So yeah, I'm officially a mom. As I sit here writing this post, my husband (Andrew) is sleeping. My daughter (Rose Elizabeth) is sleeping. My dog (Della) is sleeping. My cat (Toonces) is sleeping. My other cat (Elvis) is probably sleeping.
And I'm wide awake.
Wide awake and staring at the baby monitor, hoping to see a flicker of red light announcing that Rose is rousing. I'm with the "never wake a sleeping baby" crowd, but sometimes I really want to. Because how else am I supposed to spoil her and love on her and shower her with kisses?! Maybe if I type R-E-A-L-L-Y L-O-U-D-L-Y she'll accidentally wake up... nope. I guess I should appreciate this quiet time. Too bad there's no one else awake to appreciate it with.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Wedding...
This weekend, my husband and I went to Chicago for a family wedding.
Here are some highlights:
1. My mom and grandpa were in a roll-over accident on the way to Chicago. Amazingly, they both walked away (practically) unscathed. So unscathed, in fact, that they got a loaner from the car dealership and continued on their way as if nothing happened. My mom even went to a dueling piano bar later that night, still wearing the same grass-and-mud-stained pants (stains caused by crawling out of her upside-down car into a ditch).
2. The wedding was supposed to be on a boat that cruised the Chicago harbor for three hours. Unfortunately, due to the 40 mph wind gusts and 6-8 foot swells (not to mention the 32 degree temperature and sleet), we stayed at the dock.
3. What's that you say? "Don't complain, at least you were looking at the beautiful Chicago skyline." Tut-tut, my friend. It was actually "Earth Hour" on Saturday, which means the Chicago skyline was lit up like a Christmas tree with a strand of lights out. It wasn't pitch black; that might have been kind of cool. No instead, it was just a dim, gloomy expanse.
4. Oh, did I mention that I said the prayer before dinner? I didn't want to screw it up, so I decided to write it down. I then read the prayer out loud, slowly and clearly like I learned in speech class. Apparently I didn't learn to read in any class, however, as I prayed for Jim and Tim (instead of Jean, my aunt). Whoops.
But, for me, the highlight of the weekend actually happened in the hotel room before the wedding. Upon finding out it was going to be very, very cold, I decided to purchase some tights to wear with my adorable, spring maternity dress (did I mention that I have 6 weeks until my due date at this point?). Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find any "maternity tights" on the Magnificent Mile. Probably because I was only up for walking a block of this mile-long shopping mecca (see pregnancy sidebar above). But I did find some XXL tights at Nordstrom's, that (according to the all-knowing chart on the back of the package) should have done the trick.
So, after gussying myself (hair, make-up, happy-smelling lotion), it is time to dress. Standard undergarments? Check. Camisole, dress, and jewelry? Check, check, check. Only one thing left: the tights.
[Editor's note: Men, you may not understand the literary weight of that last statement. But, believe me, "the tights" is meant to have been read with ominous music in the background. All women mentally inserted said thematic tune instinctually.]
I bravely sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my right foot onto my left knee. I am able to then pull on the right leg of the tights, all the way up to my calf. I set my right foot down, and then realize I cannot actually reach my left foot. Of course, now that the tights-tango has started, I also cannot simply repeat my previous move with the opposite legs/feet. So, I call in my husband. After some coaching, he is actually able to ease the tights onto my left leg, again up to my calf. He then exits the bedroom area of the suite, thanking God for making him male. I begin the next phase of the tights-tango: the two-inch shimmy. (Ladies, you know this routine: start from the bottom of one leg, and pull the tights as taut as you think they can go. Repeat this step on the other leg, only to discover you gained a meager two inches. Repeat this step over and over again until you are sure your next yank will run your tights. At this point, you're probably halfway there.) Well, what I didn't realize was that my two-inch shimmy-ing abilities have decreased in direct proportion to the increase in my pregnant belly girth. I begin panting. Sweating. Grunting. Sighing. Groaning. I don't notice my volume increasing; I am on a mission that cannot be denied.
Well, my husband did notice my volume increasing. So much so, he thought I must be in labor. Or, if not in labor, about to induce it myself. He runs into the room with a glass of water, tilts me onto the bed (you need to have a mental picture of me tangled in tights to understand why I use the verb 'tilt'), and begins to rip the tights off of my legs. I don't understand the urgency of his movements, but realize that his actions are providing a freedom I had forgotten in the past moments. I could feel my legs again! My breathing was beginning to steady. Wait, why was I sweating? I couldn't even remember, it all happened so fast. I sat up in bed and sipped on the refreshing beverage he had delivered, fanning myself with my spare hand.
