Maui: What’s Not to Like?

How was our trip? In a word: glorious. Maui was gorgeous.

We did not seem able to drag Viva off the beach. Every time we spent more than 15 minutes in the car, she’d start to whine, “When are we going to the beach?” so while we managed to check out a few other parts of the island, it was by no means a comprehensive tour. For my money, that was better than running around like Type A crazy people, parasailing, SCUBA-ing, whale watching, luauing, and all the rest. We actually relaxed and rested for most of the trip. (Sweet Dub did go on a sunrise 38-mile bike ride down a volcano, which he says was amazing beyond description.) I did not check phone messages, e-mail messages, or blog feeds while we were gone. Needless to say, I’m a little behind, but it was well worth it.

One snippet from the trip:

We are having lunch in Lahaina with two of Sweet Dub’s friends from college, who he hasn’t seen since he graduated 512 years ago. They live on Oahu and made a day trip over to see us while we were semi-close-by.

Female friend: So, what do you think of Maui so far?

Sweet Dub: Oh my God, it’s incredible. The ocean, the air, everything is so beautiful – you wouldn’t believe the rainbow we saw the other day! It was—

Female friend [snorts]: Rainbows! GAWD – All you tourists are busy looking at rainbows and I’ve got to get to work! Quit looking at the damn rainbows!

Big Red X's

Counting down the days to vacation. I have been so busy at work --

[Excuse me. I was just interrupted by my hubs, asking if I was blogging finally. I mumbled yes and kept typing.

Sweet W: Are you blogging about how I'm lying on the couch, watching HBO--

Mama Blah: No, I'm not saying anything about you.

SW: Why not? [shrieking hysterically] It should ALWAYS BE ABOUT ME!

So you see what I'm dealing with.]

At any rate, we leave next Monday. Here is the Blah Blah party line when asked about anything, anything at all, particularly work-related: first, you must interrupt the offending party by standing with one arm stretched out toward them and your hand up, palm facing them, in the international symbol for "stop." Then you say, "Excuse me, are you Hawaiian? Are you offering me a drink and showing me where the best food is on Maui? No? Then why are you talking to me?"

This seems to have actually been effective at Sweet Dub's job. At mine, they laugh and then continue to ask me about the best way to report on domestic violence statistics. That doesn't seem quite fair.

P.S. Sweet Dub is currently switching between watching a Bunny Ranch documentary on HBO and Planet Earth: Life in the Desert on the Discovery Channel. What more need be said, really? You see what I'm dealing with.

The Words Are Late

I am afraid that I did not get very much accomplished today as far as work goes. I found an interesting blog today: Syntax and Soul. (Note: This is not why I did not get much accomplished today. I just couldn't get my thoughts together. But tomorrow morning, I am sure, the adrenaline will kick in when I realize how much I have left to do, and I will burn through the project I'm working on and shape it into usable form. )

I like this entry for its description of various people's reactions to a delayed flight at the airport, but particularly for the term "arguing with reality." I think this is a very common and silly thing to do, and I know that I am quite often guilty of it. And I recognized myself toward the end:

The planes come, if not on time. The words come, if not when I want them. I do best when I use the time of waiting engaged in something other than arguing with reality.

The planes come, and I have never missed a deadline.

Scatterbrained. What?

I am working from home today and barely know what to do with myself. We welcomed a new VP to our department three weeks ago and since then I have been even more insanely busy than usual - mainly because we are approaching the end of one fiscal year and the beginning of another and we have been working together to create a work plan for our department. The new VP is a great addition to our department - very positive, lots of great ideas and follow-through - and we are all very excited. However, I'm finding it difficult to get other work done.

My blog looks like crap and I want to fix it but have not made the time.* Has anyone out there used Listal.com? I like the look of Shelfari for cataloguing my library but I'd also like to include music I'm listening to, where it updates automatically on my blog as I add it to my online account.** It would be wonderful to be able to do both things on one site rather than having to either update manually on my blog template or update two separate sites. Since I'm barely posting to my blog these days, I need to find something that is fairly quick and easy.

I am also trying to figure out how I can make my blog a little more specialized. When I post, my thoughts tend to be all over the place, depending on what I'm interested in that day. Now some might say I'm a dilettante, but some might say I have a bit of attention-deficit going on. What? Where was I? Oh, you!

