Is This Real Life?

I remember last winter, when I was still nannying on the Upper East Side, the woman whose children I watched came home one day from picking the kids up at school, and was all a-twitter because Debra Messing had recently decided to send her child (who, if pointless-but-permanent pop culture memory serves, is named “Roman?” — I’ll check at the end of this post.) to the same school as my three charges. She remarked that Messing seemed warm, not paranoid, as so many stars are, and very very thin. Obviously.

I told her that Ms. Messing was back in Manhattan because her pilot, “Smash,” had been picked up, and that I was excited because it’s written by an accomplished playwright, and would provide more jobs for NY actors (“I Wish!” — Are you listening, theatre Gods? Telsey Casting?… NBC?… Anybody???).

When I saw “Peter & the Starcatchers” at New York Theatre Workshop  the day before it closed last summer, I was completely blown away by the show. I am thrilled that it is making the leap from Off-Broadway to Broadway soon, as it is – in many ways – emblematic of what I think theatre should strive to be: Laugh Out Loud Funny, Smart, Moving at the Speed of Thought, Magical, and IMAGINATIVE (an element I find shamefully lacking in most of what we categorize today as “entertainment.”) I had two dear friends in the cast, Greg Hildreth – whom I worked with at BU (Lucky Me!), and Brandon Dirden – who’s worked with my husband and has a heart of gold every bit as incandescent as his stage presence*FOOTNOTE*, and was so proud of their contributions to a great ensemble piece, but there was a character that stood out: Black ‘Stache, Dave Barry’s  hilarious take on Captain Hook. Black ‘Stache was played by Christian Borle, who is soon to be recognized everywhere for playing Debra Messing’s writing partner, “Tom.” When I found out he would be in “Smash,” I was thrilled.

As the casting was finalized for the show, and the buzz got going, I was really happy to hear that so many musical theatre actors were actually being used for a show about a new musical… As opposed to the treachery that is casting Anne Hathaway as anything FANTINE! But that’s the way of the world. Right?

I’ve just finished watching “Smash” on Netflix, though it is also streaming on NBC.com, as well as Hulu. This is a new marketing strategy which I find genius in an age where shows get cancelled, good (“Lonestar”) or bad (“Work It”), after only one or two episodes. It costs so much money to shoot these shows, and the reasons for keeping them on the air can seem so trivial (content aside), that I find it inspiring that NBC believes in their show so much that they’re taking such measures to create a following before it actually airs. Smart cookies… At long last.

But, guys, here’s the thing. I don’t know if I can watch “Smash.” Before you get all up in my shit arguing, let me say that my reasons are emotional, rather than critical. All in all, I think “Smash” is a strong pilot, especially for network television. I was happy to see Angelica Huston, rocking her drag queen wig, and some Patty Hewes attitude. I loved Megan Hilty’s overly eager-beaver strut into the audition room, and her amazing voice. Katharine McPhee didn’t make me want to stab myself in the face more than once, and her voice is as phenomenal as her face is on film. (I’d almost forgotten. 2007 was a looong time ago.)

My problem lies in the truthfulness of the show. Weird, right? I think it just hits a little to close to home. I’m pretty sure from the previews that Megan Hilty isn’t going to get to be Marilyn, which makes me so f*cking mad I can’t tell you, and I know that the director will eventually ride roughshod over the writers, because he already hates Tom and has no respect for whatever D. Messing’s character is called, and thinks he’s the shit a la Darren Nichols. — If you don’t get that reference I URGE you to watch “Slings & Arrows.”

… Why are you still here?

I’m not kidding! NOW! It’s the best show about theatre, Shakespeare, and trying to have heart in the consumer-driven world, ever. It’s also where Rachel McAdams got her start, and is so so good I just left this post and spent ten minutes watching trailers and scenes online. Gah!

Anyway, I may not be able to stomach a show that so closely mirrors the world I live in once a week, but I think you should. It’s not very often that a female playwright gets a show on primetime. Theresa Rebeck has been at this for a long time, and knows these people she’s created. She’s worked with these producers, has no doubt wished she could advance the career of an actor that became a friend, and has probably had her work completely screwed with by those that hold the purse strings. I’m sure there have been a lot of rewrites, and many drafts of “Smashed.” The television series that America will watch this winter, and the characters who are fighting to do something that makes no sense to so many, is pretty accurate. I hope it educates as it entertains, and that I can stomach some more, because I want to see what my colleagues bring to the small screen.

