Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Hysteria, When You're Near
I seem to recall reading somewhere that the word “hysteria” comes from a term used by doctors in ancient Greeze. Doctors thought that women experienced emotional imbalance when the uterus traveled around inside the body.
This makes some sense to a pregnant woman. Things that seem completely insane to non-pregnant people appear perfectly reasonable to me. It is normal to bug bomb my car. It’s nearly mundane to want to sleep in the bathtub. And if I want to dip cheese into chocolate, why shouldn’t I?
As late as the 1960s, some psychologists categorized pregnany as a mental illness. I’m beginning to see why.
“Pregnancy will make you crazy,” Jessica H. told me yesterday, in conspiratorial tones. I wish someone had told me earlier But the bigger secret: Men get it too.
Scott works at a pizza joint, and his co-workers have all noticed the change. In a fog, Scott dumped a tray of used paper plates and plastic utensils into the dishpit... the clean side. It wasn’t until the dishwasher yelled at him that he even realized what he had done.
This makes some sense to a pregnant woman. Things that seem completely insane to non-pregnant people appear perfectly reasonable to me. It is normal to bug bomb my car. It’s nearly mundane to want to sleep in the bathtub. And if I want to dip cheese into chocolate, why shouldn’t I?
As late as the 1960s, some psychologists categorized pregnany as a mental illness. I’m beginning to see why.
“Pregnancy will make you crazy,” Jessica H. told me yesterday, in conspiratorial tones. I wish someone had told me earlier But the bigger secret: Men get it too.
Scott works at a pizza joint, and his co-workers have all noticed the change. In a fog, Scott dumped a tray of used paper plates and plastic utensils into the dishpit... the clean side. It wasn’t until the dishwasher yelled at him that he even realized what he had done.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
Milking It
I’m already using the pregnancy to my advantage. Driving to Atlanta, Scott turned on the radio. He likes his music very loud.
No, you don’t understand how LOUD it is: I have (not very serious, but measurable) permanent hearing loss from childhood ear infections, and it’s too loud for me.
“Honey!” I cried. “The baby is going to kick out the radio!”
Scott laughed.
I held up my thumb and forefinger and pressed them together.
“It’s little ears are only this big!”
No, you don’t understand how LOUD it is: I have (not very serious, but measurable) permanent hearing loss from childhood ear infections, and it’s too loud for me.
“Honey!” I cried. “The baby is going to kick out the radio!”
Scott laughed.
I held up my thumb and forefinger and pressed them together.
“It’s little ears are only this big!”
Friday, June 25, 2004
My Body is a Wonderland
There should be some reprieve between finding out that you’re pregnant, and experiencing the effects of pregnancy (of course, I am eight weeks along). But I guess my body going insane was the first indicator, anyway.
“Honey, I’m not glowing. That’s the ever-present sheen of sweat I’ve gathered from dragging my pregnant ass around this hot-ass town.”
- My boobs are huge. I’m renaming myself Mt. Boobamunjaro. I can’t imagine what they’ll be like at 9 months. They’re going to have their own weather systems before the pregnancy is over.
- Dear God, the cramps. I might as well be having the baby now. I’m told that it’s my uterus expanding. Great. Like any part of my body needs to get bigger. Apparently, labor is an estimated 4 billion times worse. That’s okay. In my “emergency labor oh-my-god-we’re-having-the-baby-NOW bag,” I’m packing a rubber mallet. I hope Scott has the balls to knock me unconscious.
- My stomach is trying to escape. I think the plan is that I will get so frustrated by the indigestion that I will rip it out of my body. It’s a plan that just might work. “Oh,” said Jessica, a girl I work with. “That means the baby will have hair!” The “baby” is the size of a grain of rice. It has cilia, right now, not hair.
- I have to pee every three minutes, but the rest of my body can’t seem to clear itself out. I’m carrying around 23.7 tons of water weight. When I walk I can hear myself slosh.