I guess what I am resisting is the idea that I might be pigeonholed in some way depending on what I write about. But even reading back over that sentence makes me want to smack myself - I mean, just frickin' write something, for God's sake.

Here's what I want to write about: family dynamics (I had a great Mother's Day post in my head, but hey, that was days ago), children's welfare issues, race and gender issues, parenting in general, parenting in an environmentally responsible way, real estate, clothes, and shoes. And I'd like to reserve the right to occasionally post about politics, religion, philosophy and pop culture. You know, I'm just multidimensional, is all. I'm embracing that in myself because I am a strong woman warrior who needs answer to no one.

Okay, I no longer know what the hell I'm talking about, so I'm signing off. Love and kisses!

* "Our perception that we have 'no time' is one of the distinctive marks of modern Western culture." - Margaret Visser

** UPDATE: Never mind, I found a Pandora widget. Now I just have to figure out how to bookmark what I'm listening to. Whee!

Blazin'

Greetings from Los Angeles, where fire season is officially underway. It's about 80 degrees here today, unless you happen to live within the vicinity of Griffith Park, which is ON FIRE. The fire, which started yesterday at around 1:30 in the afternoon, has snarled traffic in the area and deposited great quantities of ash in my backyard and all over my car. Yesterday evening, as Viva and I were returning home (a 5 mile trip that took 45 minutes), you could see a gigantic dark plume of smoke churning just behind the Griffith Park Observatory. Have I mentioned that I live a mere stone's throw from the park? Whee, good times.

Fortunately, no lives have been lost, although one man was reportedly badly burned in the blaze. My grandmother, who lives 45 miles north of me, called me at work today to tell me in her inimitable way that she had been "follerin' the fire" on TV and that they were evacuating my neighborhood. This was news to me, and to my elderly next-door neighbor, who I called immediately. "But the sky is blue!" she protested, popping outside to look. "There's no smoke!" The evacuations actually happened last night, and at last report, people were being allowed to return to their homes today. I guess Grandma was a little late to the party.

Viva was intrigued by the fire, if a little disturbed that our favorite hiking area was being burned to a crisp (and by inference, all the animals that reside therein - On a related note, the L.A. Zoo miraculously escaped unscathed). When she got up this morning, she said, "Is the fire out?" When I told her that it wasn't, she insisted she must watch the news. Then she muttered something about the stock market, but I didn't quite catch it.

We did have a wonderful teaching moment while in the car on the interminable ride to school (again, 45 minutes to go 5 miles, thanks to the freeway and street closures): Viva asked what had started the fire. "They say it was a cigarette," I said.

"A what?" Viva said.

"Cig – a – rette," I said. "He was smoking. This is another reason why you should never take up smoking."

"Nobody should ever have a shug-a-rette," Viva said stoutly.

Words to live by, my friends.

Land of Opportunity and Traffic

The people have spoken. At any rate, Cee in SF has spoken, calling me out on my slackerness: "New post! New post!! We want a new post!" her comment shrieks. I wish I could tell you I've been doing something exciting, but in fact, I've been working a lot (yes, even weekends). Ugh, no good.

Happy May Day, my peeps. If you are here in Los Angeles, you know that we are in the midst of immigration rallies which are expected to immobilize downtown and Koreatown, although turnout is anticipated to be much lower than last year. Anecdotally, I know that some folks who marched last year are discouraged that the march didn't seem to have much of an impact – i.e., that immigration reform hasn't made much progress in the legislature.

I realize that immigration is a hot-button word these days. The message boards on all the immigration stories are particularly nasty. My opinion on undocumented immigrants and all the issues surrounding them is not fixed in stone, and the more I learn about it, the less I think that there's an easy fix. The U.S. has not secured its borders, provides free emergency healthcare and public education, and let's face it, supports a capitalist system that makes a bigger profit when it uses low-wage workers. It seems pretty clear what the draw is, so now what?

