Well?

Am I a dork for loving “Moon River” from Breakfast at Tiffany’s?

OK. If not, then am I one for buying it not once, but twice on itunes?

(The first one was instrumental-kinda stuck with it now)

Here’s the nail in my dork coffin: My favorite part is when he says “My huckleberry friend”

Just sounds like something my Pop-pop would’ve said.

Now I know why all of Hollywood has veneers

I spent yesterday puking my guts out. Fortunately, The Highlander was good enough to work from home and take care of Ducky, so I could take care of myself. Now I’ve puked before. In fact I puked almost every day of my first trimester. Don’t even get me started on the alcohol-related spewing, either. However, two strange things have happened this time. One, my ribs still hurt. I have never upchucked so hard, apparently. Two, my teeth feel like they have no enamel whatsoever on them. God. How do bulimics maintain their svelte figures AND winning smiles?

Now, it’s 11:30pm here. I could have waited a half an hour and posted a thoughtful, witty, entertaining, ahem worthwhile post since June 1st is my Blogaversary and all. But hell. I figured I’d close out the blogging year how I started it. See ya tommorrow!

Brother can you spare….a rooster?

If you have a minute, please join Schmutzie’s  Cockroll. She was diagnosed with cancer this month, and people have been sending her rooster images as a show of support. So check out her site, either on the link above, or the button on my left sidebar.

So share the love with a big ‘ol cock!!

Scraps from the master’s table

A bulleted list of brain dumpage, so’s I don’t forget.

• When Ducky woke up Monday morning, she was under her bed, and when I opened the door, she popped her head out and said “Surprise”
• We went out to eat on Sunday night, and we saw some kittens in the parking lot. She said “Look at the tiny tiny kitty cats!!!!!” She also refused to eat one morsel. I even snagged a handful of chocolate chips from the salad bar. Wouldn’t touch them. Who is this kid?
• I’ve been attempting to tackle the shipwreck that we’re calling our bedroom, and while doing that, I found a party hat from Ducky’s 1st birthday party, that says “Fun to be 1″ Ducky saw it, and said, “OH! Cup-capes!” And proceeded to sing Happy Birthday to herself.
• Sheepie, Elmo, and Chicken, aka the evil puking stuffed animals of DOOM, were “taking a bath” until yesterday afternoon when I picked them up at the laundromat. So for her nap, she still had Dog, and I gave her an Elmo book, and her Build a Bear Cat. When she woke up 2 hours later, the cat and Elmo book were in the pack n play/toybox.
• She also found her bunny ear headband from Easter in my bedroom. (Don’t ask. Hell if I know why they were in my nightstand drawer). She grabbed a stuffed bunny, put it in her Easter Basket, and hopped around the house until it was time for “Cup-capes Happy Birthday” again. And Mommy and Daddy were both bunnies and cup-capes MANY times. The Highlander is DEAD SEXY in bunny ears, let me tell ya.
• She’s developing fears left and right. She says “It’s too scary’ 4 or 5 times a day. I don’t know if it’s for real, or just away to get out of something. So we tell her things like “There are NO monsters here, Ducky. Don’t be scared. And pleas fortheloveofallthatisholy go. to. sleep.” So Saturday, she said “Mommy, no monsters here. Don’t be scary.”
• AND, finally. Last night she called me into her room to ask me if sheepie was going to go “bluh” on her tummy again.

Also, if you do nothing else today, go check out Looky, Daddy! Especially his FAQs. Love this guy.

Well then

We knew that BIG! GIRL! BED! night would be eventful. We did NOT know that we would have to give her 2 baths and 2 bedding changes.

Oh Yes. She threw up everywhere. The worst part was she was positively TERRIFIED. The cutest part was that she insisted that it was sheepie, elmo and chicken who “go BLUH” not her. They went bluh on the floor, and bluh on the bed. Not Ducky. No way.

BIG! GIRL! BED!

We bit the bullet and took the rail off Ducky’s crib today. And I spent an hour and a half drilling drawer latches into her armoire. I’ll do her changing table/dresser drawers tomorrow. It was getting late, and she really doesn’t mess with those drawers. She’s mostly interested in the medicine drawer and the door part of the armoire. Yes I am aware that she is almost 3 and it’s very lame that I’ve only done this now. Shutup. I’m not done crying that my baby is not a baby anymore.

Keepin it Facsimilie

I’m not exactly sure why I’m writing this here. Maybe it just needs to be said, even in a vague way. So I apologize in advance for being cryptic.

I have something that I need to let go of. I’ve been single mindedly fixating on something for a while, and I need to put a stop to it. I wish I didn’t have to , but it is oh so necessary. And it’s hard. I’m getting there. I’m still thinking about it, but I’m coming to terms with a different outcome than I wanted. Neither the “thing” nor the alternate outcome are bad things. It’s my focus on the outcome I want that’s unhealthy. I need to chill the fuck out and just live my life already.

I need to stop looking to the future for everything. I need to stop wanting something to “look forward to” all the time. I need to be more present in the present, shift the focus from getting what I want, to wanting what I’ve got. And I’ve got way more than I deserve. I need to kill that relentless drive inside me that screams “MORE MORE MORE”.

I’ve had enough.

