June, 2009

i couldn't find the north star

I saw the Big Dipper last night. I never really understood why people got so excited about stars, constellations, and space. They always made me feel so small and insignificant. The thought of space frightens me. It just… I can’t really put it into words. But one of the good things about being in Illinois is that you can gradually get over the weird fear of space.

I grew up in Virginia which is known for hills, trees, beaches, shrubs, and is stuffed to the gills with restaurants, buildings, roads, big signs, houses, helicopters, hospitals, and other exciting city elements. You can see chips and fragments of sky but it’s usually impeded by something or another. Even the beach has either fluffy dunes in the background or tall hotels towering into the sky and spilling their shadows onto the sand held back only by the busy boardwalk, which rockets the smells of sizzling foods, lemonade, and sunscreen. (dreamy sigh)

It’s one of the weird things about Illinois that you can be surrounded by all the elements of the city and yet just go twenty minutes out of your way and be surrounded by big spacious skies, fields of corn and electrical towers. That’s it. With a dilapidated house or fancy tractor every few hundred miles to keep it interesting. Everything is open with sky and clouds as far as you can see. I think that it has helped me to come to terms with my awe of space.

Typical Illinois

So last night while I was riding in the back seat on our way home from an impromptu vacation, I saw the stars with such brilliance. They looked so beautiful, so special. Sparkling. And for a moment I had a great appreciation for the rest of the universe. Shortly after my moment was over, I was back to whining about wanting to drive because I LOVE night driving and Andy was hogging it all. I think he’s fallen in love with night driving too.

The feeling of driving at night is like being at a big party with any other car that happens to chance the highway at the same time as you. Your apparel glints off the spotlights and you both are very careful to avoid walking into each other while trying to enjoy yourself and rock out to the music. There is a feel, a vibe at night that you just don’t get during the day. The road is yours.

The only unfortunate thing is when your passengers aren’t all zonked out asleep so you have to watch your father-in-law frantically grab the arm rest when he notices you are going quite a bit over the speed limit. YOU CAN GET A TICKET! THEY HAVE RADAR! To which I must respond: I’m certain that policemen have much better things to do on a Monday morning at 2am than pull over someone going only 16 miles over the speed limit. And besides, you were praising my driving just a second ago until you realized how quickly we were pelting through space. Certainly policemen will be focused on solving crimes in the city rather than bothering with someone on the interstate well outside of any actual city driving a bit over the speed limit.

Breh. And I have this to say to the Taco Bell that I thought was 24 hours but turns out is only open until 2am: YOU LET ME DOWN! I LOVE YOU GUYS AND WHAT HAPPENED? Your fourth meal ads can go fuck themselves. When is FOURTH meal supposed to happen, right after dinner? I showed up twenty minutes too late raring to kill my FIL and jonesing for three crunchy tacos with hot sauce. Only to be denied! You were my salvation!

I should have took over driving for Andy sooner. We would have gotten there in time. It seems that my careful instruction of teaching him how to drive and constant harping of speed limits have left him unaware of the Code of Night Driving:

  • Don’t be a jackass and leave your brights on when others show up on the road.
  • Stay in the left lane and leave the right lane for the truckers. Unless for some insane reason you are actually driving the speed limit in which case, stay to the right please.
  • Feel free to go 10 miles over the speed limit if all conditions are fair and the road is open. Go for it.
  • If neurotic relatives are present, try to only go 5 miles over the speed limit until they drift off to sleep, then back to business as usual.

He needs to work on number 3. Of course, I’m tempted to not tell him at all and just let him keep things as they are. It’s probably safer.



this just in from the kanga's pouch!

I’ve been sitting on a really funny link for about two hours today trying to think of something terribly witty to say that links it to my life but honestly, the link is just so damn amusing that it needs no interlude.

And all my jokes were kangaroo pouch related so it really works for the best that I’m not going to use them.

Stoned wallabies are the reason for crop circles found in parts of Australia. Apparently the little beasts get high in medical poppy fields and bounce in circles out of excitement! Serious. It’s on the BBC.

If that isn’t the most profound thing you’ve read today, please raise your hand.



tonight's serenade



share your knowledge por favor

Calling all cooks or avid googlers, I’m looking for the easiest possible way to cook roast beef so that it still comes out tasting amazing.

I ate three plates of roast beef yesterday at a buffet (what? I need the iron) and I’ve got to start cooking it up at home. I’ve never tried it before but I do have a crock pot and I also have one of those turkey roasting pans that you can fit 9 month old babies in although I’d rather not use that because then that means it’d have to go in the oven and good God our house would be positively sweltering. I am going to be picking up a roast sometime this week when I get to the grocery store and umyescookingit. Even in this melt your skin off weather because that food was damn delicious.

Um. So, I was curious if anyone has special recipes that they know they enjoy or can find a recipe that the innernets agree is fabulous or something. Because while I trust my Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, I don’t actually like to use it when I’m cooking. Everything I cook is a printed out recipe from online somewhere, on the back of a box, or is a jumble of what food we had available at the time to turn into a dinner.

ANYWAY. Thoughts, ideas, what have you. Share share.



license for maniacal transformation

I finally trudged up into our attic and retrieved my box of maternity clothes because this morning when I went to pull on a pair of pants, I almost broke my nose on the dresser trying to shimmy my hips into pants that fit two months ago. It was one of those Bridget Jones type moments.

But you know the great thing about opening a box of maternity clothes from a few years ago? Realizing what you have. I forgot that I’d gotten several pairs of pants. I’ve got about six pair of pants that actually fit me! And the best part? On the tag there is an M for Medium. I don’t think I can accurately portray how much that heals my vain little heart knowing that I can wear medium size pants again. Granted they are medium maternity, but still! The fact remains that they do not have an L for Large.

Say what you will but it’s the little things that can keep hormones from whisking you over the edge of a cliff when you are pregnant. That M meant the world.

Also, the fact that I could easily get on the pants and that I am comfortable in them! Even my yoga pants were getting uncomfortable, although that’s likely because they’ve been in the dryer about a hundred too many times and are likely now size 4s. I always have to buy my yoga pants two sizes bigger because they always shrink SO MUCH.

So… that’s good. I can wear pants. I CAN WEAR PANTS!

Speaking of awkward pregnanty situations, in two weeks I’ll be getting weekly shots of progesterone hormone and will likely be using this to my advantage to get out of such heinous tasks as putting away laundry.

The extra flux of hormones should increase the chances that this little fetus will hang out with me longer than Jasbaz did (March of Dimes Info or CBS article). That is always good so hopefully I’ll be a part of the happy percentage that praises the shots a few months after I’ve forgotten how much I hated getting the shots.

I was looking for an article that explicitly states that women getting this shot are prone to go batshit crazy and must be handled with extreme caution but I guess medical doctors have long ago learned that putting that sort of information online will only make it tougher on the menfolk. I was going to print it out, highlight it, laminate it, and staple it to Andy’s forehead but it looks like I’m going to have to do some photoshop work if I want that sort of document.

Thankfully the gents I work with are easily pacified with the info that I’ll be getting weekly hormone shots. They’ve had pregnant wives and the thought of additional hormones in an already tumultuous time probably already gave me an enormous amount of leeway for crazy. Yuss.