Poor Kitty. A short while after I came home this evening, I lit a set of good smelling candles I have displayed on the coffee table and settled on the couch to do a little work on my laptop. Kitty came over and jumped up on the table to watch my activities. Distracted, I didn't really pay attention to her until I started to notice a funny scorched smell and a thin stream of smoke rising above my monitor. Kitty had flipped her tail too close to the candles and it caught fire! Completely freaked out, I leapt into action and patted her until I was sure the mini-flame was out. Kitty was unfazed. She hadn't made any noise the whole time, and when I picked her up to give her a squeeze, she immediately started purring. In case you don't know, singed fur smells horrible, and the scent hangs around. If nothing else, she had to notice THAT, but I can't be sure at all that she knows how close she came to becoming a little Kitty fireball. The tips of her fur are now incredibly rough where the flame touched.

Good lord. The unforeseen stresses of pet ownership. Em came over later to watch The Girl in the Cafe (so good and so different than I expected!), and the apartment still reeked of burnt hair. Knowing that she's okay, we had a good laugh over the Kitty fire scare.

Tonight, I went with a friend to a book reading by author Jayne Ann Krentz (aka Amanda Quick and Jayne Castle) at the Ballard Library. Although I'm only mildly interested in the romance genre at this point--I've read one Amanda Quick book--I hadn't been to a reading in a long time and it just sounded good. I'm glad I went. Jayne is a sharp and polished speaker. In addition to talking about her work, she shared her insightful views on popular fiction and the writing process, from the conception of a novel to publication. I like her Darwinian response to the criticisms of pop fiction. If it's so weak and terrible, why has it survived and even flourished in spite of the literary world's persistent attempts to snuff it out? Yes, popular fiction is entertaining and fun, but, above that, she believes it appeals directly to our core values (courage, hope, goodness, etc) and the desire to see the hero/heroine do the right thing, as we hope we would do the right thing in a similar situation. Interesting take.

While discussing her latest book, Jayne also told us her theory on how people survive post-traumatic stress disorder. She believes the only way to do this successfully is by changing your personal definition of "normal." Basically, if you cling to the old version and attempt to mold your life in its current reality around it, you're screwed. This resonates as pure truth to me, but I think it applies on a smaller scale to everyday survival too. After all, if we didn't constantly modify and sculpt our internal beliefs about what is normal, how could we cope with life at all? I mean, if I stuck rigidly to my carefully crafted picture of a "normal family," instead of altering it about a million times, my relationships with my parents and sisters would be superficial and strained, maybe even non-existent in some cases. I couldn't deal with or forgive our quirkiness. Or, if I stubbornly held on to the mindset of my teenage self who believed normal is married with kids by the time you're 30, my nearly 29 year old self would probably sit dejectedly in a dark apartment feeling like an abnormal freak, rather than head out the door to enjoy her life. And so on.

Anyway, my friend and I followed the reading with delicious cupcakes (lavender is my absolute favorite) at Cupcake Royale and a stop for CDs at Sonic Boom. Some people might think that's not a normal way to spend a Wednesday evening, but for me it was perfect.

I watched 9 Songs last night, and I have to say I felt pretty eh about it. Even though the guy was easy on the eyes and should definitely be referred to as Mr. Big (stop, rewind), the girl was really obnoxious and irritating with a grating voice. This seriously diminished my enjoyment of "the happenings," as Em calls it. I dropped the disc in the mailbox this morning. No second viewing required.

Songs I'm loving now: Daggers by Airport Cathedral, Marching Bands of Manhattan by DCfC, and Like You Know by Film School.

My late onset of the Januarys continues, but I think my mood has slightly improved since last week. Booking a ticket to Maui to visit Molly and the Trav in early March definitely helped. To top it off, the ticket is free due to all the miles I've racked up on Hawaiian over the past couple of years. I'll get to see my little lovebug nephew and the whales and eat delicious food at Longhi's! I'll play on the beach and magically transform from pasty white to lobster red in no time!