- I’m sure it sounds like I’m complaining, and I am, but because this whole thing amuses me. It’s like I’m wearing someone else’s body. It’s a process from which I’m detached.
“Honey, I’m not glowing. That’s the ever-present sheen of sweat I’ve gathered from dragging my pregnant ass around this hot-ass town.”
Saturday, June 19, 2004
Perspective
Everything seems so overwhelming. Yesterday, someone at work asked me how I felt. I said, “I feel pregnant. I want to beat everyone up and take all their food!”
Big laugh from the other mommies.
Big laugh from the other mommies.
Friday, June 18, 2004
For Them to Poop On
Of course, my parents had to shit all over it. They lectured us for two hours about how disappointed they were in me, how they thought I was smarter than this.
Scott is trying to handle it with his usual aplomb. I suppose he’s simply more of a grown-up than I am. But this was most inappropriate.
My sister tried to make me feel better: “Why do you listen to them? They’re crazy. Don’t listen to the crazies.” And I laughed. But I don’t feel better. I’ve never been happier in my life. Why did they have to be such assholes about it?
Scott is trying to handle it with his usual aplomb. I suppose he’s simply more of a grown-up than I am. But this was most inappropriate.
My sister tried to make me feel better: “Why do you listen to them? They’re crazy. Don’t listen to the crazies.” And I laughed. But I don’t feel better. I’ve never been happier in my life. Why did they have to be such assholes about it?
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Oops, We're Pregnant!
I tell Penny first, then we call his parents. They are ecstatic, and they tell us that they have an entire nursery’s furniture stored in their attic. I call to move the wedding date, and am offered free use of the botanical gardens! All of Scott’s friends’ wives are pregnant, and due only a month before I am. Everyone is nice at work - except Sumo, but that’s to be expected. I come home to 15 messages of congratulations! I feel fantastic - Scott and I are both terrified, but it’s in the “actually living my life” vein of terror, which is the best kind to have. The timing may be off, but my partner is right, and we already have a fantastic support network in place. We’re excited and ecstatic and everything else you can be that basically means happy.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Wedding is another word for "crazy"
My mother has already sent me an email of directives. So I sent her this email:
We’ve decided on a theme for the wedding: Spingtime picnic. We’ve going to cover the tables with Astroturf and plastic flowers and bugs. The chairs will be covered with red and white gingham fabric, and we’ll all eat ham sandwiches and potato salad off of paper plates.
All of the party favors will be little boxes of chocolate covered ants. Remember the story Dad used to tell about eating the ants? That’s where I got the idea. Scott’s family comes from the McDow’s of the McDow peninsula of Ireland. It’s a farming community, and agriculture has always been a big part of their lives so we're bringing in some of old farming equipment as decoration: a plow, rakes, pitchforks, etc.
I may ask Kelli to break out her clogging shoes from middle school because Scott’s sister, Vivian, is going to do a caeli, which is Irish stepdancing, and it would nice if someone from our family could join in. Scott is thinking of having all the groomsmen wear bolo ties. I thought that it would be funny, since we have a country picnic theme, to come barefoot and with a pillow stuffed in my dress, and Dad could carry a shotgun. But I thought that might be too much.
Scott panicked. He sent this email to my mother:
Mrs. McGowen -
Your daughter has been smoking crack. The proof: her most recent email. However, we are going to have a very dignified wedding. You and I are going to see to that. There will be no Astroturf, no bare feet, no black bridal gown, or other crazy shit. I am glad to have an ally in this mess. Please help me make this wedding something your daughter will be proud of 20 years from now, since I plan to be looking at those photographs with her at that time. I am so happy to have you as a mother-in-law.
Let's synchronize our watches! Good luck!
Love, Scott
We’ve decided on a theme for the wedding: Spingtime picnic. We’ve going to cover the tables with Astroturf and plastic flowers and bugs. The chairs will be covered with red and white gingham fabric, and we’ll all eat ham sandwiches and potato salad off of paper plates.