It can be really hard to keep faith in this industry. Let me rephrase: It can be really hard to keep faith in why you started out in this industry, and what you hope to accomplish. It can be heart-breaking to watch roles that you create handed over to those with a flashier name and (in your mind) less talent. No matter what you do, as a woman, it is terrifying to have a baby because you think your entire self prior to that blessed being’s birthday will be erased. But sometimes, when the voice is strong and pure on its own, not tampered by auto-tune; when a group of people are brave and foolish enough to get caught up in the moment and try to share a story through their eyes; when you throw in a baseball number and a “Five! Six! Seven! Eight!” – it can really feel like magic.

* Coincidentally, Brandon’s wife, Crystal Dickinson, is currently kicking MASSIVE amounts of ass – again –  in “Clybourne Park” at the Mark Taper Forum in Los Angeles. The play will transfer to the Walter Kerr Theatre on the Great White Way April 12, and if you’re in LA, I suggest you see it while you can. This play is one of the best I’ve ever seen, claiming last year’s Pullitzer for Drama, addressing race in a way that will punch you in the gut while you’re doubled over in laughter, and should not be missed!!!!**

 

** I’m not just saying this because my devastatingly talented husband is in it… Or am I?

That’s So Sigourney

Or, rather, more aptly, “That’s so Helen Hudson!”

Copycat may seem an odd choice for a middle school era favorite film, but I suspect (as so many were) this selection was dictated by the low volume, high frequency rotation of movies on premium cable channels back in the day. Remember when the only movie on Showtime for two months seemed to be Airheads? Thus, my sister and I have an uncanny ability to quote super-random films… like Copycat. Fun.

One of the most fascinating elements of Copycat, for me, (other than the funny rumblings down below whenever HC, Jr. filled the screen) was Helen Hudson’s crippling agoraphobia.

“WHAT? That’s a thing?” I remember thinking in my super-scoffing, eye-rolly, but-tell-me-more way.

She couldn’t even leave her house, dudes.

But that seemed A-okay. I mean, do you remember her super-sweet pad? With the crazy vertical CD player that sent soothing classical music reverberating through the hardwood hallways of her classically modern townhouse in… wherever they lived? (San Francisco?) I could stay there all the time.

But wait, I guess that brings me to my point: If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that I suffer acute agoraphobia. I’ve linked a definition from Wiki above, and the more I read the less convinced I am that I don’t have some form of mild social agoraphobia. And it strikes mostly women? Uh, shit.

Allow me to explain. These are my new running shoes.

The photo does not do the severity of their orangeness, their off-the-wall loudness, justice. It would have to be a drunk driver – or very old person, hunched dangerously over the wheel – to hit me while I ran the streets in these shoes. But that’s not why I am oddly loathe to take them for a spin.

I love running outside. I even listed it as one of the reasons I was most excited to come to California. But man alive, the idea of lacing up and hitting the downtown LA streets does not sound fun. And not because I’m unaccustomed to vagrants in my path or catcalls from Mexicans when I run. Au contraire! That classiness is the norm in my neighborhood. It’s more like this crazy anxiety that starts in my head about not knowing where I’m going, or who will be on the streets, or what they will think as I galumph by, or will I get kidnapped and killed in an alley, my head to be found in a plastic bag by dog-walkers in Griffith Park below the Hollywood sign? Or what if I’m not as fast as I want to be? And there’s a little bit of “They’re all GONNA LAUGH AT YOU!” thrown in for good measure.

Superfreak styles, right?

So why? It’s the same about lots of stuff. While I was pregnant, I only went to see one movie by myself, even though my husband was working nights and I was basically alone and house-bound all of the time. The only thing that sounded enjoyable was an air-conditioned place where I wouldn’t be seen, and didn’t have to talk about my feeeeelings about having a baby. The movies would have been perfect. And our electric bill, which we will never pay off, would have been much lower. But I just couldn’t handle the whole getting on the train phobia.

I get the same way about going to a new yoga studio. Where will the entrance be? Up stairs? Is there a lobby? Is it just a tiny-ass anteroom, where I will be stuffed in like sardines with a bunch of pretentious fucks that already know each-other and wear the sexiest yoga clothes on earth, woven from unicorn hairs, and practicing handstands to “get warm” before class, and talking – very loudly – about how much fun they had using their neti pots at that slumber party they went to at Shiva-Raga-Gaya-Ste’s loft last week? Before I look at the schedule and realize that Shiva-Raga-Gaya-Ste is, in fact, the instructor today. Uggggh. NA-MA-Stay at home, Kim, it’s not worth it.