But, I digress and I only have a second to write this*. Since I work in Koreatown, the site of the second demonstration of the day – one which will start mere blocks from my office building at 2 pm and then travel south and east to reconvene for a 5:30 pm rally – is of concern to me, primarily because I have to drive straight through that area during my evening commute. I have a 3:30 meeting and I really want to bail. I wish I had been able to work from home today. Yes, it's all about me. Viva la self-absorption!

* I've already been interrupted twice. You see how it is.

So Much to Say

Apologies to everyone out there in BlogLand. I have been experiencing an unusually heavy workload of late, and I don't anticipate it lightening until at least June. I am working from home today so I can get in uninterrupted time on a $900,000 project that is due Monday. And yet, after I dropped Viva off at school, I ran by the supermarket to get a few things. It's a beautiful day today here in Los Angeles, clear and sunny. The sky is blue, it's breezy -- in short, it's a day when it's hard to be in a bad mood. As I got out of my car in front of the market, I took a deep breath of spring air and felt a bit wistful for the days when Viva was a wee tot, when my most pressing decision was whether to go to the park, the library, or maybe venture out to the children's museum.

Don't get me wrong -- I love the people I work with, I love the organization I work for, and I think what I do for a living actually does make a difference. But I miss the unstructured free time. What a luxury! I was so blessed to be able to stay home with Viva for the first 2.5 years of her life, and I know that.

I just know that our lives ran more smoothly when I was home. When Viva was first in preschool (a few hours a day, three days a week), I began freelancing again and that was great, too. I was making a little money and utilizing my brain cells and during the week I was able to do all the things that made our lives easier -- grocery shopping, cleaning, scheduling doctor's appointments and haircuts, getting the car serviced, whatever. Now all that minutiae is crammed into my weekends, when all I really want to do is relax and spend time with my family. I'm not exercising, and I'm not doing any creative writing. It kind of sucks.

I relayed all this to Sweet Dub recently, and he groaned. "Now you want to quit your job?" he said, and then screamed theatrically, "Why can't I ever make you happy?"

I'm not quitting my job. That would be silly, and it would really squeeze us financially. I'm just, like every other working mother out there, trying to figure out how I can make things work better. I think they call it balance.

Perhaps more coffee is the answer.

In other world news: Viva turned 4 on April 1st. This was a happy occasion and I will remember it with great fondness, always, especially because almost immediately afterward she morphed into this great whining, screaming, constantly pissed-off creature. Every now and then, on the weekends mostly, her old, sweeter side will show itself. I cherish those moments. I am really disliking the age of Four. It has failed all my expectations of it.

On vacation: we are traveling to Maui in June*. Can I get a "fuck, yeah!" We haven't had a real vacation since, well, forever. We went to Legoland last April for Viva's birthday, but I really don't think that counts. Sweet Dub and I have been trying to get to Hawaii since 2001. We were supposed to go for our honeymoon, but you know, we got married three weeks after 9/11 and travel was a very scary proposition at that time. So here we are, five-and-a-half years later. I'd say we earn points for patience.

And finally, last but certainly not least: a HUGE and hearty and very affectionate congratulations to the entire Oral Hygiene Royal Family. (I have been meaning to congratulate you for, I don't know, weeks? And I can't ever get near my blog or any blogs to comment? Frickin' firewall.) I wish you all the very best on the new addition! Sneaky, sneaky!


* We will be traveling sans grandma. She has serious sinus issues causing her sinus passages to fill up with fluid if a flower even looks at her the wrong way. Since Hawaii is pretty much abloom with tropical floral goodness round-the-clock, it seems pretty likely Mama Jay would be incapacitated as soon as the plane landed. Oh well -- so much for her free vacation. Sweet Dub's best friend, who has a 5-year-old daughter, is trying to schedule a few days in Maui when we are there, so maybe this will all work out just fine. I am a little bummed, because unlike most folks, I adore my crazy mother-in-law, but I guess it's not in the cards.

Comments and Commentary

Commenters: If any of you are still reading, know that I can receive your comments, but due to the funky firewall at work, I can't respond. Since I hardly ever log on while at home (due to the eyestrain of sitting in front of a computer for 8 hours a day at work), this is problematic. I swear to you that I will answer comments tomorrow, when I will work from home.