All of the party favors will be little boxes of chocolate covered ants. Remember the story Dad used to tell about eating the ants? That’s where I got the idea. Scott’s family comes from the McDow’s of the McDow peninsula of Ireland. It’s a farming community, and agriculture has always been a big part of their lives so we're bringing in some of old farming equipment as decoration: a plow, rakes, pitchforks, etc.
I may ask Kelli to break out her clogging shoes from middle school because Scott’s sister, Vivian, is going to do a caeli, which is Irish stepdancing, and it would nice if someone from our family could join in. Scott is thinking of having all the groomsmen wear bolo ties. I thought that it would be funny, since we have a country picnic theme, to come barefoot and with a pillow stuffed in my dress, and Dad could carry a shotgun. But I thought that might be too much.
Scott panicked. He sent this email to my mother:
Mrs. McGowen -
Your daughter has been smoking crack. The proof: her most recent email. However, we are going to have a very dignified wedding. You and I are going to see to that. There will be no Astroturf, no bare feet, no black bridal gown, or other crazy shit. I am glad to have an ally in this mess. Please help me make this wedding something your daughter will be proud of 20 years from now, since I plan to be looking at those photographs with her at that time. I am so happy to have you as a mother-in-law.
Let's synchronize our watches! Good luck!
Love, Scott
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Bad Mojo
Why is it that four different people have asked me if I plan to go on the South Beach Diet now that I'm engaged? And someone scoffed at my engagement ring the other day: "If my fiancee gave me a teeny tiny plain old ring like that, I would not marry him!" Wow. That's love. I'd have married Scott if he proposed with a doughnut ring... but then I would have eaten it.
Anyway, back to my mojo. I seem to have left it at the Bat Cave.
Anyway, back to my mojo. I seem to have left it at the Bat Cave.
I got my first table 15 minutes after I got to work today. Just as they were sat, my contact popped out of my left eye. Then, one of the hostesses told me that I left on my headlights. I ran out into the pouring rain to turn them off. As I reached into the car, my left bra strap snapped. What the hell?
I stood for a moment, in the rain, making a silent apology for offending the universe. Then I went back inside. As I passed a girl in the kitchen - the new girl who made a mean comment about my very beautiful ring - she fell on her ass. Hmmm...
Shit like that happened all night long. Frankly, I'm surprised we all survived.
I stood for a moment, in the rain, making a silent apology for offending the universe. Then I went back inside. As I passed a girl in the kitchen - the new girl who made a mean comment about my very beautiful ring - she fell on her ass. Hmmm...
Shit like that happened all night long. Frankly, I'm surprised we all survived.
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Too much time on their hands
Why do people turn their noses up at my ignorance of wedding planning and, well, complete lack of giving a shit about the things I suppose I should give a shit about? Like, no way I'm paying $200 for a cake.
"That's cheap!" said Stephanie. "Geez, are you having your mom make it, or something? That is so ghetto."
Um, I'm not having my mother make it, but wouldn't that be nice - not ghetto - of her?
"So, what are your colors?" some new girl at work asked me. "Colors?" I said, completely confused. "Yeah, you know: the color scheme of your wedding. What color are the bridesmaids going to wear, the groomsmen, the decorations, the cake, the flowers, the -"
My head began spinning while I tried to take all of this in.
"I don't need a color scheme for the wedding. I'm going to wear a white dress - because my fiancee actually cares about that, not my first choice - and I'm just hoping that he shows up and says yes." The girl looked and me and then rolled her eyes. "Your wedding is going to look stupid." I grinned and said: "How would you know? You're not invited."
"That's cheap!" said Stephanie. "Geez, are you having your mom make it, or something? That is so ghetto."
Um, I'm not having my mother make it, but wouldn't that be nice - not ghetto - of her?
"So, what are your colors?" some new girl at work asked me. "Colors?" I said, completely confused. "Yeah, you know: the color scheme of your wedding. What color are the bridesmaids going to wear, the groomsmen, the decorations, the cake, the flowers, the -"
My head began spinning while I tried to take all of this in.