Then, there’s the fact that I am a homebody. I succumb to inertia soooo easily. And isn’t that what we strive for, anyway? We want to create a home that is so full of what we like – food, movies, snuggly blankets, deliciously fragrant candles, wireless internet, netflix, wine, beer, coffee from our favorite fancy shade-grown, fair trade coffee shops – that we don’t need to go anywhere. But then, if we don’t ever go anywhere, we’re freaks. THIS DON’T MAKE NO SENSE!

PS: My dog is depressed. It’s so sad. He won’t eat his food sometimes. He just groaned, like, “Another day of this shit? Ughhh. Fine.” It makes me so self-conscious. It adds to the pressure to “Get Up and GO!” I feel coming from the world.

Add to all that that I have a tiny human creature that depends on me for everything, and can’t speak, so I’m always pretty much sure I’m not giving him what he wants/needs, unless my boob is in his mouth, which… I mean, I know there are laws protecting my right to breastfeed anywhere, and I do, but also, sometimes when you’re trying to get out the door, and the kid gets hungry three times in the span of your shower, loading the diaper bag, looking for your purse, changing his clothes because he shit all up the back of his onesie, then also needing to start a load of laundry immediately in order to salvage the burpcloth, blanket and all of your clothes that were “in the line of fire,” you think – “Fuck it. There’s always the Kardashians.”

Also, the wine shop around the corner? De-Livers. Like… to your door.

So, as I miss a brunch party that I was really looking forward to because homeslice junior decided today is the perfect day for a growth spurt, just call me Helen. I think it’s fitting.

In the Words of a Papier Mache Octopus, “We’re Here!”

DUDES! We are in California! And it is so Magical! And our apartment is so fancy! And our DOORMAN is so nice! EXCLAMATION POINT!!!!!!

Okay. I think now – maybe – you get how flippin’ excited I am. Granted, it’s a lil earlier than I would have liked to be up (mini-dude was wide-eyed, smiley-faced, and poopy-diped at 7AM) considering our day of travel yesterday, it’s awesome to finally be here after months of it looming on the horizon.

I really miss California in my life as a quick and crabby New Yorker in a cramped, though pretty, apartment. It’s been unseasonally warm here, which is A-okay by me. I cannot wait to take the babe to the beach! Hopefully someone will/can come with us, so that I can video record his first encounter with waves to light up his grandparents’ inboxes.

I am excited to the point of hopping to:

• Go to the Farmer’s Market! This is one of my favorite things about living out here. I like it in Brooklyn, but it’s just the best here. Even the Santa Monica crowdedness.
• Hit up donation-based classes with Bryan Kest at Santa Monica Power Yoga. Because, dudes? My practice is out of practice. I miss it, yo! So this will be a blissful (though inevitably frustrating and painful at times) re-entry. I like West Coast yoga studios oh-so-much more.
• Go running outside! I have only taken one run since I shit out a baby gave birth, and even though I was seriously sore the next day, it was great to be back on the streets. My true love of running happened when I was in San Diego in the fall of 2009. I would hit the trails, and it felt like nothing mattered. I know that’s corny as hell, but I can’t wait to get to a canyon and bust up my Sauconys. Especially in my new Lululemon running pants! Thanks, Father Christmas.
• Hang with my LA peeps! It’s been forever, but I have some amazing friends out here, and I can’t wait to log some time with them.

I’m here for pilot season, which… I mean, I care, because I want to be auditioning again, but this fact just doesn’t hold the same anxiety-inducing sway over my whole life as it would have before bambino. Which is awesome, because really? It doesn’t matter! It’s just life, and it will all keep happening. No matter what!

… Ahhhh, perspective.

The Longest Post Ever (sorry)

What a difference a year makes, huh guys?

This time last year, I was exactly twelve days from finding out that I was pregnant. I was reading The Hunger Games, which I finished on January 6, and I couldn’t get enough sleep. I thought I might have mono… Little did I know.

Saturday night my beautiful baby sister became Mrs. Hailey Hopper. The wedding was nothing short of resplendent. The ceremony was held at the Oklahoma State Capitol, with about 300 guests, a string quartet and a bride who looked absolutely perfect. Hailey was seriously gorgeous, which presented a problem because she’s not so great at being the center of attention or accepting compliments. She managed.

A few weeks ago I wrote about my four day road trip. I think I insinuated that I would write from the road… But for a variety of reasons that wasn’t possible. The trip was meant to be our whole family, but B’s rocking his way through rehearsals for the Taper remount of Clybourne Park right now, so it was just me, the dog, the babe, and all the stuff I could fit in the car for two months out West… No biggie. We drove from Brooklyn to Champion, PA the first night so Liam could see his paternal grandparents, and stayed with B’s Aunt & Uncle that live up in Seven Springs. It was gorgeous up in the mountains, and Tucker was thrilled to run and play in the snow. Despite my Mother In Law feeding the baby TIRAMISU (!@#$%^*!#@), we had a lovely time visiting and sitting by the fire with family.