Looking back, I still don't remember all of the details of that fateful encounter with the Nordstrom XXL tights. All I know is that my legs were bare for the wedding, and that was fine by me.
Here are some highlights:
1. My mom and grandpa were in a roll-over accident on the way to Chicago. Amazingly, they both walked away (practically) unscathed. So unscathed, in fact, that they got a loaner from the car dealership and continued on their way as if nothing happened. My mom even went to a dueling piano bar later that night, still wearing the same grass-and-mud-stained pants (stains caused by crawling out of her upside-down car into a ditch).
2. The wedding was supposed to be on a boat that cruised the Chicago harbor for three hours. Unfortunately, due to the 40 mph wind gusts and 6-8 foot swells (not to mention the 32 degree temperature and sleet), we stayed at the dock.
3. What's that you say? "Don't complain, at least you were looking at the beautiful Chicago skyline." Tut-tut, my friend. It was actually "Earth Hour" on Saturday, which means the Chicago skyline was lit up like a Christmas tree with a strand of lights out. It wasn't pitch black; that might have been kind of cool. No instead, it was just a dim, gloomy expanse.
4. Oh, did I mention that I said the prayer before dinner? I didn't want to screw it up, so I decided to write it down. I then read the prayer out loud, slowly and clearly like I learned in speech class. Apparently I didn't learn to read in any class, however, as I prayed for Jim and Tim (instead of Jean, my aunt). Whoops.
But, for me, the highlight of the weekend actually happened in the hotel room before the wedding. Upon finding out it was going to be very, very cold, I decided to purchase some tights to wear with my adorable, spring maternity dress (did I mention that I have 6 weeks until my due date at this point?). Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find any "maternity tights" on the Magnificent Mile. Probably because I was only up for walking a block of this mile-long shopping mecca (see pregnancy sidebar above). But I did find some XXL tights at Nordstrom's, that (according to the all-knowing chart on the back of the package) should have done the trick.
So, after gussying myself (hair, make-up, happy-smelling lotion), it is time to dress. Standard undergarments? Check. Camisole, dress, and jewelry? Check, check, check. Only one thing left: the tights.
[Editor's note: Men, you may not understand the literary weight of that last statement. But, believe me, "the tights" is meant to have been read with ominous music in the background. All women mentally inserted said thematic tune instinctually.]
I bravely sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my right foot onto my left knee. I am able to then pull on the right leg of the tights, all the way up to my calf. I set my right foot down, and then realize I cannot actually reach my left foot. Of course, now that the tights-tango has started, I also cannot simply repeat my previous move with the opposite legs/feet. So, I call in my husband. After some coaching, he is actually able to ease the tights onto my left leg, again up to my calf. He then exits the bedroom area of the suite, thanking God for making him male. I begin the next phase of the tights-tango: the two-inch shimmy. (Ladies, you know this routine: start from the bottom of one leg, and pull the tights as taut as you think they can go. Repeat this step on the other leg, only to discover you gained a meager two inches. Repeat this step over and over again until you are sure your next yank will run your tights. At this point, you're probably halfway there.) Well, what I didn't realize was that my two-inch shimmy-ing abilities have decreased in direct proportion to the increase in my pregnant belly girth. I begin panting. Sweating. Grunting. Sighing. Groaning. I don't notice my volume increasing; I am on a mission that cannot be denied.
Well, my husband did notice my volume increasing. So much so, he thought I must be in labor. Or, if not in labor, about to induce it myself. He runs into the room with a glass of water, tilts me onto the bed (you need to have a mental picture of me tangled in tights to understand why I use the verb 'tilt'), and begins to rip the tights off of my legs. I don't understand the urgency of his movements, but realize that his actions are providing a freedom I had forgotten in the past moments. I could feel my legs again! My breathing was beginning to steady. Wait, why was I sweating? I couldn't even remember, it all happened so fast. I sat up in bed and sipped on the refreshing beverage he had delivered, fanning myself with my spare hand.
Looking back, I still don't remember all of the details of that fateful encounter with the Nordstrom XXL tights. All I know is that my legs were bare for the wedding, and that was fine by me.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Some simple rules for a positive karaoke experience.