"I don't need a color scheme for the wedding. I'm going to wear a white dress - because my fiancee actually cares about that, not my first choice - and I'm just hoping that he shows up and says yes." The girl looked and me and then rolled her eyes. "Your wedding is going to look stupid." I grinned and said: "How would you know? You're not invited."
Thursday, June 10, 2004
What decade is this?
My manager grabbed my ass last night. Could've killed her. I've worked on the "Don't Grab Stacey's Ass" ad campaign for a year, now, but apparently I'm not reaching my target audience.
Fun so far
I like this being engaged thing. I get lots of hugs. I'm so happy I'm drooling on myself.
Unfortunately, now there's a huge party to plan. Can't we just make a fucking big pot of spaghetti? I was trying to figure out what kind of wedding dealio to expect, so I asked Scott what he was going to wear. "A tux," he answered. Crap. That means I have to get a formal dress.
Our list is already out of control. We're at nearly 300 people without even asking our parents who they are inviting. If the list stays the way it is, each guest will be issued a single Saltine and a plastic cup of water at the door. Happy reception feast!
Unfortunately, now there's a huge party to plan. Can't we just make a fucking big pot of spaghetti? I was trying to figure out what kind of wedding dealio to expect, so I asked Scott what he was going to wear. "A tux," he answered. Crap. That means I have to get a formal dress.
Our list is already out of control. We're at nearly 300 people without even asking our parents who they are inviting. If the list stays the way it is, each guest will be issued a single Saltine and a plastic cup of water at the door. Happy reception feast!
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Going to the Chapel
So, we're engaged. Yeah, never mind about the story. As I move entries from one site to another, I'm deleting posts that annoy my husband if I can live without them.
There was much confusion and uproar at work today. Scott worked at Restaurant of Evil with me - and, obviously, these other people - but I really keep my private life mostly, well, "private." Most people didn't even know that we were dating, and that was okay with me. I'm not up in there to make friends and have a social life. It's just a job.
Unfortunately, when one person screams in the alley, others are there to observe and participate. And one scream was all it took. The subsequent screams came from me - trying to get away from the horde of women slowly surrounding me and crushing the life out of me. God, just take the ring. I love it, but I'm not going to sacrifice my life for it. And yet, it is very important to me.
Hostess: Can I try it on?
Me (snort): If you can take it from me.
Unfortunately, when one person screams in the alley, others are there to observe and participate. And one scream was all it took. The subsequent screams came from me - trying to get away from the horde of women slowly surrounding me and crushing the life out of me. God, just take the ring. I love it, but I'm not going to sacrifice my life for it. And yet, it is very important to me.
Hostess: Can I try it on?
Me (snort): If you can take it from me.
Monday, May 31, 2004
Chat
Ptrend: have spent my extremely long three days in hell...it's time for the angel's to comeandgetme
o2grok1: (sigh) Why don't you ever let me help you? It would give me such joy.
Ptrend: Do you really want to sit and hold me while I sob in naked humiliation like I did with my massage therapist yesterday?
o2grok1: Yes.
Ptrend: Believe me, it gets tiring... and I'm not even trying to wallow this time... I'm trying to move on. But I break down occasionally out of nowhere.
o2grok1: Psychologists call that: "Giving a Shit About Your Life, and How People Treat You, and Generally What Goes on in This World Syndrome." But they're thinking of shortening the title.
o2grok1: (sigh) Why don't you ever let me help you? It would give me such joy.
Ptrend: Do you really want to sit and hold me while I sob in naked humiliation like I did with my massage therapist yesterday?
o2grok1: Yes.
Ptrend: Believe me, it gets tiring... and I'm not even trying to wallow this time... I'm trying to move on. But I break down occasionally out of nowhere.
o2grok1: Psychologists call that: "Giving a Shit About Your Life, and How People Treat You, and Generally What Goes on in This World Syndrome." But they're thinking of shortening the title.
