While I have long spouted the opinion that the bulk of the publications mentioned in this study are almost humorously out of touch and irrelevant, I still find the results both sad and noteworthy.
From this Madison Police Department Incident Report:
A confused and disoriented 32-year old Portage man was found hanging upside down in the driver’s seat of a Ford Escape Saturday afternoon. A seatbelt had kept him from rolling around, or being ejected from the vehicle after it rolled over in the 4800 block of E. Washington Ave. around 1:20 p.m. Investigators said it appeared the Escape had been northbound near East Springs Dr. when it went off the road, hit a snow bank, struck a light pole, and rolled over. The driver told an officer he wanted to get out and go in the house. The officer tried to let him know he had just been in a crash. Not the case, insisted the driver, as he repeatedly told the officer that his vehicle was in a parking lot across the street, and that he was not in the Ford at this time. Later the driver admitted he had been taking prescribed drugs, including morphine. He also said he had used heroin on the day prior. He was arrested for his 6th offense of intoxicated driving.
This should not be news at this point–the hubs, who is a much more vigilant blogger, has made no secret of it over here… in fact you can even see some silly pictures of Cletus the Fetus in my utero here, if you can figure out what the heck you’re looking at–but I am pretty pregnant.
At 21 weeks, I feel vast, and not vast like I finally have some grasp on the everyday miracle that is human life, but vast like no one told me I would have to buy special underwear before this was all said and done. For much of my life I have lovingly been told I have “birthing hips,” but now I discover that there is actually a whole new level of birthiness my hips are prepping for. It’s getting so that by the time 40 weeks rolls around the doctors are going to take one look at me and cancel the epidural.
Last night I noticed the waddle starting too. I had to get up in the middle of choir rehearsal to use the facilities, which required walking behind the director and in front of the entire choir for about fifty feet, before turning a corner out of sight. The first ten feet I was just walking urgently, as one does when one needs to pee, thinking thoughts like “Gee, I sure do have to pee.” But then I realized that I was probably wiggling from side to side a bit as I moved, and suddenly became enormously self conscious about the 40 or so people who could see me, causing me to speed up and my waddle to become even more pronounced. By the time I got to the door I was convinced everyone was marveling breathlessly as they watched me weeble-wobble my impressive girth across the room without tipping all the way over. My face actually got hot and I spent three long moments considering going from the bathroom straight to my car which I could use to go home and hide myself away properly as my condition required.
Also yesterday I spent ten minutes crying over Oprah’s half-sister. Because, you know, it’s just so amazing.
So all in all, I am not quite the blissed-out pregnant lady featured so prominently in advertisements for organic body products and car ads. It turns out that perhaps some of those images are not so realistic after all. Next I will find out that the J.Crew models don’t actually know how to play croquet. And, because I am pregnant, I will cry about that too.
I think I feel the baby moving!
It could be gas, though.
Why wasn’t I told about this?* Think of all the thumb energy I could have conserved. Think of the waste of paper! It is going to take LITERALLY weeks to unlearn this.
*I might have been told, by my copyeditor husband, several times. Who can say?
For some mysterious word-pressy reason, my blog theme, which I loved, vanished, taking all my pretty rainbows and pithy tags (and everything else that normally appears here, text and all) with it. In order to make the blog visible again to the alarmingly large number of chumps readers who emailed me to alert me to the vanishment, my IT guy quickly replaced the old theme with Word Press’s generic “Brief Nap” theme.
I will choose something groovier as soon as possible. Meanwhile, please enjoy the calming stock photos and lack of sidebar overstimulation.
I think I’ll blog a bit again in 2011, just for fun. Gird your loins!
This morning I got up early, pulled on my NY Rangers cap, and went out to a nearby farm to pick ten pounds of sustainably grown strawberries in the fresh air and sunshine.
Then on the way home I stopped at MacDonalds and had something called a MacGriddle.
It was delicious.
Just plain rude is what it is. I post pictures of my new living room, let the compliments roll in one after another, and then….
Radio silence.
Tsk tsk tsk. I tsk myself. It is time to set this to rights. Join me in the hot tub time machine (I call the spot next to John Cusack) and travel back to Memorial day weekend with me, because here’s what’s (been) happening since my last post:
Bratfest. Not everyone can be part of setting a world record. Sure, there’s Michael Johnson, Michael Phelps, and this guy, but how hard can those “records” really be to break, assuming you stretch first? I mean, I haven’t done it, but I’ve been kind of busy in the garden.