I have been blessed with many things in my life, but a nice singing voice is not one of them. I can carry a tune, sure, but that doesn't mean you'd want to hear me sing. For one, my voice is in a frustratingly low range. This means I could never sing along to 'girl songs' as a kid. My mom raised me on musicals, but I'd usually take the guy part in a duet. (You should hear me sing "Close Every Door" from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I put Donny Osmond to shame.) And, let's not forget that my voice isn't necessarily nice to listen to, either. Sadly, these problems are constantly at war with my love for belting out songs at the top of my lungs. My shower has heard miraculous feats of vocal dexterity. I am comfortable being all-time singer during a session of Rock Band. Microphones excite me (though they also amplify me beyond necessary regions). So naturally, I love karaoke.
Here's the thing about karaoke (and maybe a bit about myself): I'm very judgemental when it comes to karaoke, and I really only like good karaoke. I don't want to sit through a night of bad karaoke. Then again, no one does. However, I think I have discovered the secret to good karaoke: you need to find YOUR KARAOKE SONG. So, being a practical and generous individual, I have decided to share with you my set of 4 simple rules (and a couple additional suggestions) to help you determine your karaoke song.
Rule 1: The song must be in your singing range. Yes, this rules out "Friends in Low Places" for many, many people.
Rule 2: The song must be short. Sorry, I don't want to sit through "American Pie", and you probably don't remember all the words to it anyway.
Rule 3: The song must be up-tempo. I know you can sing Patsy Cline's "Crazy", but doing so will only make me crazy.
Rule 4: The song cannot be "Love Shack". Remember, we're looking for YOUR karaoke song. "Love Shack" is the collective song that represents karaoke, but it should never be an individual's song. Trust me, someone else will sing it, and then I give you permission to sing along.
So, those are the must-follow rules. Easy, right? Now, if you want to take my advanced karaoke-and-you course, here are some additional guidelines to help you on your way:
Guideline 1: Aim for a song that most people know. I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job with "Elephant Stone" (The Stone Roses), but no one will sing along with you. And for a good karaoke experience, you want audience participation.
Guideline 2: Look for a song with opportunities for adding flair. That flair might be a country twang in your voice or a sweet dance move you perfected in your bedroom (thanks, D'Qwon). But, that flair will take you to the next level.
Guideline 3: Be ready with an encore. Once people hear your karaoke perfection, they'll want to hear you again. Don't overdo it, though; two songs is plenty for one night. You want to leave them begging for more, not begging for the door.
So, that's all there is to it. I'm sure you're curious to know my karaoke song, but I don't give in so easily. My husband's song is ever better than mine, but then again he is an actual singer... If you want to hear our personal karaoke anthems, you'll have to invite us out. You will not be disappointed.
Here's the thing about karaoke (and maybe a bit about myself): I'm very judgemental when it comes to karaoke, and I really only like good karaoke. I don't want to sit through a night of bad karaoke. Then again, no one does. However, I think I have discovered the secret to good karaoke: you need to find YOUR KARAOKE SONG. So, being a practical and generous individual, I have decided to share with you my set of 4 simple rules (and a couple additional suggestions) to help you determine your karaoke song.
Rule 1: The song must be in your singing range. Yes, this rules out "Friends in Low Places" for many, many people.
Rule 2: The song must be short. Sorry, I don't want to sit through "American Pie", and you probably don't remember all the words to it anyway.
Rule 3: The song must be up-tempo. I know you can sing Patsy Cline's "Crazy", but doing so will only make me crazy.
Rule 4: The song cannot be "Love Shack". Remember, we're looking for YOUR karaoke song. "Love Shack" is the collective song that represents karaoke, but it should never be an individual's song. Trust me, someone else will sing it, and then I give you permission to sing along.
So, those are the must-follow rules. Easy, right? Now, if you want to take my advanced karaoke-and-you course, here are some additional guidelines to help you on your way:
Guideline 1: Aim for a song that most people know. I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job with "Elephant Stone" (The Stone Roses), but no one will sing along with you. And for a good karaoke experience, you want audience participation.
Guideline 2: Look for a song with opportunities for adding flair. That flair might be a country twang in your voice or a sweet dance move you perfected in your bedroom (thanks, D'Qwon). But, that flair will take you to the next level.
Guideline 3: Be ready with an encore. Once people hear your karaoke perfection, they'll want to hear you again. Don't overdo it, though; two songs is plenty for one night. You want to leave them begging for more, not begging for the door.