Pre-vacation plans, Mols attempted to hustle me out of the January blues this weekend with a little pep talk. She said I shouldn't let the rain get me down, because the winter gray and yuck makes the grass green and beautiful flowers bloom in the spring. And then, if that doesn't do the trick, she says I must remember that I have big boobs and a small tush, so I should cheer up. Hmm. Never were wiser words IM'd to me at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon. What crap. But I appreciate her efforts.

My friend, who shall remain nameless in this instance, sent me a glum message this morning while suffering from a case of the Mondays. It turns out that a girl in Unnamed Friend's office got engaged this weekend and made the big announcement at work first thing. UF had to suffer through 20 long minutes of coworkers squealing, which led her to send irritated harumph emails to a fellow single girl a couple of cubicles down. I don't think any of us are eager to run down the aisle anytime soon, but come on. There is only so much of this sort of thing one can take. Sympathized with UF and told her that having to endure 20 minutes of throw-up inducing shrieks of marital glee is enough to put a dark cloud over anyone's Monday. She responded that you know things are not good when you experience jealousy as you step over used condom someone tossed on the sidewalk. Ew factor aside, I hear where she's coming from in her hilarious way. It kind of reminds me of the time my now-in-rehab hairdresser mentioned that he knows he's in bad shape when he starts checking out the homeless.

While we're on the subject, I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of 9 Songs from Netflix. People tell me it's basically a porn flick with an updated soundtrack. Goody.

While typing all this, I just noticed that the dictionary.com word of the day in my inbox is incommunicado. I feel like that may have been smart advice before I started this post, but now that I've gone to the trouble...

My other favorite baby playing with his Christmas gift (I hope to be finished dishing out the belated presents by March) --The Baby Bongo. It's a light and sound extravaganza, and it's fun. In fact, I kind of want it back. Will have to go over to his house for some qt with the bongo.

When I have a kid of my own, I have a bad feeling payback for the noisy gifts is going to be nasty. :-)

I took one of those Are You A Snob? quizzes online, and it turns out I'm even worse than the Paris Hiltons of the world. Who knew? What I do know is that over the past couple of days I've had a serious case of what my friend calls the Januarys. Until now, I've nestled into my cozy little bubble of contentment (even with the Cold From Hell and my reflections about the past year), listening to people lament and groan over how dark, depressing and evil January is, while thinking smugly that this isn't so bad. Well. I don't know exactly when I switched over, but now I feel like crawling under my down comforter with the bottle of port and box of chocolates my friend gave me for Christmas until this stupid old month is over. And, geez louise, I'm turning 29 in a few weeks! I have to thank my littlest sister, Brynna, for cheering me up immensely on the phone tonight by insisting that really I am a BIG SNOB. She makes me laugh, even if it's true.

My mom is hilarious too. Last night, I was grumbling to her over the phone about how, at this rate, I'll never be able to afford even a condo in this city. My building is undergoing conversion into condos, and I'm bummed because I love this apartment and will most likely have to move. Again! But, with prices in this area and my tiny salary, buying a place would make me incredibly house poor. Her response took me by surprise.

She said not to worry about that yet. I'm not ready, as I still need to decide what I want to do and where I want to live. Anyway, if I stretch myself too thin, how will I afford purple shoes? Purple shoes are important to me, as well as having the freedom to take trips and pursue my other interests. She can't see me just sitting at home and being happy with that. Yes, it's a good investment, but it isn't worth it if I'll be miserable. She says to continue to enjoy my life, save as much as I can, and it will work out. I love her for getting me so much sometimes and knowing what to say to bring me out of my self-involved funk. It doesn't hurt that she is buying me the expensive purple shoes for my birthday either.

It suddenly occurred to me last night, while talking with my mom, that of the few holiday cards I sent out this season, I wrote a totally bizarro one to our family friend, Marta. I don't know what I was thinking when I put the stamp on and dropped that one into the mailbox. She's been going though a lot of difficult--although most likely positive in the long run--changes this year, and instead of just wishing her happy holidays and good things to come, I rambled on about how sometimes holidays are great but sometimes they suck (I'm near certain that is the word I used in a Christmas card). And, even if this one is bad, things should get better for her this year, because she deserves the best and blah, blah, blah. Sigh. My mom giggled when I told her, but I'm pretty sure we both think I've lost my marbles. Sorry, Marta!

