Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Curling, pillows and smelly cat

I must admit that I've really gotten into Olympic curling. I don't totally understand it, but it's fun to watch anyway.

Last night, Chris and I came home from a wake (sadly, this was the second wake Maya's attended in her 5 months of life), opened a beer, and promptly fell asleep on the couch watching women's curling. When I awoke and tried to get Chris to come up to bed later, we had this exchange:

Chris: Did you remember the stuff?
Me: What stuff?
Chris: The baby's hair stuff.
Me: Huh?
Chris: The stuff she sits on.
Me: What?
Chris: The Olympic stuff.
Me: What stuff?
Chris: The curling stuff.
Me: What are you talking about?
Chris: Nevermind. 

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but Chris talks in his sleep. Not often enough or with enough hilarity to start a blog like this one, but it's nonetheless entertaining — like the time a few years ago when he woke me up and asked me if I remembered to get the dog's uniform. 

Although sometimes it's a little scary. For example, a few weeks ago he got up in the middle of the night and started patting down his pillow. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he wanted to see if the baby was in there. I of course freaked out and started asking him why the baby would be in his pillow case. He got confused and went back to sleep. I ran to the crib, where the baby was sleeping soundly.

There have been many other times he's woken me up to ask me random questions. Unfortunately, I usually fall asleep again and can't remember what was exchanged. I should start keeping my cell phone nearby so I can tweet what he says.

In totally unrelated news, I've been reading this blog lately called This Old Smelly House. It's about a couple who bought a house from a crazy cat lady. Some of the stuff they've uncovered is eerily similar to things we've found. It makes me wish I had done a better job of documenting every crazy discovery we made after moving in because — surprisingly, and somewhat sadly — the walls covered in bird poop and pee-soaked carpeting were just the tip of the iceberg.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Sweet free

If you watch way too much TV like I do, you might have noticed that the fast food restaurants are starting to roll out their fish-themed advertising. (McDonald's "Give me back that filet-of-fish" is easily my fave, though I haven't seen it yet this year). This influx of meat-free ads means one thing: it's Lent. Well, almost. It starts tomorrow.

After sort of giving up alcohol last year (I gave it up, but really just used Lent as an excuse for not drinking because I hadn't revealed my pregnancy yet), and giving up meat in 2008, I thought I'd try on a new vice to banish. So as of tomorrow, I'm giving up sweets. No cakes, cookies, candies or confections.

Appropriately, I've so far spent my Fat Tuesday eating Oreos and chocolate-covered pretzels.

This is a strange restriction for me. During my college years, I totally lost my sweet tooth. I'm not sure why. I remember going months without eating sweets for no reason other than having absolutely no taste for them. Then, I graduated and started working in an office. And that's when the 3 p.m. sweet tooth set in.

Now, when late-afternoon rolls around and my morning coffee has long worn off, I start scavenging for sweets. Mostly, this scavenging takes places in my cube mate's desk drawer. When the drawer's offerings aren't up to my standards, I try the kitchen on the off-chance that there are leftover cookies from a client meeting, or one of our many fabulous home bakers brought in some goodies. When all those options bear no fruit, I usually give up. Although on occasion, I hit up the vending machines or convenience store for my fix (typically, peanut M&Ms).

I still haven't worked out the exact restrictions. Can I have a fruity cocktail? O how about pancakes if I don't use syrup? And what about jelly? I don't know. Guess I'll figure it out along the way (i.e. justify that something isn't technically a "sweet," eat it, and then feel guilty....have I mentioned that I'm not Catholic?)

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Christmas Cards

Back in December, I sent out a round of Christmas cards, mostly to people who live out of town, knowing that those cards would take the longest to arrive. Then, in mid-January, I sent out another set. This time to family in and around Chicago. I saved many of my friends for the last stack, knowing they'd be most forgiving about receiving a Christmas card in late-January.

But now it's February, and that stack of about 20 cards still sits on my desk at work. Cards I stuffed into envelopes, addressed and return addressed, and then never sent. I have excuses: Every time I went to CVS to get stamps, they were out. Then I went back to work full time, then we went out of town, then... it just never happened.

So I've decided that as penance for my extreme tardiness, I need to hand deliver the rest of my Christmas cards. Because really, I'd rather visit and socialize with my friends than send them some meaningless card. That's the whole Christmas spirit, right? Taking the time to keep in touch with old friends?

At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

Merry Christmas everybody!