AliBlog

The Anti-Blog Post

My life is not lived in words. It is not passing in sentences. It does not fit neatly into paragraphs.

My days do not slow for text. They do not linger for literature. They do not ease up for essays.

My fingers cannot type perspective. They do not coordinate for communication. They will not affiliate with brilliance.

My eyes do not look for allegory. They are not aware of anecdotes. They cannot see stories.

My ears are not listening for luck. They cannot hear irony. They do not translate thought.

My body cannot sit for composition. It does not bend for bluster. It does not wake for rhetoric.

My mind is not open for discourse. It is not attuned to narrative. It does not take the stage for auditions.

My soul will not unfurl for publication. It does not lay open for ogling. It is not available for apprehension.

Say 'Yes' for a Shinier Card

I ran out of words for awhile there - used them all up at work. I haven't been answering personal e-mails much either. That's how backlogged I've been with my 9-5 life. But I'm finally caught up. How do I know? My work inbox has less than a dozen e-mails in it. Last week it had dozens and dozens, and half of them were red-flagged.

So, what's been up with this here blog while I've been working? Well, someone surfed in yesterday after searching for "North Carolina diaper execution." What could this mean?

1. There's a person on death row in NC because of Pampers.
2. There's a unique, Carolinian way of executing a diaper change that I'm unaware of.
3. There's a secret, redneck plan to execute all the diapers in NC - line 'em up execution style and use them for target practice. I'm talking full, dirty diapers here, with holes blown right through 'em with rifles and shot guns. Can't you see it?
4. There was a fight between two groups of Moms at a MOPS meeting - the disposable diaper moms and the cloth diaper moms. The violence escalated and someone was executed.

Seriously. Can you think of a single, plausible explanation for that search string?

In other blog-related news, I received my first ever who-are-you-and-why-should-we-care-about-your-life e-mail. How strange. I deleted it and didn't respond. But I'm wondering: is this some kind of blogger's right of passage? To have a random stranger come across your site and tell you that you don't deserve his attention. As if you were asking for it in the first place.

Would you ever knock on a stranger's door during election season and say, "Excuse me. Don't mean to cause offense but what's the purpose of all those signs in your yard? Why should I care which issues and politicians you support?" Now that would be awkward, wouldn't it?

Finally, for a good laugh today, go read waiterrant's dead-on list of what your drink says about you. I'm adding a few:

Amaretto sour - You're getting carded. Sorry.

Bourbon and ginger ale - Can I get you a double?

Long island ice tea - Do you know what all's in that thing? Anyone who orders a drink that contains five different types of liquor deserves a lecture on the dangers of mixing spirits.

Almondrado on the rocks - You've been to Nogales. Or you know Jen. Either way, we're friends.

Since We're Talking about Restrooms

I have a question about flies. Button flies and zipper flies. When you wear zipper fly pants, do you zip first, then button? Or do you button first, then zip?

I always button first, then zip. But lately I've been wearing a pair of button fly jeans, and it keeps throwing me off. I button the top button, then go to zip - and can't. So I have to unbutton the top button and start all over again at the bottom, moving up.

Of course, now that I'm wearing mostly maternity pants, it's not an issue. Most of my waists now are elastic. And wide.

Public Restroom Etiquette

Saturday afternoon, I found myself in line behind five other women in the crowded restroom of a busy discount retail store. I noticed as I neared the front of the line that no one was using the handicapped stall (I think there were four stalls all together, and just one was handicapped).

I didn't push past anyone, but when I hit the front of the line, I made a dash for the empty handicapped stall without any qualms. By this time, there were at least five other women behind me, and they gladly welcomed the larger stall into their rotation when I exited.

Am I insensitive? Were the women in front of me unaware that it was empty? Or are they just more politically correct than me?

What are your opinions on the use of handicap stalls by women without disabilities? While I would never park in a handicapped parking space, I don't see any issues with using a handicapped facility - as long as no one with a disability is waiting in line. Do you agree?

(I should add that I was alone, so I didn't need the extra room or the changing table for a toddler companion.)

Big Belly Attire

Even with the top button undone, my pre-pregnancy jeans are officially pushing the limits of comfort. Starting today, I'm boxing up the skinny clothes and wearing maternity clothes only. I can't remember when I made this transition the last time, but it was probably at about the same point - around 16 weeks.