Moving on:

It is Monday evening. Sweet Dub and I watch the first few scenes of The Tudors. Henry VIII seems horrifically unhappy, although he pretty much does whatever he wants. When we get to the second sex scene in ten minutes of viewing, Henry is about to bed his handmaiden (or some other serving wench, I don't know her exact title). He says, "Do you consent?" and she says breathlessly, "I do, Your Majesty," falling into his arms in a near-swoon, with her clothes tumbling off.

"WHAT?!" Sweet Dub exclaims, rewinding it through the power of TiVo. " 'Do you consent?' What kind of PC bullshit is that?! That's it for me," he says, firmly handing me the remote and stomping from the room.

So much for that series. It pretty much lost all credibility right there.

Aloha

Anyone out there been to Hawaii with a preschooler? We are trying to plan a vacation in May (ha!) and while we had originally planned on Kauai, we got sidetracked to Maui and now have recommendations to go to Honolulu. I don't want to go somewhere too touristy*, but I want to make sure we have amenities. I don't want to spend my vacation in a Motel 6. I'm torn between staying at a resort so we'd have the option of the pool, room service when we want it, etc., and renting a condo or bungalow or something. My mother-in-law will be coming with us so she can get away from it all and also provide some babysitting if we want to go out at night.

Any thoughts? I know it's not the most earth-shattering decision I'll ever make, but I am truly without a clue. I've never been to Hawaii. Anyone?

*As Sweet Dub says, "It's all going to be touristy to some extent."

Low-Rent and High (In Three Parts)

Part the First

Seen today in the building where I work:

Please respect the building tenants and do not urinate in the stairwells.

(And yes, there has evidently been a veritable epidemic of stairwell peeing in my office building. Nice.)

Part the Second

Sweet Dub gave me a picture of himself posing with the director of the movie he's been working on. I took it to work with me because I thought it was hilarious. First of all, Sweet Dub does not have a small head (no, that's not a euphemism, you dirty, dirty, naughty thing), but the director? His head looks about the size of a battleship in this picture, dwarfing my husband's head to the size of a coconut. Some might say this is symbolic of how he thinks of himself, but certainly I would never take it there. No, indeedy. I know which side my bread is buttered on. But the director is also sneering mockingly at the camera, clearly cheesing it up a bit. It makes me laugh just to look at it. So when Sweet Dub called a few minutes ago, I mentioned that I was looking at the picture.

"You hung it up at work?" he said.

"Yeah, it's up on my bulletin board," I said.

"That's kind of goofy," he said.

Hello? Have you just met me? Goofy is my middle name.

Part the Third

Speaking of brushes with celebrity, on Monday afternoon, I worked half a day in the office and half a day at home after lunching with the lovely Cee, her sister, and an anonymous friend who shall remain nameless in the interest of anonymity. At about 4:30, I realized Sweet Dub and Viva would be home soon, and there was nothing to eat for dinner. I hopped into my BlahBlahMobile and motored on over to the local Gelson's on the Los Feliz/Silverlake border. You know the one, across the street from Trader Joe's? I grabbed a cart and swung over toward the meat product section, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a smartly-yet-funkily-dressed fellow with locs, pushing a cart. I am usually not one to celeb-gawk, but I did a double take, because for a split second I thought it was Wyclef Jean, but then I realized it was will.i.am. At the same time, he realized he had been recognized, and broke out in a big smile, and said hello. I am quite sure he was admiring my snazzy red boots. I said hello, and then, feeling all "first day of high school" geeky, I ducked my head and ran off to get some boneless skinless chicken. Because that's how I roll, baby.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of Tums.

Glitz, Glamour, Gaaaaah

Sweet Dub has been working madly on a movie since - oh, August, I think. It is almost done. Release date imminent.

He mentioned to me yesterday, in tones usually used by one who is broaching the subject of "say, maybe we should think about putting Grandma in a home," that we would be expected to attend the L.A. premiere. Which is in a matter of days. Not weeks. DAYS.

I know, I know, how exciting, how great, blah blah blah. Where the hell am I supposed to find a dress, shoes, appropriate jewels, etc. in a matter of days? Have I mentioned that I'm also planning our child's birthday party (now two weeks away)?