Then we hit the road again, bound for Indianapolis. There was rain, and wind, and although things could probably have been worse… They were pretty bad. Baby was not happy the last few hours in the car, and we ended up stopping at a rest stop (where I was sure we would all be killed) in the dark, in the rain, thirty minutes from our destination because he was screaming bloody, furious murder. Once we got to the downtown Days Inn Indianapolois, I wish I could say things immediately improved, however, that’s not how it happened. Unloading the car was a nightmare. The hotel – should you ever need to stop there – has an uncovered parking lot. So that was fun for the baby and me with the rain. I had finally removed the bags we needed and placed everything on a luggage cart, had the dog on a leash and the baby in the Bjorn, when we started to roll inside and the entire cart tipped over, spilling our belongings all over the wet cement. This was when I really wished Days Inns had bellmen. Ah, budget living! Once we were all safe in the room, I ordered in dinner and went to bed early.

Day three started at 6AM, with Tucker needing to go to the bathroom. Fun. For all. We got out of there pretty quickly, and I was able to find a Starbucks with a drive-through for morning sustenance. We headed for Rolla, MO, and actually made awesome time with no meltdowns. I managed to stop at Whole Foods in St. Louis, which was great as I was very much over road food by that point. Stocked up on pre-made healthy yumyums and too many sweets, we skated into Rolla’s Baymont Inn & Suites at sunset. This was the smoothest day of our trip, by far.

On our FOURTH day of driving, everyone was well-behaving (yes, even me) but anxious to be out of the car. I ran out of cash before the last toll booth outside of OKC, and had the uncommon pleasure of parking on the shoulder at the toll station, waking up the baby, and carrying him into the office to use my credit card, then I had to feed him because he was awake and pissed. This begs an important question: Why don’t the install credit card machines at those toll booths!?! What is this, 1999? Get with the times, Highway people. Yeesh.

Anyway, we made it home by five o’clock, and enjoyed a restful evening with Grandi & Big.

The next night was the Bachelorette Party!!! This was my sole purpose for getting to Oklahoma before Christmas sans husband, and I really wanted my sister to feel importante and celebrated. We met at the gorgeous Skirvin in downtown OKC for a lingerie shower, wine, amazing cheese from Forward Foods, bra & undies cookies, and truffles that I made.

As luck would have it, the hotel had a limo that we were able to ride in to dinner at Pachinko Parlor. Now, I had never been to this new OKC sushi restaurant, but it was a great choice. We had the downstairs room to ourselves (I so love that we were able to reserve a private room for a party of fifteen FOR FREE, and at the end of the meal, we each got separate checks! They didn’t even add an automatic gratuity for our large party! Oh, Oklahoma… I heart thee.) and I think everyone had a good time & a good meal. This is a party platter that they serve called “The Great Wall” — absolutely delectable.

After dinner, we rode over to Nancy’s Lighthouse for karaoke… With everyone else on the planet, apparently. It was so packed that only the bride was able to sing, but that was the most important part!

I’ll have to tackle Christmas and the week leading up to the wedding tomorrow. I tweaked a muscle in my neck, and just realized that a hot shower would not only help, but that I haven’t bathed since Thursday… BUT IT’S BECAUSE OF MY SPRAY TAN, I SWEAR!!!!

More writing, less stinking tomorrow! I’m inspired by my end-of-year blog report, which says that in 2011 over 5,400 people visited my blog. It’s a little bizarre that people from Africa, South America, Germany & Russia visited… But…. No judgement!

 

 

Somebody’s Getting Married!

My sisterface gets married in NINE DAYS, people.
Holy guacamole, and everything holy.
The Bachelorette Party is TOMORROW.
I am a MATRON of HONOR. And my dress is preeetty. because I got to pick it out.

More on the roadtrip in a few.

Life With Mikey

Does anyone remember this movie? From the early nineties? Starring Michael J. Fox? And… Hold on, I have to look this up… It was! Nathan Lane! Amazing.