Saturday, May 29, 2004
Pregnancy Scare
Scott and I are at lunch today. It's a beautiful day and we'd planned to take a picnic to the park before work. But, variables threw our plans out of whack and we went to the Chinese buffet instead. I eat a couple of pieces of teriyaki chicken and then feel immensely full. Uncomfortably full. I drink some more sweet tea. Yuck. It's been over a year since I had any. How do people drink this stuff? Scott is yapping on about his former bandmates - none of whom I would trust with even a $1 bill and... what is he saying? Oh, god, I feel like shit. Shut up. I don't care right now. And suddenly I need the bathroom very, very quickly.
Me (interrupting): Excuse me, I don't mean to me rude, but I think I'm going to throw up.
Scott looks worried. I walk towards the bathroom. I consider running, but I'm afraid to jiggle my insides. They might all decide to stage a jail break. Why is this fucking restaurant so huge? How many people really need to eat at a Chinese buffet, anyway? Good god, is the bathroom moving farther away? Come back! I mean, at one time, how many people do they think they're going to seat? Why is this counter in my way?!
I make it to the toilet with about 2 seconds to spare. I like this chicken not so much anymore. I'm heaving into the toilet when I glance to my left. The trash can must have been forgotten for weeks. There is a hugely, disgustingly bloody pad on top. I heave harder, close my eyes, and try to banish the image from my mind. Blech!
I finish, wash, go back to the table.
Scott: Are you all right, honey?
Me (smiling sarcastically): Oh, I'm much better now.
Oh, god. He's still eating. The chewing. I can't take it. I chant silently to myself: "Stop. Chewing. Stop. Chewing. Stop. (I hold back my gag reflex) Chewing.
Scott (eyes widening in mock terror): Ohhhhhh god.
I look at him. He's no longer chewing. Thank god. Then, I realize what he's joking about.
Me: No. Shut up.
Scott: You know, you can be pregnant and still have your period.
Me: I'm not pregnant.
There is a pause while he looks at me.
Me: I'm not.
Scott (Who has to be at work in 45 minutes): Let's go.
He puts his arm around me as we walk.
Scott: Do you have any other symptoms?
Me (grinning): Just a week-long Krispy Kreme craving.
Scott (rolling his eyes and grinning): Oohhhh, god. Maybe we need one of those tests.
Me: Maybe.
Scott: Ohhh, god.
Me (grinning): Stop it. I don't think you'd be too upset.
Scott (smiling back at me): Oh, I'd be ecstatic.
Me (interrupting): Excuse me, I don't mean to me rude, but I think I'm going to throw up.
Scott looks worried. I walk towards the bathroom. I consider running, but I'm afraid to jiggle my insides. They might all decide to stage a jail break. Why is this fucking restaurant so huge? How many people really need to eat at a Chinese buffet, anyway? Good god, is the bathroom moving farther away? Come back! I mean, at one time, how many people do they think they're going to seat? Why is this counter in my way?!
I make it to the toilet with about 2 seconds to spare. I like this chicken not so much anymore. I'm heaving into the toilet when I glance to my left. The trash can must have been forgotten for weeks. There is a hugely, disgustingly bloody pad on top. I heave harder, close my eyes, and try to banish the image from my mind. Blech!
I finish, wash, go back to the table.
Scott: Are you all right, honey?
Me (smiling sarcastically): Oh, I'm much better now.
Oh, god. He's still eating. The chewing. I can't take it. I chant silently to myself: "Stop. Chewing. Stop. Chewing. Stop. (I hold back my gag reflex) Chewing.
Scott (eyes widening in mock terror): Ohhhhhh god.
I look at him. He's no longer chewing. Thank god. Then, I realize what he's joking about.
Me: No. Shut up.
Scott: You know, you can be pregnant and still have your period.
Me: I'm not pregnant.
There is a pause while he looks at me.
Me: I'm not.
Scott (Who has to be at work in 45 minutes): Let's go.
He puts his arm around me as we walk.
Scott: Do you have any other symptoms?