New Year's Resolution: Will not send out holiday cards until after having trusted friend(s) review written messages to determine appropriateness.

Yay! Philip Seymour Hoffman won the Golden Globe (think Heath Ledger was the favorite to win) for Best Actor in Capote! I'm so surprised, as usually find award show selections disappointing. Such an amazing film and performance. Must go see it again soon.

Yesterday, a student I hadn't met before noticed a few Elvisy items on display in my office (where else can it all go?) and asked if I have a thing for the King. I gave him the abbreviated version of the childhood crush turned lifetime collection story, and finished by explaining that I'm not stuck on Elvis now. He responded, "Oh, that's okay. Although, you'd be pretty weird if you were."

He doesn't even know.

These are the kinds of exchanges that lead me to drink Vanilla Stoli with grapefruit juice--I work with what I've got in the fridge-- at night.

Last night, Em and I were hanging out at my apartment after having dinner with another friend at our favorite Indian restaurant. We saw a trailer for the upcoming news report on Fox, and Em commented that she loves how Fox calls what they do "the news." She even pantomimed the air quotes. I responded that I find it very painful and wrong too and suggested that they change the name to something more honest, like Fox's Questionable Information. I'd rather peruse the CNN or BBC webpages and stick with watching Seinfeld reruns during the 10 o'clock hour.

In lieu of Flirt Week (11/6 post), which hasn't even been planned yet, Em suggested sending this out willy-nilly. She thinks surely some men will be charmed by Hoops and Yoyo.

Hmmmmm. Does e-card begging for a date scream desperation, or is this the direction technology is taking us? Will future cute boy crushes respond to coercion via cartoon email? I suppose I could try it on the old crushes just to see. This could be an interesting experiment. I like the questions listed at the end. Would it kill ya? Seriously.

In other news, I really must find a decent hairdresser while mine is in rehab. Each day I'm moving alarmingly closer to having Severus Snape hair. This will not do.

Seinfeld fans:

Have you ever seen the early episode where Jerry, George, and Elaine are discussing a funeral and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, George bursts out with, "You know, I've been thinking. I cannot envision any circumstances in which I'll ever have the opportunity to have sex again. How's it gonna happen? I just don't see how it could occur."

Mostly I'm just wondering if you've seen that one, but there are days.

Whenever I read anything by Anne Lamott, I feel the need to plunk down on the couch with my laptop and write. Even when I have nothing remotely interesting to say, or what I put down totally sucks, she inspires me to keep giving it a try anyway. I think I'm secretly hoping my fingers absorbed some of her talent and hilarious honesty as they turned the pages of her books.

Over the holidays, I read Plan B and, although it was a little too Jesusy for me at times, I have an unwavering love and respect for the spirited voice dishing out the religious stuff, so I kept going. My impression is that Anne is a person who truly experiences each moment, and in doing so she has run full force into many sharp corners. As happens in life, particularly rough and devastating ones have managed to just find her too. She talks about the good and the bad without glossing over potentially unflattering details. What I admire most is her ability to translate not only the joyful, but also the grit of fear, confusion, jealousy, ugly, and the mundane, into stories that make the reader feel so alive. I wish I could tiptoe into her amazing mind and borrow a tiny speck--something to work with--of this brilliance for myself. If you haven't read anything by her, you should do so immediately.

As The Cold From Hell subsides (only a cough and scratchy voice left. A couple of friends said this makes my voice kind of sexy, while another commented that I sound like Charlie Brown. Good grief.), I've thought about my ambivalence toward the new year, as well as my detached, casual attitude toward the holidays in general. I just couldn't get in to it. While I had a great time hanging out with friends and seeing a show on New Year's Eve, I didn't feel any of the usual excitement or anticipation about the fresh start ahead. No resolutions, no nothing. I felt mildly down a couple of days beforehand, but I tend to get at least a little sad over endings. Then, when it was over, it was back to business as usual.