So, that's all there is to it. I'm sure you're curious to know my karaoke song, but I don't give in so easily. My husband's song is ever better than mine, but then again he is an actual singer... If you want to hear our personal karaoke anthems, you'll have to invite us out. You will not be disappointed.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Some notable nuggets
Well, I guess my post-pace is about once a month. You've got to ease into these things, ya know?
I've found (and I'm chalking this up to being an amateur blogger, though I recognize that may be a total cop-out) that I often talk myself out of posting because I don't think a story is blog-worthy. I've also vowed not to turn this into a blog solely about my pregnancy, but that costs me a post or two as well. Thankfully, while thinking back on all of the things that have happened since I last posted, I realized that I had a few honorable mentions to hand out. So here's a list of them, with some snarky commentary peppered in (naturally).
1. We celebrated Christmas! Keeping up with our "pack-in-way-too-many-activities-in-a-five-day-period" tradition, we drove to every Christmas celebration associated with our family (I think the total is somewhere around eight). Besides the joy of spending time with family and close friends (I'm not even being sarcastic, it really was nice), I also received some wonderful presents: tickets to the Dancing With the Stars tour, a "softie" (this delicious invention is a blanket that converts to a robe), a Snoogle (think body pillow slash enormous noodle), and a vacuum (mom, what are you trying to tell me?).
2. We stayed up until midnight to ring in the new year! This year Andrew's family got together on the 31st for my two favorite things: good food and fun times. For me, the highlight of this day was a family-wide vote to name our baby. Nominees included Albertina, Feather, and Dewdrop-on-a-winter's-morn, though the top vote-getters were Sophie, Becky Jr., Elizabeth, and Rose. We'll have to see if any of those crop up again come May.
3. Andrew installed a new pedestal sink in our one and only bathroom. Unbelievably, the project was done on time and under budget. That never happens! We both love our more spacious and really-clean-for-the-first-time-in-ages bathroom, and I really love my husband for embarking on (and finishing) this project.
4. I started "the registry". For those of you who haven't figured this out yet, a baby registry is just one of many ways to demonstrate to new parents how much they really don't know about having a baby. [Still with me? That sentence was a bit wordy.] The demonstration was a success; I feel quite clueless at the moment. And thanks to online product reviews, I'm also considering things I never would have thought twice about, like "how strong do I want the Velcro to be on the bibs?"
5. Operation Declutter (Andrew's more manly term for nesting) has begun. We have been purging clutter from our house at an alarming rate. Is anyone out there interested in the book "Prego! An Invitation to Italian"? Speak quickly (ahem, presto), because it's the next to go.
I've found (and I'm chalking this up to being an amateur blogger, though I recognize that may be a total cop-out) that I often talk myself out of posting because I don't think a story is blog-worthy. I've also vowed not to turn this into a blog solely about my pregnancy, but that costs me a post or two as well. Thankfully, while thinking back on all of the things that have happened since I last posted, I realized that I had a few honorable mentions to hand out. So here's a list of them, with some snarky commentary peppered in (naturally).
1. We celebrated Christmas! Keeping up with our "pack-in-way-too-many-activities-in-a-five-day-period" tradition, we drove to every Christmas celebration associated with our family (I think the total is somewhere around eight). Besides the joy of spending time with family and close friends (I'm not even being sarcastic, it really was nice), I also received some wonderful presents: tickets to the Dancing With the Stars tour, a "softie" (this delicious invention is a blanket that converts to a robe), a Snoogle (think body pillow slash enormous noodle), and a vacuum (mom, what are you trying to tell me?).
2. We stayed up until midnight to ring in the new year! This year Andrew's family got together on the 31st for my two favorite things: good food and fun times. For me, the highlight of this day was a family-wide vote to name our baby. Nominees included Albertina, Feather, and Dewdrop-on-a-winter's-morn, though the top vote-getters were Sophie, Becky Jr., Elizabeth, and Rose. We'll have to see if any of those crop up again come May.
3. Andrew installed a new pedestal sink in our one and only bathroom. Unbelievably, the project was done on time and under budget. That never happens! We both love our more spacious and really-clean-for-the-first-time-in-ages bathroom, and I really love my husband for embarking on (and finishing) this project.
4. I started "the registry". For those of you who haven't figured this out yet, a baby registry is just one of many ways to demonstrate to new parents how much they really don't know about having a baby. [Still with me? That sentence was a bit wordy.] The demonstration was a success; I feel quite clueless at the moment. And thanks to online product reviews, I'm also considering things I never would have thought twice about, like "how strong do I want the Velcro to be on the bibs?"