Me (grinning): Just a week-long Krispy Kreme craving.
Scott (rolling his eyes and grinning): Oohhhh, god. Maybe we need one of those tests.
Me: Maybe.
Scott: Ohhh, god.
Me (grinning): Stop it. I don't think you'd be too upset.
Scott (smiling back at me): Oh, I'd be ecstatic.
Monday, May 24, 2004
Meet the Parents
I met Scott's parents last night at the Mellow Mushroom for dinner. I was nervous enough to start crying before we left. Parents never like me. In fact, that was a huge reason why John - a guy I dated for 4 and 1/2 years - and I broke up. His parents didn't believe that I was "the right kind of person," no matter how hard I tried to please them. I've long since given up trying to be the "right kind of person," and I just put on my waitress face and muddle through as best I can, trying to be the best myself that I can be.
It worked. Scott's parents love me. Wow. I have them fooled. I think what worked was that I embarrassed their otherwise unflappable son.
Scott: Yeah, so we were hanging out downtown and we went to the Discotheque and -
Miss Patsy (his mother): You went to a strip bar?
Scott: It was on a lark, you know, and -
Me: "On a lark?" What are you - 210 years old?
Scott (sneering at me): It was just on a whim, and -
Me: Oh, please. You went to see naked people.
Scott (ears reddening): No, I -
Me: Someone said: "Naked people," you went, "Hrr?" (mimicking ears pricking up), and led the parade down Broad Street.
I hum the ubiquitous circus song and mime a band leader marching with a whats-that-pole-thing-called? in his hand. His parents crack up, and he lowers his head and smiles a little. His face is beet red. It's a cheap ploy, teasing their oldest beloved son in order to win their favor, and for a moment I feel... inauthentic. But then I realize that I would have teased him about it anyway, no matter the company, and I pat him on the back in what I hope is an affectionate, loving way. He's so good natured that it kills me.
It worked. Scott's parents love me. Wow. I have them fooled. I think what worked was that I embarrassed their otherwise unflappable son.
Scott: Yeah, so we were hanging out downtown and we went to the Discotheque and -
Miss Patsy (his mother): You went to a strip bar?
Scott: It was on a lark, you know, and -
Me: "On a lark?" What are you - 210 years old?
Scott (sneering at me): It was just on a whim, and -
Me: Oh, please. You went to see naked people.
Scott (ears reddening): No, I -
Me: Someone said: "Naked people," you went, "Hrr?" (mimicking ears pricking up), and led the parade down Broad Street.
I hum the ubiquitous circus song and mime a band leader marching with a whats-that-pole-thing-called? in his hand. His parents crack up, and he lowers his head and smiles a little. His face is beet red. It's a cheap ploy, teasing their oldest beloved son in order to win their favor, and for a moment I feel... inauthentic. But then I realize that I would have teased him about it anyway, no matter the company, and I pat him on the back in what I hope is an affectionate, loving way. He's so good natured that it kills me.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Suffragette
I am trying to type a letter on the new laptop they've given me to use at the gardens, but the keyboard is so tiny! I keep hitting three or four keys at the same time, and I'm beginning to feel like Animal from the Muppets - or like I have only one Giant Finger to type with. I might as well be typing with my forehead. I growl in frustration and begin backspacing for the 425th time when the Executive Director walks up.
ED: You should learn to type.
Me: I type 55 words a minute. That's not that bad.
ED (as he walks away): In my day, every woman had to know how to type.
Me (under my breath): Yeah, well, now we have the vote.
ED: You should learn to type.
Me: I type 55 words a minute. That's not that bad.
ED (as he walks away): In my day, every woman had to know how to type.
Me (under my breath): Yeah, well, now we have the vote.
Sunday, May 16, 2004
Quick Service
Duane's film has something to do with - but does not actually include - gay porn. He and Scott are sitting on the couch talking about what he needs before he completes it.
Duane: Yeah, so if you and Stacey could record yourselves the next time you're having sex, that would be really helpful.
