miscellany

Well, I still haven't figured out how to blog properly on a Mac, and I haven't loaded on the program that will let me get pics off my camera to post. I've also lost access to a scanner, so I can't show the ultrasound pics that prove the two feti in my uterus are a boy and a girl (Corndog and Tater Tot). Needless to say, that news makes me very happy, largely because it greatly reduces the changes I will mix them up.

Anyhoo, in lieu of a good story I'll just throw out some mental snapshots into B.I.G.'s summer of '08.

*Poison ivy covering approximately 30 percent of my body, and not being able to take the prednisone that will stop the itching....MY GOD THE ITCHING!!!!!

*Joining Big Head Dog as he stands in the bathtub, which seems as good a place as any to hide from bats.

*Attending classes with names like "Bow Wow and Baby" and "Marvelous Multiples." And enjoying showing up with my sister and Nora in tow at the swanky hospital in the cushy suburbs and sitting among the assorted "cop/schoolteacher, lawyer/event planner, hospital technician/nurse" husband/wife couples.

*Going to the Jackson County (Ind.) fair, where the swine barn has lots of signs that say "Enjoy Pork Often!", a Belgian horse tried to eat my hat, and I saw the scariest religious-inspired "art" I've ever seen.

*Getting Asshole Joe liquored up on my front porch.

*Stressing out about all the things necessary to make sure the authorities don't get called about my mothering skills and wondering if it's really so bad for babies to sleep in dresser drawers.

*Playing with Big Head Dog in the creek on a hot summer day.

*A bathtub sitting on my front porch.

*Telling the ex about the twins, and then having him call a week later to say he had a gas range for me. It reminded me of a Derby party at the farm when I was 18, where a guy bragged that he'd bought all his ex-wives a washer and dryer.

*Bingeing on Cap'n Crunch Crunchberries for days on end. Ahh, the sweet sting of the roof-of-the-mouth lacerations...

*Watching various parts of my body below the waist disappear from view. I hope they'll still be there in a few months and functioning as I remember them.

*In related news, wondering for the 1,000th time what the hell is wrong with women who say they love being pregnant.

*Teaching my sister how to catch and remove bats from the house.

*Listening to the ultrasound technician, after several minutes of trying to scan a shy Corndog, exclaim with glee, "There's his junk!"

*Mouth-watering anticipation for the State Fair, which this year will feature a giant walk-through colon named Coco.

There, aren't you glad you asked?

bumper crop

Yep, here I am, holed up in my room with the dogs for the fourth night in a row. I've admitted defeat. The fucking bats can have the house till they're done with it, I'll just stay here from dusk till dawn every night, emerging only to pee (which I have to freaking do every 30 minutes or so), fishing net in hand, creeping hunched over in case a bat flies around the corner at me.

At first I thought I'd try sleeping on the couch with the lights on (bats are nocturnal--they hate light, right?), the A/C cranked up (they hate cold too, right?) and avoiding the upstairs, which is logically where flying creatures should be. That didn't work. That experiment ended with me on the front porch in my p.j.'s at midnight, front door wide open waiting for a bat to find its escape route, dogs seizing their chance at freedom and running the neighborhood.

Back in the day, I'd just come home after tossing back a few bottles of liquid courage and chase the fuckers down, fishing net in one hand, oven mitt on the other. Notsomuch now. So here we are in the Batfree Cave, waiting for the damn bat babies to get their flying sense about them and successfully find their way from my belfry to the great outdoors. I broke down Monday and called the Bat Man (not to be confused with Batman), who'll be coming out to batproof my house for a mere 2 gazillion dollars. Worth every fucking penny.

Oh, and thanks be to The Man for making this outrageous expenditure financially feasible.

oh yeah, I still got it goin' on

Last week I met Deputy Joe for a few drinks at the friendly neighborhood tavern.

I hadn't talked to him since December, ever since I changed his entry on my phone to "Asshole" to remind me why it is not a good idea to stop by his house when I'm drunk and it's 2 a.m. (Because he has a girlfriend he's never bothered to mention.)

Since being un-deputized in the November election, Asshole Joe has been unemployed. He just started a new job and wanted to get together "to get my input on it."

Translated: "Let's get drunk, talk business and politics, then get naked."

He's my kind of guy, really.

He's also the first MIF* who'd learn my B.I.G. news. This is not, incidentally, a topic covered in popular maternity literature, unfortunately. I was trying to decide at exactly what point I'd tell him, when he beat me to it approximately 3 minutes after we sat down at the bar.