5. Operation Declutter (Andrew's more manly term for nesting) has begun. We have been purging clutter from our house at an alarming rate. Is anyone out there interested in the book "Prego! An Invitation to Italian"? Speak quickly (ahem, presto), because it's the next to go.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
A name.
A lot has happened since I last updated this blog. Thanksgiving, a fender-bender, Andrew's Christmas concert at school, a handful of holiday parties, and an ultrasound, to name a few. With this ultrasound came the knowledge that the baby growing inside me is very healthy and quite female. She was even doing abdominal crunches during the ultrasound. (Maybe that's why I'm hardly showing for 20 weeks...)
Armed with this newfound knowledge about our baby's gender, Andrew and I thought it might be safe to start discussing baby names again. (The discussions were recently halted due to concerns over marital well-being.)
[Now comes the disclaimer: We don't actually want to tell anyone the name we eventually select for this baby girl. I'm not very good with keeping my own secrets, so please help me out and don't ask me to divulge too much information. That being said, I asked Andrew for permission to tell the following story, and he agreed that the story was too 'classic' not to tell.]
Knowing that we're having a girl has really helped our baby name conversations. So much so, we thought we already had a name picked out yesterday - the same day as the ultrasound. How's that for turn-around time?! The name? Emily Rose. Now isn't that beautiful? I thought so. We loved it. The initials didn't accidentally spell anything inappropriate. It passed all of the tests I had in my mind. Or so I thought...
As I went to bed last night saying 'Emily Rose' in my head, I started to think maybe I'd heard that somewhere before. "Was it a book title? Maybe. Wait, no, I think it was a movie. Gee, I hope it was a good movie. I'd better check on that in the morning." So, this morning I had Andrew google "Emily Rose" for me. The top result: "The Exorcism of Emily Rose".
One name down, and one more thing to check when considering the next name.
Armed with this newfound knowledge about our baby's gender, Andrew and I thought it might be safe to start discussing baby names again. (The discussions were recently halted due to concerns over marital well-being.)
[Now comes the disclaimer: We don't actually want to tell anyone the name we eventually select for this baby girl. I'm not very good with keeping my own secrets, so please help me out and don't ask me to divulge too much information. That being said, I asked Andrew for permission to tell the following story, and he agreed that the story was too 'classic' not to tell.]
Knowing that we're having a girl has really helped our baby name conversations. So much so, we thought we already had a name picked out yesterday - the same day as the ultrasound. How's that for turn-around time?! The name? Emily Rose. Now isn't that beautiful? I thought so. We loved it. The initials didn't accidentally spell anything inappropriate. It passed all of the tests I had in my mind. Or so I thought...
As I went to bed last night saying 'Emily Rose' in my head, I started to think maybe I'd heard that somewhere before. "Was it a book title? Maybe. Wait, no, I think it was a movie. Gee, I hope it was a good movie. I'd better check on that in the morning." So, this morning I had Andrew google "Emily Rose" for me. The top result: "The Exorcism of Emily Rose".
One name down, and one more thing to check when considering the next name.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
An Open Letter to Merv Griffin, Entertainment Business Magnate and Creator of Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune
Dear Merv (or Merv's secretary, or Merv's fan club volunteer),
I'm sure you get this all the time, but I just have to do this. [Deep breath. OK, here we go.] I have a great game show idea for you. This show requires a bit of background information, however, so please allow me to explain:
I'm pregnant with my first child. Like many new mothers-to-be, I have subscribed to a number of automatic e-mail updates from baby websites. The websites typically send information once a week, alerting me to the changes that are occurring inside me. The websites vary in every way possible: their level of detail, their humor content (or lack thereof), their sponsors, and their layout. However, this week (week 16) they all had one thing in common: they announced that I may start to feel the baby move this week.
Yes, I know. Momentous, right?
Unfortunately, this alert was quickly followed by a discouraging caveat. It was worded differently each time, but the message was the same: Don't get too excited, it could just be gas.
Yes, I know. Total letdown.
So now, here I am, trying to be casual about my newfound internal-working alertness. Wait, what was that? [Body tenses] Oh, it's just my stomach growling because I haven't had breakfast yet. [Sigh and exhale] Be cool, Becky. Be cool. The e-mails said you probably won't feel anything now, just that you could. But I digress.