Over the past few days, I've spent lots of hours with really great friends. My concert buddies and I saw our best show yet, Vendetta Red. I had wanted to see them for a long time, and now I can't wait to go again. In spite of the often horrifying lyrics (which luckily you can't always hear live), the music is so good and Zach Davidson is a crazily amazing performer. I was in awe and smiling like an idiot the whole time. I saw the movie Capote, and I think it should win every award in the book. I had a leisurely, giggly breakfast with girlfriends, followed by a browse through one of my favorite bookstores. I spent an evening with another set of friends having interesting conversation, red wine, olives and mini-quiches. I curled up on the couch with a really good book, something I'd been less interested in last year for some reason, and I'm feeling the old love return.

Somewhere in the middle of these activities, I started focusing on the past year and realized it's been a weird one for me (as well as the world). A lot changed, but a lot didn't. I think that may have contributed to my detachment from the holidays. There was a disconnect between what I thought would happen and what actually happened. Maybe in the back of my mind I expected something monumental because I'm 28, and that number has had significance for me over the years. Another birthday is approaching and soon 28 will be gone. I'm not sure how I feel about that. It's not that I'm worried about getting older (yet), and I'm happier in many ways than I've been in a long time, but I think it's because so much in my life is still so uncertain. I'm an impatient person and that does not always sit well.

This year was a lot more about subtler, internal shifts, rather than major happenings in my external world. Even if things like my job, how I live, and my relationship status remain unchanged at this point, I can't discount everything else going on. A big step for me was finally allowing myself to release many negative attachments and accept difficult changes--always a struggle --making lots of sparkling room in my mind for new thoughts and ideas. In doing that I've also discovered what it's like to feel real peace about situations/people/circumstances that once were a source of hurt or, worse yet, disappointment. I'm learning to distinguish when the little voice in my head has useful information to share about my life and when it's just being plain mean.

I'm learning to open myself up to possibilities and taking risks. I very much want to get better at that. I'm starting to really grasp who I am as I continue to move toward living in alignment with what I truly do and do not want—surprisingly difficult to face at times. I'm improving at dwelling in the moment, rather than spending too much time in the past or future. I've met interesting people and had crushes on very cute boys. I moved to a better apartment and got a new car. I traveled to some of my favorite places and spent time with my favorite people. I laughed a lot. I participated in the arrival of my nephew--a cherished memory--and love every moment I have with him. I've had difficult conversations that really needed to happen and realized how freeing that can be for all involved. I've learned to choose my battles a little more carefully. I understand more and more that it's okay not to have all the answers when I want them, even if it is uncomfortable. I'm working on becoming okay with the squirmy unease of showing and accepting my many imperfections.

In considering all this, I'm starting to feel a little bit more excited about seeing what happens in 2006. Bring on 29!

Well, I'm bringing in the new year with The Cold From Hell. I've had my fair share of sniffles this past year, but this one is by far the worst. I have a new appreciation for being able to breathe normally. Hurtling through the sky in a metal tube full of people and germy-germs does not make for a healthy Megan.

After a busy and not fully with it day at work (I had to go), I'm planted on the couch with my pillows, blankets, tissue, vapo rub, remote, book, throat lozenges, laptop and juice feeling sorry for my sick self. This is one of those times when it would be nice to have someone--a very sweet boyfriend, for example--around to tuck me under the covers and prop my feverish head up with pillows, bring me some good hot soup and tea, and clean up the snotty tissues strewn across the floor. What do I have instead? A Kitty. And, she does not take too kindly to my demands for soup. She'd rather sit like a distant little lump in front of her friend, The Heater. Poor me.