"Why aren't you drinking? Are you OK? Are you sure? Everything's alright medically? Are you pregnant?"

First of all, I love that people are that concerned about my health when they notice I'm not drinking.

Anyway, he took the news well (probably because there was no chance the twins are his). So well, in fact, that we ended up making out by the dumpster. Pretty sure if I'd asked, he'd have stopped by my house on the way home.

Unfortunately, I'm sober these days, and therefore could think of all the reasons why that would have been a really, really bad idea. (it was late, we both had to work, the girlfriend issue, and call me old-fashioned, but does it seem a little weird to anyone else to have sex while knocked up, with someone other than the father? Maybe it's just me.)

He just sent me a text saying we need to hang out again soon. WTF?


*Man I've Fu....um, Found in my bed in the morning

In a family way

I spent the weekend at the farmhouse. Saturday night I went to my sister's high school reunion with her. The school is so small, they decided to wrap the 30-year reunion for three different classes all into one. That means one of my brothers was also there, along with a slew of our cousins, so it was almost like a family reunion.

Highlights:

* A family friend outed me as being pregnant in front of a large group of people while I was holding a Miller Lite Tall Boy (hey, I'd been looking forward to my weekly beer for days).

Larry (loudly, to everyone and no one in particular): "She's carryin' twins!"
Me (choking on beer, looking up to see my high school psychology teacher, now the school principal): "Uh..."
Larry: "It's OK, she's married!"
Me (as quietly as possible while feeling 20 sets of eyes boring a hole through me): "Actually, Larry, I'm not. I've been divorced over two years."
High School Teacher: "Yeah, that'll happen."

* My brother-in-law at various times promised to get the twins, to use while they visit: car seats for the golf cart, tricycles, bicycles, go-karts, and a pony. I never had a pony. What's the weight limit on those things?

* My sister's friends are calling her grandma. She's 10 years older than I am. It's pissing her off. Hee hee hee.

* Apparently twins run in my family more than I knew. I thought I just had one cousin with twins. Nope, my great-uncle Willie had a twin sister who died at birth, and my grandfather had twin sisters. Yet something else I can blame my dad for.

* I asked my cousin with twins (now in their mid-20s) for any helpful words of wisdom. Her advice was, "Try not to lose your mind. Heh heh, just kidding." I don't think she was.

overheard, 'hood edition

Snippets of actual conversations I heard from my front porch this weekend, in chronological order:

1. (from the next door neighbor's yard)
Fat Crazy Sister: "You are an AIDS-carrying nicker!"*
George: "I ain't a nicker! I'm an Indian!"

*"nicker" was not the word actually being used

2. (from George, sitting on my front porch swing after inviting himself over)
"My sister was born on this swing."

3. (from two teenage girls fighting in the street, surrounded by a crowd, just before the cops showed up)
"You have my hair!"
"I don't have your hair! I ain't never had your hair!"

Sometimes I think traveling is overrated.

B.I.G.'s Big Adventure

*cough*

Jesus, it's dusty in here. Somebody open the windows and air this place out! It's musty as hell from being shut up for so long.

J. you're absolutely right, people who don't update their blogs shouldn't be allowed to have them.

OK, then, here's an (admittedly blurry) photo to clue the two readers I have left in to what's been going on:



What is that? I'll tell you what it is--it's an ultrasound picture of my uterus. And those two round circles in the middle of the picture? Those are heads. Two heads. Of two fetuses (feti?). In my heretofore unoccupied uterus.

Holy fucking shit.

This, by the way, is what those in the journalism profession would call "backing into the story." It's generally not a good way to tell a story. But I'm all about the shock value, really. Seriously, let me get some joy out of this.

Anyhoo, turns out I brought more souvenirs back from March's trip to Austin than I'd intended to. As Heck of a Gal said, most people just buy a t-shirt.

More details, I'm sure, will follow. Until then, I'll just be sitting around, incubating.

What a tease!

Where the hell have I been? Good question. Wrapping up an old, crappy job, starting a new job at which finding my desk made for a successful second day, getting ready to go to Alabama to be in a wedding this weekend.... More to follow, I promise, including the Big B.I.G. News, heretofore unannounced on this blog, which shall change Life As We Know It.

Have a lovely holiday weekend, may you not have to hock your jewelry for gas money.