I whirl around from the desk I'd been cleaning and look at him. He can't be serious.
Duane: And if you could say things like: "Yeah, that's the good shit!" I'd really appreciate it.
I put my hand over my mouth and run out of the room in embarassment. I hear Scott and Duane laughing in the living room.
Duane: We're kidding!
Scott: Baby, come back!
I'm gathering beer cans from the bedroom. I come in with four or five in my arms.
Me: Jackasses.
Duane: Anyway, if you could just make a lot of noise, that would be great.
Scott is laughing his ass off.
Me: Well, I have a couple minutes right now. That's all it takes, right, honey?
Duane: Yeah, so if you and Stacey could record yourselves the next time you're having sex, that would be really helpful.
I whirl around from the desk I'd been cleaning and look at him. He can't be serious.
Duane: And if you could say things like: "Yeah, that's the good shit!" I'd really appreciate it.
I put my hand over my mouth and run out of the room in embarassment. I hear Scott and Duane laughing in the living room.
Duane: We're kidding!
Scott: Baby, come back!
I'm gathering beer cans from the bedroom. I come in with four or five in my arms.
Me: Jackasses.
Duane: Anyway, if you could just make a lot of noise, that would be great.
Scott is laughing his ass off.
Me: Well, I have a couple minutes right now. That's all it takes, right, honey?
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Last of the Mohicans
My boyfriend decided to get a mohawk. I considered pitching a fit, because, as a rule, I think mohawks are sad attempts to get people to pay attention to the wearer. Also, because I like his hair the way he had it. But off he went. An hour later, the phone rang.
Me: Hello?
Duane: Heeeey. Is Scott there?
Me: Oh, hey, Duane. He went to get a haircut.
There is a pause.
Duane (tensely): What?
Me: Um...
Duane: Did he say how short?
Me: He said he was getting a mohawk.
Duane (with disbelief): No, he didn't.
Me: Yeah.
Suddenly, I realize why Duane's tense. His movie. Oh, shit. Scott's in his movie, and they've already shot a full day's worth.
Duane: Where. Is. He. Going.
We spend a few frantic minutes looking through the phone book, divide up some numbers, and start calling. Two phone calls later, I hear a car door slam. Scott comes prancing in, grinning, with his haircut. I hold back a grimace.
Me: Um, Duane called.
He goes pale.
Scott: Oh. My. God.
There is much cursing. When he gets Duane on the phone, there is much more.
I try to think of solutions.
Me: You can always wear a hat.
Scott: There has to be a better way.
Me: You could shave Scooby's hair off and glue it to your head.
He grins.
Me: You could wrap your head in a bandage like you have a head injury.
Scott looks at me with what I think is disbelief.
Me: What?
Scott: That's actually not a bad idea.
It's a stupid idea, meant to be a joke, but whatever.
Me: Hey, I'll even provide a real head injury, if it will help.
Me: Hello?
Duane: Heeeey. Is Scott there?
Me: Oh, hey, Duane. He went to get a haircut.
There is a pause.
Duane (tensely): What?
Me: Um...
Duane: Did he say how short?
Me: He said he was getting a mohawk.
Duane (with disbelief): No, he didn't.
Me: Yeah.
Suddenly, I realize why Duane's tense. His movie. Oh, shit. Scott's in his movie, and they've already shot a full day's worth.
Duane: Where. Is. He. Going.
We spend a few frantic minutes looking through the phone book, divide up some numbers, and start calling. Two phone calls later, I hear a car door slam. Scott comes prancing in, grinning, with his haircut. I hold back a grimace.
Me: Um, Duane called.
He goes pale.
Scott: Oh. My. God.
There is much cursing. When he gets Duane on the phone, there is much more.
I try to think of solutions.
Me: You can always wear a hat.
Scott: There has to be a better way.
Me: You could shave Scooby's hair off and glue it to your head.
He grins.
Me: You could wrap your head in a bandage like you have a head injury.