This is a movie that my sister and I must have, inexplicably, watched hundreds of times. MJF plays the Life cereal commercial kid (“Hey Mikey! He likes it!”) all grown up, who runs a talent agency in his grown up life, wherein he tries to make stars out of primarily talentless and largely obnoxious kids that aren’t fortunate enough to grow up in the era of ‘Scouted,’ ‘American Idol,’ ‘Toddlers & Tiaras,’ etc. Of course, they were knocking on Hollywood’s door during the halcyon days of The All New Mickey Mouse Club, and Kids Incorporated, which launched the careers of basically everyone that’s mega-famous now, but that’s besides the point. This movie didn’t “Launch” much of anything. Except for the career of the inimitable David Krumholtz! Now, if you’re thinking, “Who the hell is that?” I don’t blame you. I didn’t know his name either, but it’s this guy:

You might recognize him (or not) from ’10 Things I Hate About You.’ Or any number of more recent, cooler stuff. For me it’s, “I have a dick on my face, don’t I?” Love it.

Anyway, why am I even talking about this movie?? I’m not recommending it. I mean, it’s something we watched on repeat for two reasons:

1) ALL WE DID growing up was watch movies or tv. Not joking. Occasionally there was a book thrown in on a roadtrip or when we were grounded from watching television, and sometimes we’d play outside (if the boys down the street or next door were outside, or it was really pretty and I could dress up to play Anne of Green Gables or some other super-queer shit with my then-BFF Miranda) but 9 times out of 10? Watching something. And then, of course, when I got older, I was not only watching tv and rotting my brain, but talking on the phone while doing so. Aw, snap.

So now I have this baby, which I am so glad he’s a he. Because as I was typing the truth about when and why I was willing to play outside above…just. Dear lord, you know? Girls are crazy! Anyway, babies aren’t supposed to watch tv, or their eyes go googly and they have seizures. Or something. There is a better explanation, but my brain is still shrunken from the excess fluid during my pregnancy, so I can’t perform simple tasks, or explain anything accurately. But the problem with that is, babies love to look at light. They also can’t see very well. As you know (I hope) babies see the world differently than adults. Not because their eyes are undeveloped, but because their brains are mostly mush  still developing. So, they don’t have depth perception, or object permanence, and they can’t distinguish subtle shades… Of course, my son is a boy, so he may never grasp the difference between purple and violet. I’m fine with this. (PS: sometimes my husband argues with me about what color something is, and it makes me scared. Like, how can he think that he’s more of an authority on whether something is beige or eggshell? Preposterous.) MY POINT IS – All I do, all day most days, is sit around nursing and watching tv. Have I already blown it? 

I know that this is not the best blog post. Sigh. There are so many in my draft pile, I can’t tell you. Maybe I should publish them all as one unintelligible lump, so that you know that I have been trying. It’s just been really hard to finish a thought and get something published with my little glow worm asleep in my lap. Or awake all day and night. It’s never the same for more than 24 hours. But we’re heading into the fourth month tomorrow! Woohoo! Shit’s about to get crrrrzy up in hurr. I’ll be better about posting in the coming week, as we tackle our Crazy, Epic Cross-Country Drive!

In a nutshell, I am driving the babe and the dog from Brooklyn to Norman. Without backup. My hubs is in rehearsal as of today for the remount of ‘Clybourne Park,’ and we have to get there, with the car, in time to throw my baby sis a bitchin’ bachelorette party. We’ll be driving from Brooklyn to Seven Springs, PA – where B’s Aunt Sally & Uncle Tom live in an amazing, giant log cabin! Then, on Day 2, we head from Seven Springs to the shining metropolis of Indianapolis. Never been, looking forward to it. Then it’s on to Rolla, MO (pronounced RAH-la) Day 3. We roll into Norman with the co-sleeper, stroller, baby bathtub, sleep sheep, car seat, dog food, and clothes for our last two weeks of real winter, on the 21st. Each day has been carefully planned to cover only 6 hours of driving, which should mean that I won’t go nuts, and neither will BBG. We’ll see.

Wish me luck, as I embark on cleaning our house so that we can sublet it! (ohmygodkillmenowthisisgonnabehorrible)

Murphy’s In-Law

We have this cat.

(Sigh.)

When we adopted him, he was so sweet.

Or maybe we just thought so.

As I write this post Murphy is meowing INCESSANTLY. I want to kill him. He is the only pet I’ve ever had that has driven me to catricidal thoughts. He sucks. He’s a non-stop nuisance, and in a few days, he won’t be my cat anymore.

I have never given a cat away. I’ve been forced to rely on family members to watch them because I wasn’t allowed to have  acat in my building, but I’ve never actually gotten rid of one. I am fantasizing as I write this of throwing the cat down the front steps to survive the mean streets of Bed-Stuy on his own. Or not. I really don’t care.

ISN’T THAT HORRIBLE?

I know. I’m a bad person.