An added treat: he and everyone involved with the movie will be working on it non-stop, 17 hours a day, for the next week or so. Including the weekends. So if you thought I could maybe go frock-shopping sans the child, you thought wrong. Since I can't even take her shopping for her own shoes without her telling me how bored she is, you can only imagine how extremely ever not fun this is going to be.

The good news is that Sweet Dub will be getting a screen credit. And the director is letting him approve everything up until the final cut. (At least I think that's what he said.) It is exciting, and he is excited, and I am excited for him.

I'm just freaked about having to look my cutest, most sophisticated-yet-funky self without proper notice. You know.

The Power of Positive Thinking

My company leases office space in a fairly large office building. I had a reserved parking spot for one month, and let me tell you, that was heavenly. However, I only had it thanks to some technical snafu. Henceforth, I have had to look for a space just like everybody else. This is usually okay, unless I need to drive somewhere at lunchtime, and quite often when I return, I end up having to leave my keys with an attendant and let him stack my car. This, too, is okay, unless at the end of the day I am running late and need to go get Viva, at which point I need my car ten minutes ago and don't want to deal with all the shuffling cars around to get mine out.

My sister-in-law, the Diva, mentioned that she just "calls on the parking angels" when she is trying to find a spot, and it always works. This sounds a bit ridiculous, I know, but one day as I was driving back into the parking garage during a particularly busy time of day, I remembered the parking angels and decided to visualize a space as I was driving in.

It works. Every single time. For weeks, I have not needed to leave my keys with anybody. I relayed this to Sweet Dub last night as we were going to bed.

"Why don't you visualize a big bag of money in that space?" he said, turning his back on me and flumping into his pillow. "Sheeit."

I may just try that. I'll let you know how it goes.

Happy Monday

So for the past several weeks I haven't been able to find the charger for my cell phone. In puzzlement, I've gone through all the places it could possibly be. I've rummaged through drawers. I've checked places it would have absolutely no business being. My phone is now constantly beeping at me that the battery is low. This is because, on a 35- to 40-minute commute to drive over to Viva's school, drop her off, get back in my car and drive to work, I generally only think to use the car charger when I'm say, about a mile from work. I'm reluctant to go buy a replacement because I know as soon as I do, I will find it.

It has been a bit vexing.

This morning, after being at work about half an hour, I was pulling a file out of a drawer that I don't use that much, and that's when I saw it. Plugged into the wall, about a foot-and-a-half from where I spend much of my working day. In full view.

My powers of observation, they are strong. Not fully utilized, it seems, but strong.

Addendum - Media Links

Hey, so I forgot to add, if you are interested in this sort of thing (I know I am completely fascinated by it): check out the website for the national Conference for Media Reform. Great transcripts, and great video. I particularly like Geena Davis' address, which I heard replayed on KPCC-FM during their pledge drive. You should visit her non-profit's site, See Jane, if you want more info on the lack of representation of women and girls in the media. One example of the gender disparity their research uncovered: overall, three out of four characters in the 101 top-grossing G-rated movies (1990-2004) are male, and during that time period, there was no change in that percentage -- i.e., you can't see any improvement. We still got a long way to go, baby. Also take a look at Media Matters. They pretty much obsessively monitor the media for misinformation and unhealthy trends.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Disney: Too Little, Too Late?

Regular readers of this blog (hello!) know of my aversion to the whole Disney princess marketing machine. I oppose it on many many grounds. You can imagine that I was completely floored yesterday when my sweet husband dropped this bombshell on me:

Sweet Dub: Hey! You'renevergonnabelieveit: Disney is finally coming out with a black princess!

Mama Blah: Oh my GOD [metaphorically dropping a huge bag of groceries, including several dozen eggs on the floor in my shock]! What? When?

Sweet Dub: Yeah, apparently it's in development and it should be out sometime in 2008.

Mama Blah: Wow. [hoping against hope: please let it not be bad, please let it not be bad] So what's the storyline? What's the setting?

Sweet Dub: It's called the Frog Princess, and it's set in New Orleans. And the princess is black black -- not a light-skinned girl.*

I haven't been able to find any images online**, so I can't comment on that. But here's the official release and another release, same day, talking about Disney's support for New Orleans and the Gulf region. Disney loves black people! How could I have been so wrong all these years?