Lucky for me, I have three cousins, all about my size, who've had babies within the past six months and have passed a lot of their maternity clothes on to me. They're primarily summer clothes, but I think there's enough in my closet for a wardrobe if I buy a few more sweaters and maybe splurge on another pair of jeans over the next six months.

What about you? If you've been pregnant - when did you switch to maternity clothes? And what were the staples of your maternity wardrobe?

Questions on Exhaustion

Have you ever fallen asleep while standing up? While walking? Where's the oddest spot you've ever nodded off?

Goofy Baby Names

Awhile back, I came up with what I thought was a wonderful boy's name - intelligent, classic, strong.

I was thinking of a favorite character in John Irving's Cider House Rules. And I was thinking of the Iliad and the Odyssey. And I told Jeromy about this great name idea if we were ever to have another boy, and he said ... "Um. You mean like Homer Simpson?"

Shoot. NO. We can't name our son after him! (Sorry, Jen.)

When I told Barry this story, he jokingly suggested Homer Gilligan as a full name. Can you do better?Here's the baby name wizard. Give me some silly suggestions. I'm looking for absurd ideas, not serious contenders. Who can come up with the best one for us?

Speaking of Lost

I just lost a post. I've never done that, but I hear about it all the time. It was a big one that included a list of the 18 places I've been employed. I'll have to re-do it sometime.

In the meantime, let me tell you what else I've lost recently - my keys. I kept thinking they'd show up, but they've been MIA for a month, so I think they're really gone. Anyone know where they are? Got any good ideas on where to look? I KNOW they're in the house or the yard or the garage or somewhere, because I have a real clear memory of the last time I used them (after grocery shopping).

Have you lost anything important lately?

Who's Next?

Quick poll:
Who will be the next person to die on LOST?

The Appendage Discussion

An ongoing argument among some of our good friends from college starts with the following question:

Is the head an appendage?

Discuss.

Calculate Your Rock Star Age

I made this up after watching Rock Star INXS last night.

• V = accumulated miles on your current touring vehicle.
• T = total number of tattoos and piercings on your body.
• S = approximate number of sexual partners you've had in the last year.
• M = number of musical instruments you can play (a good singing voice counts as one).

Here's the calculation:

(V /10,000) * T + S
_________________
            M

In other words, Take the accumulated miles on your current touring vehicle. Divide that by 10,000. Multiply that total by the number of tattoos and piercings that you have. Add the estimated number of sexual partners you've had in the last year. Divide everything by the number of instruments you can play.

If (like me) you can't play an instrument and you can't sing, your answer is null. You have no chance of being a rock star, so you have no rock star age. Sorry.

Which of the INXS finalists do you think has the oldest rock star age?

UPDATE: Here's my initial analyses:

• Age null: Sorry, baby. Even rock stars need a little bit of talent.
• Age 1-15: You're either too prude or too talented to be a rock star. Shoot for other dreams.
• Age 16-25: You have potential. Get more piercings or start sleeping around, and find some bandmates.
• Age 26-39: Is there really a rock star visiting my blog? Can I have your autograph?
• Age 40-55: Your time has passed. Start checking out local colleges like Tommy Lee.
• Age 56-70: You're too road weary to keep touring. Pack it in and retire already.
• Age 71+: Dude, you rock. Slow down before you kill yourself. (Or buy a new car.)

Pretend your car's a touring vehicle and let us know your rock star age.

Perhaps ...

Down there in that Opening Day post -- which I've just re-read -- I see that I used the word perhaps at least 3 times.

Perhaps I should have consulted my thesaurus.

Or perhaps I should have a monkey hit me over the head the next time I consider typing p-e-r-h-a-p-s.

Or perhaps I should just admit that I have the vocabulary of a twelve-year old (that is unless you want to talk high-tech business jargon; then, perhaps, you'd better brush up on your lingo).

While We're on the Subject

I have another movie question:

What do you say to a room full of people who've never heard of -- let alone seen -- Monty Python and the Holy Grail? How do you connect with someone who doesn't crack a smile when you say you know a bird who recites the Knights of Ni?

What if ...

What if Tallahassee were in Mississippi? Tallahassee, Mississippi. Wouldn't that be fun? They both have 11 letters and three sets of double letters.

Hey, we could change the spelling of Tallahhassi to match Mississippi. Or we could change the spelling of Missisipee to match Tallahassee.

Too bad that tiny little bottom piece of Alabama is in the way (that, and a big chunk of the Florida panhandle). 