It was really bizarre to feel so not present all day. When I wasn't honking my nose into a Kleenex, or popping Dayquil to feel a smidge normal, I walked around in a fuzzy daze. At one point, I caught myself doing weirdo ballet moves in my clogs, with a cart full of cookies and sodas, while waiting for the elevator. My head and nose are so full that sometimes my eyes watered while talking, when my voice worked, during appointments. Frankly, I'm having a hard time remembering what I even said to people. My hearing is spotty due to my plugged ears, which I'm sure is giving me a preview of my future little old lady days. A friend told me he took his brother to a game this weekend, and I responded, "Huh? You took a book to the game?" Another guy and I had to go back and forth a few times before I understood that he had worked at Microsoft. Eh, sonny? Did you say Microsoft? My nose is now a very lovely shade I call Chapped Red.

While I'm sure you are enjoying my tale of health and cheer, I'm afraid I really must go. I have a hot date with a packet of Nyquil. We're going to watch a made for TV movie starring Tara Reid, in which her psycho husband tries to kill her on their honeymoon at a remote cabin in the woods. Heh.

Happy New Year!

I'm back. My week at home went way too fast, but aside from a few cranky moments here and there, and a flood in my parents' basement my last night, I had a fantastic trip. It was really hard to leave. I had such a good time hanging out with my sisters, and my Mom went all out for the holidays again. She makes Christmas for all of us. Not only that, but as a special holiday gift she took us girls to a local resort for facials/pedicures and massages on Friday. So wonderful!

I had a very merry Eiffel Tower/Paris Christmas. That was pretty much the theme of all my gifts from Mom & Rex. Move over Elvis, the Paris collection is taking over. New additions include a very cool vintage calendar, pink flannel pajamas with Paris landmarks on them, candles, and a little pillow with an Eiffel Tower scene embroidered on it.

Not to say that Elvis is dead at my house. For those of you who don't know, I had a childhood crush on Elvis, which lead to a fairly substantial collection compliments of family and friends who bought memorabilia to include in gifts for years. My accumulation of stuff grew and grew long after I put my fascination with the King to rest. Just the other day I was gloating to myself that this phase had finally come to an end (hadn't received anything in over a year), and then my friends gave me an Elvis jigsaw puzzle for Christmas! I had no clue these even existed, but I shouldn't be surprised. I took that thing with me to K Falls to work on with the family, and it quickly became known as "that effing puzzle" for how difficult it is to put together. I'll have to take a picture to post once it's finally done.

More later! Must go chef up a salad for a New Year's gathering later today. I'll have you all know that, after spending about $40 on the necessary supplies, I actually made two batches of very tasty Chex Mix pre-holidays in defiance of my rep (see a few posts back) as a bad cook. Hmph.

For the fans of the little one...

I have to say that I love the cover of The Stranger this week. Can't we all relate to the crazy gleam in the squirrel's eye? Em brought it over with her the night before I left to look at while we sipped on White Trash Cocktails, and it cracked me up so much that she very generously let me take it to K Falls. It's now prominently displayed in the dining room here.

Actually, I'm having a very nice and peaceful time so far. No snow yet, but Thursday and Friday are looking pretty good. Saturday's forecast calls for rain only. Goody.

Soon I’ll be off to K Falls for a week of holiday fun with the family. Although I dread the trip in the little prop planes, I can’t wait to arrive. I’m really looking forward to talking with my mom and aunt over coffee in the mornings, spending time with my sisters (including step-sis, Lisa), decorating cookies for our annual contest, curling up by the fire in the cozy living room with a good book & hot cider, going to movies, playing no rules racquetball with mom, shopping, sleeping in, having DDR dance offs, kissing Travie’s chunbby little face, eating lots of yummy, calorie-packed foods, and playing games in front of the gorgeous Christmas tree.

Of course, the downsides of a week of concentrated family time, and therefore lack of usual personal space, are the inevitable squabbles (or scufuffles as we call them) with the girls and the tensions that arise when everyone gets tired and cranky. Depending on how things go, I may not have much of a chance to blog at all, or sometimes I'll end up hiding in a corner huffily typing away on my laptop. I guess we’ll see by the frequency and subject matter of my posts. Think I may need to pick up some Malibu rum when I get there, so I can sip on White Trash cocktails (Malibu & coke), as Em and I call it, when things get dicey.