Until this morning, I had no idea that there was a petition going around about Disney's lack of a black princess. I admit that I have mixed feelings about the whole princess thing - I think it's fun for little kids to play dress-up and all that, but I hesitate to endorse the message that life is all about sparkly things and pretty dresses. At the same time, some little girls just really love that shit, and if they do, at least they should have some damn representation. Now, Disney has yet to come up with a Latina princess, which I think is also a huge mistake from an economic standpoint if nothing else. But there at least there is a Dora princess story and accompanying doll.

And for those who wonder, "Why does everything have to be so politically correct? They're just kids!": Please. Don't play that. With the huge part media plays in how we see ourselves - when you have statistics that show that one-third of girls in third grade have been on a diet - don't try and tell me that this is just one more thing for us to be hypersensitive about. There's a reason we're hypersensitive. And there's no reason we should just lie down and be passive consumers.

I'll leave you with this plot summary from UltimateDisney.com, which suggests that it's probably not going to hit theaters for a few years anyway:

"The Frog Princess - This currently in development fairy tale is being closely watched for it is said to represent Disney's first 2D-animated feature since 2004's Home on the Range. Ron Clements and John Musker (The Little Mermaid, Aladdin) are writing and directing what is said to be a musical set in 1920s New Orleans. A casting call has revealed the lead characters to be Maddy, a 19-year-old chambermaid; Charlotte La Bouff, a spoiled 18-year-old southern debutante; villain Dr. Duvalier, a voodoo magician; and Mama Odie, a 200-year-old voodoo priest. In a departure from the norm, three of the four (not Charlotte) are African American. Though Alan Menken was originally pegged to handle the film's music, Pixar veteran Randy Newman is now said to hold this command. No release date has been set, but traditionally animated films have traditionally taken about four years from first news to reaching the big screen, making this unlikely to show up until 2010."

* Not that there's anything wrong with being light-skinned. Hoo, let's not even go there.

** Updated to add: here's an image, courtesy of blog reader Emma (hi, Emma!). I'm a little taken aback by the headdress thing, but I'll reserve judgment until I see it in context.

Note to My Future Self (First in an Occasional Series)

Dear Self,

We (You of the Future*, and I of the Now) have this problem. Rarely do we use our printer to print anything other than an 8.5 by 11 standard letter-sized document. About once or twice a year, usually at Viva's birthday and Christmas, we try to feed odd-sized paper into the machine to print out invitations or Christmas cards. Inevitably, the format is all screwy. Inevitably, we have forgotten since last time how we got the damn thing to work. It's a silly thing, but it's annoying.

The problem is that the paper is non-standard size, and the computer for whatever reason is not communicating to the printer that are feeding it non-standard paper, even though we have typed in the measurements in page setup. So it goes through as if it is printing on letter-size paper. Which is to say, it will print halfway across the (test**) page and lose half of the intended message. Why is it that this sort of thing never works to my advantage? Like, doesn't it seem to you that if I have to experience some sort of technical snafu, couldn't it be of the electronic banking variety, in my (our) favor? I'm just saying.

Here is what I have discovered, Future Self: you have to trick the computer. Ooh, tricksy. Tell it that you are printing on paper that is 8.5 inches wide. Measure the difference between 8.5 and the actual paper width. Add the difference to the margin in page setup. Try it, try it, you will see. Future Self, it will work. And there will be much rejoicing across the land.

Of course, it is after midnight and although I've figured this out, I haven't tried it yet because our husband is sleeping scant yards away and he will undoubtedly wake up if I make even the slightest sound, aside from tapping on the keyboard. Have you noticed he's a really light sleeper? Have you trained him to sleep more than 5 hours at a stretch, Future Self? Does he still say things like "I'm going to tattoo a blog across my body so maybe you'll pay attention to me"? Oh, you forgot about that?

Good luck, Future Self. Especially with the ozone and all that.

Muchos smoochos,
Me of the Now

* Hey, by the way, Future Self, what is it like there? Can cars fly? Can pigs fly? Has an asteroid hit the earth? Hello? Are you there?

** I never never use the actual "snazzily pre-printed, limited number of pieces" paper on the first go. I always start with a sample on the basic Office Depot multipurpose paper. Learn from my mistakes, Future Self (and any other poor souls out there).