But let me clarify. He is awful. He will eat anything that’s not tied down. Not exaggerating. Here is a list of things he has eaten:

• So much dog food that he bled through his urethra, had to go to the Animal ER and have his business flushed and go on antibiotics.
• Rubber bands
• Earplugs
• a giant ball of cookie dough that he pounced up onto the counter to steal while I was scooping out the next future cookie
• a piece of bread that was about to become a grilled cheese sandwich
• cellophane
• a HUGE ball of raw beef that was destined for the grill
• collar stays from one of Brendan’s shirts
• A failed attempt to consume thumb tacks
• an ibuprofen that I dropped, which I now wish had been something lethal

There’s more, but we don’t have the time, and you probably don’t care. He pees in our shower, and has to be locked up while we cook, eat, and any dishes with food remnants remain in the sink. Which is often.

At night, he scratches incessantly at our bedroom door, begging to be let in, but then wants out as soon as you do that. Really it’s all about food. But if you give him food, it’s not as though he’s satisfied. He just always wants more.

I hate him.

And I’ve been pushed to the point of tears, and snapped die to rage more times than I care to recount this past year because of this motherfucking animal.

So, this week (YAY!!!) he is going to live with some friends of B’s mother in Philly. In fact, we were going to wait and drive him down when we go to Philly for Thanksgiving, but we’re so desperate  to get the creature out of our lives that I think we may make a special journey. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as they say.

It’ll be nice to have my husband back in our bed, as he has spent the past month on the couch policing the cat in an effort to allow me (and the baby) to sleep without constant scratching at the door.

Right now, Murphy is watching me. It’s like he knows. Spooky.

 

A Voice from the Void

Okay, so I’ve been waiting to post because I was trying to write out my birth experience and felt like I needed to share the insane details of Baby L’s arrival into the world and subsequent scary weeks, BUT. The fact is that I don’t have to, and more importantly, I can’t. I don’t want to try and parse it out for mass consumption, and I definitely don’t want people i don’t consider close knowing about what was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.

So even though those of you who read my blog on the reg fall into the camp that will hear the story from this horse’s horsey mouth, I’m moving on!

Right now my little Biscuit Man is sleeping angstily in his Momaroo. He’s been eating and sleeping alll the live-long day, which is great because it’s a rainy day, and I needed to switch over the closet from summer to fall/winter. This is a Momaroo:

It mimics the movements of a person, and has the capability to hook up your iPod, or play nature sounds. It’s super awesome, and I wishwishwish that they made one for grown-ups. L-Man likes it, but not as much as he likes being held or sleeping on my chest. Seriously, if he’s on my chest, he will conk the fuck out. He’s all about the various baby-wear carriers we’ve got, and I’m expecting another one in the mail tomorrow that I think will be more comfy for around the house wear. Because as much as I love having him sprawled on my chest baby-snoring, I do still need to do stuff.

So far, I like the Moby, but wish it were less involved to take on and off. This is me with Biscuit in it the first time I rocked it around the corner to the pharmacy:

Then, of course, we have a hand-me-down Bjorn. I feel like a dickhead wearing it, as does B, but it’s pretty comfortable and supports your back like whoa.

heheehee

Tomorrow, I will get my Balboa Baby sling. A photo that you don’t care about and accompanying review will follow.

My baby is making “I’m waking up and I’m hungry!” sounds, so I;d better shove off.

Until next time:
Felicity is now available for streaming on Netflix. I die.

I was given Vegan Nail Polish. Will test and review. Am fascinated.

Now that I’m a mom I like beer again. Huh?

Halloween candy is the best part of Halloween no matter how old I get.

Who else is relieved that Kelsey Grammar is finally doing a show where he plays a dick? According to all sources, he is one. It should be great!

The new iPhone update is making me inordinately happy.

Don’t Look Now

But it’s fall, people!

Here in NY the weather has been blessedly fallish for about two weeks. Member all that bitching I did about the air conditioner needing to always be on? No longer! Total triumph.

At least if Mr. Baby Man is not going to be born on his due date, there is now a strong chance that it’ll be nice ‘n cool by the time he shows up on the scene. So let’s talk about what’s new this fall!

First of all, there’s new tv happening! Whew. What a freaking relief. With ‘LOUIE’ and ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ ending, and no ‘Mad Men’ till January, I was beginning to panic. If you’ve not yet watched ‘LOUIE,’ and you think my sick sense of humor is remotely funny, I highly suggest you get that worked out before the next season. It’s very dark, and intersperses his stand-up with depressingly hilarious scenes from his life (not a reality series!!) and it never fails to make me laugh my ass off. Out loud. DO IT.