Scott looks at me with what I think is disbelief.
Me: What?
Scott: That's actually not a bad idea.
It's a stupid idea, meant to be a joke, but whatever.
Me: Hey, I'll even provide a real head injury, if it will help.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
Rude Awakening
Scott: You have to get me up in the morning.
Me: Okay.
Scott: No, I have to get up. I have got to work on that damn paper.
Me: Okay. Don't worry.
Mwaaa-ha-haaaaaaa....!
The next morning, the alarm goes off.
Me: Scott, time to get up.
Scott: Mmmhmm.
I shake him.
Me: Come on, sweetie. It's time to get up.
Scott: Mmmhmm.
I shake him again.
Me: I'm going to steamroller you.
Scott: What's a steamroller?
Me: THIS!
Laying down, I roll over him, pause on top and wiggle, and roll off the other side. He barely moves.
Me: I think it's time for cat therapy.
Scott: Sure.
I run out of the room, grab my water bottle from the ironing stand, and turn it to "stream." I creep back to the room and stand in the doorway. Scott hasn't moved, and it is obvious that he has no plans to do so. Is this going to piss him off? Hmm. Too much fun to care. I aim for his head and shoot.
Squirtsquirtsquirt!
Scott (frantically grabbing the blanket to cover his head): Gaaagh!
I laugh maniacally and aim for his uncovered legs. Squirtsquirtsquirt!
Scott (laughing): Aaaagh! Okayokay!
I stop and give him a chance to relax. He uncovers his head. Fool! Squirtsquirt!
Scott: Agh! Stop it! I'm up!
Me: Told you.
Me: Okay.
Scott: No, I have to get up. I have got to work on that damn paper.
Me: Okay. Don't worry.
Mwaaa-ha-haaaaaaa....!
The next morning, the alarm goes off.
Me: Scott, time to get up.
Scott: Mmmhmm.
I shake him.
Me: Come on, sweetie. It's time to get up.
Scott: Mmmhmm.
I shake him again.
Me: I'm going to steamroller you.
Scott: What's a steamroller?
Me: THIS!
Laying down, I roll over him, pause on top and wiggle, and roll off the other side. He barely moves.
Me: I think it's time for cat therapy.
Scott: Sure.
I run out of the room, grab my water bottle from the ironing stand, and turn it to "stream." I creep back to the room and stand in the doorway. Scott hasn't moved, and it is obvious that he has no plans to do so. Is this going to piss him off? Hmm. Too much fun to care. I aim for his head and shoot.
Squirtsquirtsquirt!
Scott (frantically grabbing the blanket to cover his head): Gaaagh!
I laugh maniacally and aim for his uncovered legs. Squirtsquirtsquirt!
Scott (laughing): Aaaagh! Okayokay!
I stop and give him a chance to relax. He uncovers his head. Fool! Squirtsquirt!
Scott: Agh! Stop it! I'm up!
Me: Told you.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Meet the Grandparents
Scott and I went to his grandparents' house for his grandfather's 80-something-eth birthday. They are adorable. His grandmother is hell on wheels. I think they are super cool.
Scott: I have to warn you - before you decide to spend the rest of your life with me - that this (points to his grandfather) is what I'm going to look like when I'm in my 80s.
Me: Really?
Grandfather: I'm looking good.
Me: I know! (To Grandmother:) You'd better watch out! (To Scott:) You might want to hold me back!
His grandparents crack up. I hope I haven't offended his grandmother - that she's not just laughing along trying to be polite. But later, as we're leaving, they invite me back.
Scott: I have to warn you - before you decide to spend the rest of your life with me - that this (points to his grandfather) is what I'm going to look like when I'm in my 80s.
Me: Really?
Grandfather: I'm looking good.
Me: I know! (To Grandmother:) You'd better watch out! (To Scott:) You might want to hold me back!
His grandparents crack up. I hope I haven't offended his grandmother - that she's not just laughing along trying to be polite. But later, as we're leaving, they invite me back.