Needless to say, there was no stretching involved in Josh’s impressive consumption of brats (5), which, when added to the hard work of other Brat Fest attendees, led to a new world record of 209,376 bratwurst consumed at one festival. (I did not eat any brats, and I apologize for that.)
Here is Josh working on brat #3. I am so proud.
In honor of our city’s wurst achievement (sorry but at least I waited this long), we went for a post-brat drive and recorded this exciting moment in our 95 Volvo’s history:
A big day. A very big day. If you don’t have a car with 200,000 miles on it, I say to you: weak! You and your fancy “motorcar” with its elaborate “air conditioning” and conspicuous absence of rust best get out of the way of my armored horseless buggy.
If that wasn’t exciting enough, the next weekend we decided to go camping. We picked the very rainiest weekend we could find, to make things extra challenging, but despite our best efforts, we stayed mostly dry, had a nice roaring fire, and ate too many s’mores. I don’t know about you, but to me camping is just a reason to eat s’mores and read in peace. It’s a way to escape the internets and the never-ending Real Housewives of New York reunions which I can no more turn off than I can stop the world from turning. For just those couple of days when you are in the wilderness with nothing but the sight of a bear mauling the occupants of a neighboring campsite to entertain you, you can really sit down and think about what matters. And what matters is getting the marshmallow hot enough inside, without actually charring it too much on the outside, so that the little rectangle of Hershey’s melts into blissful goo on the graham cracker.
This is our fine tent. For those of you reading this blog who are getting married soon (I know of at least three of you), take it from this newlywed of almost 2 years and register for camping supplies. Though I obviously love all of my wedding gifts equally (except for the roomba. I love the roomba more because it is a person), a camping trip with all the right stuff is a bit more fun than dusting crystal. And when I say “the right stuff” I don’t mean the expensive North Face tent suitable for use on Everest. I mean a easy-to-set-up tent, a big sturdy tarp, supercozy sleeping bags that zip together, and (very important) an inflatable mattress. Sleeping on the ground is for chumps and the very inebriated.
Also be sure to pack lots of books but not scary books or books where people have to eat other people for survival, and a good pair of hiking shoes. That way you can follow my excellent camping schedule of reading when it is sunny and dry and hiking when it is stormy and wet. Hrm.
Last weekend we dialed it down a notch, heading up to the farmer’s market and scoring this enormous haul
(PS: this is less than $15 of food so can we stop accusing sustainable food of being expensive please?) before heading to the Madison Mallards baseball game. Which we won.
And now, because I love you, the readers, and also because I feel extremely guilty about not blogging for so long, I present this Extremely Unflattering Photograph of myself accosting a helpless Mallard after the game (which we won). Just after this photo was snapped I was politely asked to leave the Duck Pond and never come back. Okay, that part is not true. But if they’d seen this Extremely Unflattering Photo then it would have been.
The point is we won. Can we all just focus on that please?
After spending the weekend with my mom slaving over a hot paintbrush (why are moms so much better at cutting in corners than anyone else?), I am pleased to present phase one of our living room redesign! To remind you of what we were starting with, here’s a before picture of THE WALL.
We discovered while we were painting that there was a time when the entire room was this color. It must have been like standing in a gall bladder.
And here’s my mom starting to make it right, Holmes on Homes style.
And here is the dramatic transformation!
That’s right folks, I am not afraid of color. Okay, I was a little afraid, but that didn’t stop me from going for the gusto. And I’m so happy with the results. The room is calmer, brighter, and more pleasant to be in, but it still matches the somewhat challenging color palette of the rest of the house (ie the Hardee’s-Orange kitchen). I think it even makes the college dorm furniture look better! (Just agree with me here. It’s the polite thing to do.)
Next up for this room: trim, art, seating, naps.
In case you’re wondering, the paint is Behr Premium Plus Ultra, which was every bit as terrific as Consumer Reports told us it would be and low-VOC to boot. It was insanely thick, which is probably why it covered the hideous wall in ONE COAT. The main color is Behr’s own Balmy Seas, and the accent color is Hosta by The Unstoppably Tasteful Martha. (The good people at Home Depot can computer match any old color you bring in.)
Behr, if you’re reading this, nice work on the paint.