Tramps like us

In my almost 30 years, I have lived many places. I was born in Utica, NY. When I was a toddler, we moved to Queens, NY. The summer before 2nd grade, we moved to Mission, KS, then back to upstate NY when I was 9. And then again, when I was 17, we moved to Brooklyn, NY. Until then, I was always a “home is where you hang your hat” kind of kid. Except I look like a total douche in any sort of hat. But I digress. Soon after moving back to NYC, I felt like I was home. I’d lived in the suburbs, rural setting, and a medium sized city, but NYC and nothin’ but was where I belonged. Brooklyn was better than any other place I could think of but one. Manhattan. I went college there, worked there, hell even my doctor and hairdresser were there. All I didn’t do there was sleep and I wanted to make that happen, too. A tall order when a walk in closet in Alphabet City (read: skanky) cost $2000 a month. But I was going to make it there, just like Frank Sinatra. I suppose I gave a fleeting thought to where I might raise my family, and if forced I would have lived in Westchester County (ha!! like I would have the money for a cardboard box there!!), close to the Metro-North, so I could get my Manhattan fix.

When I was 25, I finally moved out of my parents house. I faced a tough choice. A studio apartment that I could comfortably (read: i could eat ramen every night, instead of every other) afford ALONE. Or share a 2 bedroom on the Upper West Side with 2 other people. To everyone’s surprise, I stayed in Brooklyn. I had my reasons, the main ones were that I was near my parents (my father was terminally ill at the time) and I was living alone. I didn’t walk around naked nearly as much as I thought I would, and I had to make some sacrifices (DIAL-UP!!! OMG!!) but I loved it.

And then I met The Highlander. When I first got his number from a friend, I was like “Area code 908???” EEWWW! But we fell in love, and I moved here. I told everyone I knew that I was venturing into the heart of darkness. LOL I never hated it here. But I was in a deep funk the first few months I lived here. And then, slowly, this Jersey, really grew on me. She seduced me with her left turn arrows. And her parking spots. And her CURBSIDE TO GO. And every chain that can’t be bothered to pay a king’s ransom to squeeze into a tiny urban store front.

Then came the big stuff. The Highlander and I were married here. Our daughter was born here. In the self-same hospital as her father. There is history here. And history we are making.

More and more I’m realizing just how much this is home to me. More than a year ago, I saw a commercial featuring NYC, and the homesickness hit me like a gut punch. Later that very day (freaky!) The Highlander found out about a job in Queens. My gut said NO!! I don’t want to go back! I was not expecting that.

Another time, after leaving my mom’s apartment, I drove past my old place on the way home. And it felt good. I wanted to park the car, grab my kid and carry her upstairs to Apartment 5F. Blah blah blah weepy face, emo music all the way back to NJ, until I turned into the driveway. I was done being sad. I was home.

A few months ago, The Highlander was thisclose to taking a job in Maryland. And we were positively gobsmacked when they didn’t make an offer. As much as I would have loved a fresh start, AND a chance to stalk Amalah and Noah at Gymboree, ultimately, I hope to stay here for good. Because I’m home.

NYC will always have my heart, and always be a part of me, but I don’t belong there anymore. I belong with my family. The family I’ve built here in the Garden State.

So. My name is Michele. I’m from New Jersey. I don’t just live here anymore. After all these years I’m finally home.

I don’t recommend utilizing my accounting services

I don’t appear to know how to count. This is so far from my 200th post, it is laughable. It’s actually, my 144th, but don’t go by me. Obviously I can’t handle such matters.

OK, even at my most self-deprecating, I just can’t let the interwebs think I’m a straight up moron preparing taxes in NJ. This post is post id #200 according to wordpress, but evidently, some of my old blogger posts got double posted when I imported, and I deleted them, yet the ids remain the same. Don’t worry, I won’t make you all wait for my “big” 200th post. Tomorrow. December 2009 at the latest. 

In my daughter’s eyes

I’ll start with some Ducky goodness:

Duck and I drove up to Connecticut to visit my mom and grandmother on Sunday. And my cousin, Ducky’s “Uncle BUCKY!!” came over to visit. It was a spur of the moment thing. We were supposed to go last Saturday for Mother’s Day, but I had cement in my head a bad cold. All my life, my mother and grandmother have always made the effort to visit people. I’m ashamed to admit how much more often my mother visits me, than I her. So I stopped whining about having to deal with the NJ Turnpike and the George Washington Bridge and the Cross Bronx Expressway, and just got my ass up there.

It was totally worth it. My mom made stuffed peppers and later we got an assload of chocolate from the store my cousin works in. Also, blah blah blah, family time, talkyspeak.

My mom and grandmother literally live on the beach. It’s a rocky beach, so I’ve given up on swimming there since about 1989. Aquasocks can not tame the boulders they call rocks there, and it sucks to swim with sneakers on. The sandy beach is about a mile and a half down the road. And I think in the 20 years my grandmother has lived there, we’ve only bothered to trudge down there about 4 times.

One of the things I remember most about this beach were the hours my cousin and I spent throwing rocks. He’s good. He can skip a rock 8 times on surf. And now my daughter is doing it too. It was awesome to see her sitting on the edge of the walkway, with my mother’s hand firmly on the strap of her dress, chucking the rocks bigger than her head into the water. It’s amazing how little things change.

If I have counted right, my next post is a my 200th. I’ve had a post brewing for a while, and now I know why I haven’t posted it before. Also upcoming, is my blogiversary on June 1, and then The Highlander’s birthday on June 6 Expect a sappy ass entry about how much I love the big guy, and Ducky is turning the big 3 on June 9. Expect a detailed birth story. I wasn’t blogging when she was born, so look out. I got lots to say!!!