Wonderful Things

First, let me say how happy I am to be siting on my front deck typing this post in the sun. In the sun! But since all the blogging gurus advise against posting about the weather, I'll leave it at that.

Next, does anyone realize how cool it is for me to turn my back on this blog for two short days and return to find more than a dozen comments? Now, I know I'm no Dooce (and thank God for that - her commenters are bananas), but I think we can officially call this thing a conversation.

Since Easter, I've not only received dozens of comments, but I've also heard from a good friend I hadn't talked to in years; I've watched Robey master the art of unwrapping foil-covered candies; I've played dress-up with hand-sewn outfits from Botswana; I've posted many new photos to the Basement Treasures site; I've sung (sang?) the Sesame Street song - on demand - hundreds of times (and I only know two lines); I've learned how a well-behaved 12-year-old can entertain herself all day long with a computer, a white board and some stamping supplies; I've written a quiz for work too (I was on a roll and thought of a fun sidebar idea); I've been to the grocery store by myself. And so, so much more. Life is good.

Since I've given up on responding personally to all of your great comments, here's a few random thoughts:

• Mom - you know that with these two, confiscating toys could be a full-time job (I'm counting 8 cars between them, not to mention quads, bikes, guns, cameras, boats, parachutes, hang gliders and gear).
• Mich - you should definitely contact Jeff Foxworthy. That's the best redneck joke I've heard in years.
• Leigh/Erika - While I have microwaved peeps before, I've never even thought about microwaving a hard-boiled egg (how did the thought ever occur to you?). I think it may qualify as a dangerous weapon. Or, perhaps, another good red-neck joke (any takers ... Mich). Or, at the very least, a toy worth confiscating.
• Beau - Honestly? $42 a day for that heap of metal?
• Dee Dee - Even the most upright among us cheat sometimes I think. It's not always intentional. I promise we won't contacat the quiz police - this time.
• Kelly - Biting? In a game of spoons? Needless to say, there was never any biting involved when we played at church lock-ins.
• Mich/Stan - We're still waiting on that Athens quiz. Also, we'd like Mr. Ed  and Judy to weigh in on their favorite milestone birthdays.
• Jen - Next time I take a break for a few days, I may just leave the blogging to you. I thought for a minute there that you had hijacked my blog (and what an entertaining minute it was).

Question from a Frustrated Mother

Why is it okay to eat the same thing every day for breakfast (cereal) and lunch (sandwiches), yet not for dinner where we expect to consume a variety of assorted foods? Is it really so bad to let my son eat macaroni and cheese every single night for, say, the next two years if he's being exposed to a variety of foods at lunch? Really. What's the harm?

You Know You're a Mom When ...

You find yourself plucking your eyebrows and applying cover up with a toddler on your lap.

All that New Year Stuff

I'm not big on year-end compendiums. And, as far as I can remember, I've never made a single new year's resolution. Why? Mostly because I've never felt that our lives and their corresponding challenges and achievements fit neatly into twelve-month, four-season cycles. I mean, if you're really going to set out to change something about yourself, January - with it's cold temperatures, short days and post-holiday blues - is not the ideal time to do it.

This year, however, we begin 2005 in a new home with new responsibilities and countless possibilities for the future. The last three months have been a whirlwind of traveling, preparing, moving, adapting and, of course, parenting.

Robey is changing at toddler warp-speed, and like most first-time parents, we often struggle to keep up with the daily responsibilities, let alone find time to hunt for houses and jobs and new daycare facilities. As we've gobbled up every last second lately to hang photos on bare walls, unpack cherished knick knacks and make our house a home, we end the year feeling especially grateful for everyone who has helped out over the last few months - watching Robey, cooking meals, sending kind notes, and generally keeping us close to your hearts.

Now it's January, and we're finally moved in and settled down enough to begin a somewhat regular routine. For me, that means actually setting an alarm clock and getting up before Robey does, so I can start my day with clean hair and a full stomach and at least a few sips of coffee before the first early-morning scream for attention. But more importantly, it means getting to bed on time myself and getting enough sleep and enough exercise so that I can approach my role as a mother with as much energy and enthusiasm as Robey deserves.

So, that's it folks, my first new year resolution ever, right here in black and white: I will make an attempt to get to bed on time and to wake up on time and to return every single Robey hug with as much enthusiasm as the one that's delivered to me. It's measurable and it's attainable, and if you look real close, there's also that pesky little thing in there about exercising a bit more ...

What are your New Year resolutions?