
Until then, marvel at the likeness between me and a tomato after running around Lake Harriet.

Donald loves the rocks and he rolls my blues away...bop shoo bop

Matt,
Don't be jealous. I met someone.
His name is Donald and he's in the rock club.
With his parents.
He studies geological formations and then puts them on his wall: "I probably have about 15!" He's also in the chess club and he does community service by choice. Today he squealed with delight about a McDonald's sundae (who wouldn't?) and in the same breath remarked on the beautiful and simultaneously destructive nature of climbing ivy.
His voice barely cracks when he laughs.
My heart, she explodes.
AGAIN.
He is freckled and strawberry-blond chubby-short. I cannot withhold my own toothy grin when his smile shows colorful orthodontia. Oh, if only I too were 12 years old!

Gasp!

Gasp!
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

To introduce Acer, I have taken a few photos and a chance on flickr, which is mightily user-friendly.
This photo shows my delight when I first opened my little 'puter to reveal the beautiful screen I'm staring at RIGHT NOW.

Robert Skoro and the Contractions

On any given Friday night, I can stay awake until 10:30, no problem. Then comes a rapid descent into the pit of exhaustion and I reclaim my "fun hater" title.
You should have seen me last night.
I was a champ.
We grooved to the fine music of Cataract Camp, Travis Morisson and the Hellfighters, and the wonderful Robert Skoro. Be still my 8th grade heart.*
But even more impressive is that Anne was able to match my enthusiasm for the performance--while contracting.
Because she's due IN 11 DAYS.
To have a BABY.
(And so help her GOD if that child does not remove itself from her womb before then. She is not responsible for the pain she might inflict on an innocent, unpregnant bystander.)

*When I was in 8th grade, I bought a demo tape of a local high school musician whose four track masterwork, "stories of my alien abduction," is on my desk right now. Unrelatedly, (or so I thought) I bopped along to a song on the Current the other day..."And that was '2318' by local artist Robert Skoro." My jaw dropped. I called Anne.

The City of Motherly Love

Every body is with child.
That's profound shit. Think about that for a second and you'll realize how true that is.
I spoke to my friend Ashley last night (big ups to my homies in LA), who informed me that this having-children thing is a fad. It's fashionable to tote your tot--especially for men. This girl is a credible source. I hold her in high regard. And when she says, "babies are the new puppy," I know that she means it.
Unfortunately for me, I missed the puppy craze, so now I'm two crazes behind.
And since nobody's asked, Acer arrived today and is in my lap right now. I'd be typing this with his help, but I couldn't get him hooked up to the internet.
Dammit, Acer.
Mommy's a little irritated with you.
She's sorry she just rose her voice. She loves you very much and you're a good 'puter.
Someday she'll take you to Los Angeles.

So there I was--ovulating

In case you're wondering what makes my heart full to exploding (today).
Poof.

Old Cheese

I would love to work with fat kids.
-Monica
As you can imagine, last night's softball/beer party was a smashing success thanks to Monica's irrepressible urge to tell us what she really thinks.
But before anything else came the debacle that was after known only as The Cheeseball Incident of '05.
Monica to Dan: "We grabbed neighbor balls."
I ran for paper and a pen. When I returned to document that classically simple first quote of the night, I discovered the balls had gone bad.
They were aged.
Not in the good fromage way. In the year-old-not-that-great-to-start-with-and-anyway-they're-artificially-orange-but-I-mean-I'll-try-them way.

Electronic Lovechild

This is a big announcement. It's been long time coming. Matt and I have been dating for a while... It's only natural that he should rub off on me a little. Now another member of the geek family is en route.
Introducing Acer.
Before he arrives, I will be making him a special spot in my room. Anywhere really, as long as there's an outlet nearby. (They need so much attention.)

Obviously that means that I spent some money this weekend. I bought a skirt. I bought a 'puter. I used the air conditioning. I was on a binge. One co-worker expressed his own similar story: "I just had one Frito and now I want more."
I enjoyed a similar high--it was later interrupted by nightmares.

Carly is not my Grandma

Oh, Anonymous.
You crack me up.
And it seems that you should really be doing some research (a.k.a, read the back issues (a.k.a, check the archives)) to uncover such treasured secrets as:
1. Carly is my sister. Sometimes she does laundry.
2. Grandma plays a game called "I make the best Christmas cookies EVER" and occasionally "Grandpa doesn't know about my Talbots charge card. Don't tell him I just bought a new sweater set!"
3. My mom can understand the allure of "tats."
4. When it's Sunday, my father usually has some kind of statement to make on the state of our house/priest/union.
5. My boyfriend, Matt, wastes gas and spends obscene amounts of money. All the time.
6. Halloween (the holiday, not the person) and I are in a big fight until further notice.

NOTE: This is an update. (Shame on me for leaving her off. Good catch, Anon.) Monica is a friend through Jesus. She tells the best stories (about suppositories and drinking and Dr. Phil) and she makes a most excellent muse. She will also likely never read this blog.
Sniffle.

The history, the drama

Carly has been calling my favorite radio station (89.3, The Current) by the wrong name: "Le Crueset" for months now.
This reminds me of a story.
Back in the day of family charades we played the standards: Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty, President Reagan...
Carly would come out with a red airline blanket over her head (we were still allowed to use props at that point) and we would shout, "Red Riding Hood!" "A young Katherine Hepburn!" "Grasping at straws!"
She would walk purposefully around the room, getting noticeably more frustrated EVERY SECOND until finally she'd scream, "Le FORGE!"
We stifled our erupting laughter and asked what the heck she meant. She would roll her eyes as if we chose not to understand. And then she'd leave the room.
Now I discover that there IS such a thing as a crueset and it makes me wonder...what is "le forge" and why didn't we believe her?