Where Do I Start?

I have a moment to blog, and I barely know what to do. Rather than going over all my health issues (I promised last time I wouldn't, remember, and I'm keeping my promise), I'm just going to jump all over the place with random bits.

Viva
Turning 4 in less than a month. She has talked at me about her party pretty much daily for the last six months, without even a break for Christmas. Do you understand what I'm saying? The child would not even let Christmas distract her. Needless to say, the party planning is in full swing.

Sweet Dub
Working 11-hour days these days. Exhausted. Said to me at 6:30 this morning: "Sometimes at work I answer the phone, 'Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.*' Is that weird?"

Jean-Jean
Seems to have a girlfriend. Little calico number. Seems to like Sweet Dub better than he likes me, which is patently unfair, considering Sweet Dub doesn't even like cats.

World Peace
Still elusive as ever.

* Warning: before you click on this link, turn down the volume on your computer. The music is pretty loud --but maybe that's because I'm online during that funky woozy time when my child is kind of drifting off but at the point where pretty much anything is an excuse for getting up.

E-mail blogging

Testing, testing, one two three...

Oh my God, can it be true? I can't post anything on my blog from work, and I have been having trouble with my wireless at home. However, theoretically, I can post via e-mail, which I could theoretically do from work as a break between projects and meetings and the like.

This is my first attempt. Fingers crossed...

Laffy Taffy

I forgot to mention my new imaginary boyfriend, Stephen Chow.

If you've seen Kung Fu Hustle, you have seen him. If you haven't, run out right now and get it -- whether through Netflix or Blockbuster or satellite whoseewhatsis. And while you're at it, please also get my new favorite movie, Shaolin Soccer, which cemented my love for him. There are several scenes in this movie which only get funnier on repeated viewings.

Warning: these are not epic movies with grand themes exploring deep social issues. They're just fun, and they'll make you laugh.

365*

Hi, oh hi! How are you out there?

I am not quite so very great today. Today is one of the days when I wish that my new doctor, who is not in a rush to cut me open, was in a bit more of a rush to cut me open. Here is the news from Fibroidland: I have five fibroids. The largest one is the size of a tangerine** and it's located posteriorally (I swear that's what she said), pressing on my back and rectum. Yes, I just took it there. Sorry. But what's the Internet for if not to lay bare all the most embarrassing details of my life? You're still reading, aren't you? I thought so.

But that explains why I'm so frigging uncomfortable. Now here's the funny part, and I mean funny if you have a sick sense of humor, not funny if you like silly sophomoric Van Wilder-type humor. She wants to treat it medically, with a low-estrogen birth control pill, rather than surgically. She's hoping that the Pill will, by putting lower doses of estrogen into my body than I produce naturally, shrink the fibroids and alleviate my discomfort. Now, I can't start taking the Pill until I start my next cycle (another two weeks), and I have to take the Pill for two to three months before getting checked again to see if it's working. Are you following this?

I went to her because I was so miserable that I couldn't go on this way. And it appears that this may go on for another three months. You see what I mean about the not-so-funny part?

Now, since my symptoms come and go, at the time she told me this, I thought, Well, I like that she's being cautious and not so scalpel-happy. She's right, we shouldn't do anything rash. But since today is a bad pain day, I'm thinking, Hell, nah, this fucking sucks. Cut me open and be done with it before I do it myself!

(I know. I am not much with the threats. Even imaginary ones.)

So my friend Cee suggested this herbal remedy for the cramping. I have gone to four stores in search of it and somehow in the process managed to get an appointment for acupuncture tomorrow from a Chinese herbalist in Koreatown. The acupuncture may help. I'm desperate for anything that will work. Ironically, since my research into Chinese medicine indicates that they believe most illness of this sort can be traced to an underfunctioning liver and/or kidneys, I am loath to take over-the-counter pain medications because they can further stress the liver.

And my blogging blackout continues. I'll try to post in the evenings from home, and I promise next time to post about something other than this unrelenting ailment. Peace out.

* I noticed just before I started typing this that it's my 365th post. That is impressive perhaps only to me.

** I like tangerines. Nothing against tangerines. Tangerines! I could eat 'em like candy!