So, in terms of stuff that I watch and am current with, ‘Parenthood’ is back. Love that show. Lil bit of a slow burn going on in the first two episodes, but based on the first two seasons and my obsession with Jason Katims, I’m in. Speaking of which, if you’ve somehow been asleep for the past five years and missed ‘Friday Night Lights’ you need to fix that. It’s fine, we’re not fighting(because I was four years late to the party myself), but it’s really one of the best shows of all time. It’s on my top five list with ‘Six Feet Under,’ ‘Deadwood,’ ‘The Sopranos’ and godIcan’tpossiblymakeanotherbigdecision. Just trust me. Jason Katims is the creator of both FNL and ‘Parenthood’ and for those of you with a strong sense of tv history: ‘Relativity.’ Anyone who remembers that show, I should have married you instead. It was the best.

So we also have all these new shows. I haven’t watched any of them yet, but plan to watch ‘Prime Suspect’ because our boy Damon Gupton is in it!! He’s one of the nicest guys in the world, moved to LA just after ‘Clybourne Park’ closed in NY last year, and immediately started booking great jobs. Here’s a link to an online article from Cosmo, featuring DG as one of the Hottest TV Actors of 2011:

http://www.cosmopolitan.com/celebrity/exclusive/hot-guys-of-new-fall-2011-tv-shows

Love it.

I’m going to check out the season premiere of CSI:NY to see my girl Cassidy Freeman work her magic. You should too, apparently she’s “the bad guy.” The show starts Friday (TONIGHT!!!) at 9:00PM, and it will be the first time I’ve ever watched CSI! New adventures. In my DVR List I’ve also started recording ‘The Playboy Club’ because Cass is also going to be showing up starting in the third episode! And I can’t tell you all my juicy insider gossip, but I am super excited about the FASHION! The cigarette holders, the long gloves, the sassy bunnies. Hopefully it will be a great seat-filler till Donny D returns to the airwaves. Flash forward – (while we’re talking about Ms. Freeman anyway) to the winter/spring and I’ll be all over you to check out ‘Longmire,’ which she’ll be doing on A&E. So fantastic.

Now, you may have seen posters or ads in your US Weekly while you were gettin’ your nails did for ‘Pan Am.’ It starts on the 25th, and though I’m not really sure I care at all about the show, I know I want it to succeed because it’s shooting in NY. This means jobs for my friends! In fact, first on that list is my very own beloved husband! Shhhh. He doesn’t want me to make a big deal out of it, so don’t all look at once, but he’s in the second episode. Check it out.

Now, there’s been a lot of talk about hwo many shows are written by and starring women this season. I was super excited at first… Then the previews started rolling out, and I have to say… I’m nervous. They don’t look smart. But only time will tell, I suppose. Maybe I won’t hate Zoey Deschanel’s show. Maybe.

Perhaps there’s more to that ‘Whitney’ show than the ridiculous preview leads us to believe.

I will say that I feel like a foolio for forgetting to DVR ‘Up All Night’ last week. But luckily I can check it out in all of my copious amounts of non-mothering free time tomorrow and let you know how I feel about it later.

Okay, happy weekending!

Save a Seat for Elijah

It seems about as likely at this point that Elijah will show for dinner at our Goyim household, as it does that I will actually go into labor.

If one more person suggests a long walk, or spicy food or sex as a way to get this shit going, I’m going to start doling out the cunty, sarcastic responses that have been flying through my head for the past weeks. Like I don’t fucking know this shit? LIKE I HAVEN’T TRIED IT ALL!? — Complete with Castor Oil? Because I totally did that shit. It was not nearly as much of a thing as peeps make it out to be, btw.

Anyway, I had no idea how stressful and annoying it is to be pregnant and about to have a baby and have your phone beeping, and emails popping up, and texts coming in like something should be happening, but it’s not! And everyone is SOEXCITED! I get that. I was too. I mean, yeah, I still am. But, like, then your brain starts doing weird things. All of a sudden, even though I was the one that was so impatient and ready and gogogo, I feel like mutha-uckahs are putting pressure on me. And in a totally unrealistic way, I feel jinxed by all the checking in, and “We’re all waiting!”

Stop waiting, dudes! Everybody be cool. Just. I don’t know. Act normal. Pretend that we’re not all WAITING.