Even though Klamath is a sleepy little town, I’m warming up to spending time there. It’s beautiful in the winter, and I love the fact that it snows a lot. I really, really hope it does this trip, because I'm ready to go out and play. Let me clarify. I really, really hope it snows any other day but next Saturday. If a blizzard leaves me stranded with no flight out, I will be forced to spend New Year's eve at the Klamath Falls New Year’s Ball, which I can say with near certainty is not going to be my scene.

I think I'd rather have a repeat of last year's less than thrilling outing that ended with a somewhat scary bus ride home with Em at 2am. At a stop, the seemingly normal guy sitting in front of us went totally ballistic on this drunk couple who were holding up our progress home, because they couldn't figure out whether or not they actually wanted to get on the bus. The crazy man charged down the aisle and leapt off to shove and threaten the drunk guy by yelling "What's up motherf*cker!?!" Surprisingly, the driver let him back on, while the couple opted to wait it out, and he returned to his seat to calmly explain to us stunned girls that he was "just helping them make a decision." Uh huh. Crazy Town. I don't think I'll find that kind of entertainment at the K Falls Ball.

Song I'm loving now: Wordless Chorus by My Morning Jacket.

Have a very Merry Christmas, everyone!

About 10 years ago, I met a little guy named Jacob. He was 18 months old; I was 18. I had just started to put myself through college and had moved out of my parents' house into an apartment with my friend Chris. In order to pay for my living expenses the first couple of years, I worked at a daycare center close to school, so I could travel from classes to work pretty easily. Jacob moved into my "classroom" shortly after I started, and we bonded quickly.

He was the sweetest little boy with big brown eyes, a mischievous smile, and a bouncy spring in his every step. I liked all the kids, but he found a special place in my heart with the huge grin and big hug he greeted me with each day. At first, Jake was a boy of few words, but once he started talking, it was pretty much in full sentences from the get go. I got to know his incredibly nice parents, as they liked to check in about what was happening at the center and report on the things he'd say about me at home. It was clear that I adored him, and he was very attached to me. At one point, they asked if I would be up for babysitting him sometimes, because I was the one person, outside of family, they thought he'd be completely happy to stay with when they went out. I agreed, because I enjoyed spending time with him so much.

The last time I babysat for Jake he was about four. He was in that charming (ha-ha) questioning phase, wanting to know every last detail about anything that crossed his path. I remember snuggling up on the couch to watch his favorite movie at the time, Independence Day. He had already seen it lots, but that didn't stop him from turning to peer up at me every few minutes, with an inquisitive expression on his little face, to ask questions like, "Why did the aliens do that, Megan? Why?" I love that memory.

After that, I moved to Seattle to start work and school, and Jacob's parents started talking about moving into a bigger house. Our lives became busy, and except for a one time exchange of Christmas cards, we lost touch and our friendship trickled away. Since then, I've often wondered about how he is doing and felt a bit regretful not to know him anymore. I was lucky to have such a great kid in my life. Within the past couple of years, I even tried looking up his parents online, thinking I'd send them a card or something to check in. I didn't find anything, but I hoped that they still lived in the area and that one day I'd be fortunate enough to run into them.

Last night was Phase Two of my intense, last minute Christmas shopping program. I headed over to Bell Square to look for the things I couldn't find at the mall here the day before. Tired and grouchy after a couple of hours of walking around, I went in to the Discovery Channel store to look for gifts for the little ones I know. While I was staring stupidly at a display of toys, a man approached and asked if I was Megan. It took me a moment or two to realize that it was Jacob's father out shopping for his son. I was thrilled!

He told me how happy he was to see me again and how much Jake loved his first babysitter. I said I still thought of Jacob often and missed him. I asked how they are doing, and he reported that while they were great, his wife had died suddenly and unexpectedly when Jake was five. She was a wonderful woman and mother, and I felt overwhelming grief for their loss. Also, I was sad that something so terrible had happened so shortly after I lost touch with them, and I wasn't there for Jake. Six years later they have adjusted, but this was news to me, and it was difficult to process in our few minutes talking.