You're wondering where the game show comes in, aren't you? Well, let me tell you. The show would take three first-timers like me and hook them up to a secret ultrasound machine. Then, they'd have to guess if the tremors inside were gas or the baby! I know! It's perfect! I'll let you take care of the details regarding wins and losses, but here's one idea that I just have to blurt out. The loser shouldn't go home empty-handed - you could give them a lifetime's supply of Beano! Oh, and one more thing - you should call it "Is It Gas?" Cool. Catchy. Concise.
Before I close, let me just say that I don't even need to be credited with the idea. All I ask is that you let me be one of your first contestants.
Thank you for your consideration,
Mrs. B. Stecktastic
I'm sure you get this all the time, but I just have to do this. [Deep breath. OK, here we go.] I have a great game show idea for you. This show requires a bit of background information, however, so please allow me to explain:
I'm pregnant with my first child. Like many new mothers-to-be, I have subscribed to a number of automatic e-mail updates from baby websites. The websites typically send information once a week, alerting me to the changes that are occurring inside me. The websites vary in every way possible: their level of detail, their humor content (or lack thereof), their sponsors, and their layout. However, this week (week 16) they all had one thing in common: they announced that I may start to feel the baby move this week.
Yes, I know. Momentous, right?
Unfortunately, this alert was quickly followed by a discouraging caveat. It was worded differently each time, but the message was the same: Don't get too excited, it could just be gas.
Yes, I know. Total letdown.
So now, here I am, trying to be casual about my newfound internal-working alertness. Wait, what was that? [Body tenses] Oh, it's just my stomach growling because I haven't had breakfast yet. [Sigh and exhale] Be cool, Becky. Be cool. The e-mails said you probably won't feel anything now, just that you could. But I digress.
You're wondering where the game show comes in, aren't you? Well, let me tell you. The show would take three first-timers like me and hook them up to a secret ultrasound machine. Then, they'd have to guess if the tremors inside were gas or the baby! I know! It's perfect! I'll let you take care of the details regarding wins and losses, but here's one idea that I just have to blurt out. The loser shouldn't go home empty-handed - you could give them a lifetime's supply of Beano! Oh, and one more thing - you should call it "Is It Gas?" Cool. Catchy. Concise.
Before I close, let me just say that I don't even need to be credited with the idea. All I ask is that you let me be one of your first contestants.
Thank you for your consideration,
Mrs. B. Stecktastic
Friday, October 31, 2008
Long time, no blog.
Well, today I might be forcing it. When it dawned on me that I hadn't blogged at all in October, I realized I was pretty pathetic. And had to rectify it. Before October ended. Which leads me to now.
Excuses? Yeah, I could give you some. They're all pretty lame though. For instance: I'm newly pregnant, and going downstairs to the basement (where the computer is) makes me sick. See? Pathetic.
What's that you say? Now you feel guilty for bugging me about not blogging in a month? My, how the tables have turned.
Well, now that we're even on the guilt-spectrum (and I'm almost over my "morning" (=all day) sickness), I can get down to business.
Today is Halloween. It's the day when people like me go to work but don't actually get much done. Oh, and we go to work dressed as someone else. Which helps, because then we can say it was the alter-ego that wasn't being productive. Today my alter-ego was Sarah Palin. I'm a brunette that owns a power suit, so it was an easy mark. I even went the extra mile and made a price tag for my suit jacket: Neiman Marcus, $75,000. It was a small detail, but those who noticed it were pleasantly rewarded with a trademark Tina Fey wink. The response I received the most from my costume? "Where did you find a John McCain pin in Ann Arbor?" Touche.
Excuses? Yeah, I could give you some. They're all pretty lame though. For instance: I'm newly pregnant, and going downstairs to the basement (where the computer is) makes me sick. See? Pathetic.
What's that you say? Now you feel guilty for bugging me about not blogging in a month? My, how the tables have turned.
Well, now that we're even on the guilt-spectrum (and I'm almost over my "morning" (=all day) sickness), I can get down to business.
Today is Halloween. It's the day when people like me go to work but don't actually get much done. Oh, and we go to work dressed as someone else. Which helps, because then we can say it was the alter-ego that wasn't being productive. Today my alter-ego was Sarah Palin. I'm a brunette that owns a power suit, so it was an easy mark. I even went the extra mile and made a price tag for my suit jacket: Neiman Marcus, $75,000. It was a small detail, but those who noticed it were pleasantly rewarded with a trademark Tina Fey wink. The response I received the most from my costume? "Where did you find a John McCain pin in Ann Arbor?" Touche.
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