Here are some lists of things to get stuff off my chest. If you don’t care, stop reading. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

STUFF THAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU’RE PREGNANT THAT NO ONE TELLS YOU:

• Your bones move. My ribcage expanded FOUR INCHES during my pregnancy. It was one of the first things that happened, and I was totally unprepared and had to buy new bras before my boobs even grew, which they didn’t do much of anyway.  (Your whole body expands. And I’m not talking about gaining weight. Your bones will swing open to create more space for baby’s gestation and exit. This is all due to a hormone called relaxin, which floods your body again after you give birth, and can be “worked with” to help you get shit back where it started. More on this in a few weeks.)
• Your Vagina Swells. Now look, I know I have dudes that read this, but at some point you will probably be with a pregnant chick, and I think it’s just as important that you know that the nether regions get engorged and are super sensitive. This is awesome for some ladies, and not awesome for others. But it can happen very early, and stays that way til you’re healed from labor. Awesome. Fat Pussy.
• You will actually be pregnant for TEN Months. I know. I saw the Hugh Grant movie, too. I was just as confused as you. The deal is, they calculate pregnancy from the first day of the last missed period. So a Gestational Pregnancy is FORTY WEEKS. Which may not seem like it’s any longer than Nine Months, but believe me, it is.
• You Could Be Sick the Whole Time. As many of you know (because I have bitched about it incessantly) I have had a sinus infection pretty constantly since Memorial Day weekend. Like the dickbags that think I don’t know about the supposed magic of spicy food, there are always people hassling me to use a Neti pot. Fucking duh. Tried it. Still do sometimes. The Neti’s no good if you can’t get it to go through your nasal passages because they are impacted with infection. I’ve done two rounds of antibiotics, which are a safe drug classification for pregnancy, but still enough yahoos on the interweb message boards denounce pregnant ladies who aren’t willing to “suffer through it” for their precious babes that I’m pretty sure I’m already the worst mom ever. Great. I’m still sick, and a huge reason that I’m ready to not be pregnant anymore and have been so impatient about it is because I just don’t want to feel like I can’t breathe anymore! But aside from my bullshit, the whole point is that really, it’s pregnancy rhinitis, and it’s because alllllll of the mucus membranes in my body (Vagina) are swollen in anticipation of baby. Aside from this bizarreness, some ladies are just sick their whole pregnancy. Like, beyond first tri morning sickness. My friend K was sick ALL NINE MONTHS. No appetite, felt wretched. As soon as she popped that kid out? She said the hospital food was like the best food she’d ever tasted! So, your body is weird and pregnancy will make it do other weird things you never thought possible. Me? I’m now a mouth-breather.

THINGS YOU SHOULD NEVER SAY TO A PREGNANT WOMAN. EVER:

• “You’re not that big!” This is the equivalent of saying, “Shit. It’s pretty bad, but not Gilbert Grape’s Mom bad.” Conversely, it’s also not okay to say, “You don’t even look pregnant!” if the woman is past her fifth month, or “You look like you just drank a bunch of beer…. Which on of my guests said to me AT MY WEDDING. Really.
• “Are you sure you’re not having twins??” Not funny. Not in any way. Because if someone were having twins they would know, and NO – it’s not possible for one of them to be “hiding” behind the other. When they do the sonogram they make the baby move around so that can be sure it’s got all it’s parts, and won’t have spina bifida or something horrible. Asking a woman if she’s having twins is the same as telling her, to her face, while you smile, that she is much much bigger than you think she should be. — And trust me, she already feels huge.
• “You’re still pregnant?” Yep. Obviously. You think I’m not tired of this shit.
• Anything about Popping. The only things that pop are Pringles, weasels, and Orville Redenbacher. She may look like the goodyear blimp, or an overstuffed balloon, but don’t ask her when she’s “gonna pop.” It’s just… Like, zits pop. You know?
• “Are you sure it’s a ___?” Although I know it is possible for machines and doctors and science to be wrong, why would you challenge the sex of someone’s unborn child? This just mystifies me. And these are the people on the street I don’t even know. Yep. I’m sure. I saw the little teeny penis. And anyway, if I were wrong because the doctors and their ultrasound technology were having an off day, how would I know? Like I’m gonna grope my tum, have a spurt of knowledge, and go, “Oh my fucking god, YOU’RE RIGHT, random lady in Starbucks! It IS a Girl! Thank you!!”

That’s all I can think of right now. I hope this is funny and not “whoa. Calm down, dude.” I’m just tired of feeling like I need to hide in my house because my (VERY SWEET) neighbors assess my ginormity every time I lumber down the stairs, and avoiding facebook because all of my relatives are on baby watch and everyone else’s “excitement” is giving me an anxiety rash.

Later tonight, after dinner with my sweet husband, I will go for another long walk. And hopefully the next post you get from me will be much more magical and about my home birth. Then we can all just move on with our lives. Right?