In these moments, I learned that Jacob is still a happy and healthy kid. He's in middle school now and just got his first report card with lots of A's. He likes to play basketball. His dad is really proud, and when I asked, he dug out Jacob's school ID card from his wallet so I could see a picture. He is a big kid now and looks very different than the little boy I knew, but his features are the perfect combination of both his parents. We laughed over how they used to try to get Jacob to quit calling me Big Megan. There was a little Megan in his class, so it made sense that he'd think of me that way, but they worried I would be offended by the title. It never occurred to me to mind. His dad introduced me to the nice woman he's seeing. He assured me that Jacob did remember me and would be so pleased to hear that we had run into each other.

I am infinitely grateful for this meeting and my glimpse into Jacob's world again. I feel so blessed and joyful finally knowing he is out there happily living his life. It's just what I needed for closure. And, I can't help but recognize and give thanks that I received exactly what I've asked for these past years. Sometimes, amid my impatience, restlessness, and ideas about time and how I think things should happen, I forget that rarely do my requests (to God, the universe, whatever you want to call it) go unanswered. The answer may not arrive in the way I think it will or at the time I feel it should, but it always gets here perfect in its own way. It's an amazing gift.

Communicating with my angel nephew via napkin.

Love the tie/onesie combo.

Hmmmm. I know I'm no culinary wizard, but I think the world has officially given up on me. I'm invited to a holiday potluck dinner this weekend, and what did my friend ask me to bring in the assignment email? Chex Mix. Chex. Mix. The really sad part is that I don't even have the necessary equipment to put together homemade Chex Mix, so it's going to be store bought. I guess I should appreciate that my friends get me enough to know that cooking isn't really my thing--they still love me anyway--but I can't believe it's come to cereal snacks. At least they tell me encouragingly that they fully trust in my good taste in the buying department.

I will note that on the rare occasions I actually attempt to make something, the end result is rarely awful. So-so, yes, but hardly ever terrible. The problem is time. Once in a while I enjoy giving it a whirl in the kitchen, but usually I end up resentfully peeling potatoes or grumpily chopping away at veggies as I think about all the other things I could be doing. For a girl who loves to eat, you'd think I'd like being involved in the preparation process, but I don't. In my perfect world, I just sit down and all the delicious food magically appears in front of me.

Man, I am still nowhere near ready for Christmas. My brain tells me I should be stressed out by this situation, but I am not. La-di-da. I think I figure it will all work itself out, but then I'm not too sure about that reasoning, since I can't seem to manage the first step of making myself go out to the shops. Not to ruin the surprise for my family and friends, but I really think I'm going to go with my liquor store plan for one stop gift shopping and buy everything I need in one swoop. Well, except for Kitty and the babies in my life. Can't see them appreciating or sipping on (old boot leather) Scotch.

I'm getting the "What do you want for Christmas?" question a lot lately. My answer is usually vague and leaves the questioner dissatisfied. I really don't know. More and more I've been thinking that a pair of tap shoes would come in handy. Not that I'm interested in taking tap classes or anything (had a brief stint as a kid), but just to make going places like the grocery store more entertaining. I like the clickity-clack sound.

When I was four, I guess I got bored during my aunt's wedding ceremony and decided to perform a little number in my Mary Janes on the shiny floor of the altar to liven things up. My mom reports that she debated about coming up to get/silence me, but Gramps encouraged her to just let me be. Maybe he could sense the marriage was doomed, so who cared if anyone could hear the droning of the pastor or the vows. Or, maybe he could tell that I already had a flair for dance and didn't want to stifle my creativity - ha!

Anyway, as Em helpfully points out, if I tapped my way through a grocery store, it would be a lot more difficult for a prematurely middle-aged man to get mad at me when I say "Way to go, dude!" after he accidentally rams his cart into an end aisle display of tuna fish cans, toppling a bunch to the floor. This happened to me in August. I was in Federal Way to see my dad and visiting relatives, and my cousin and I walked through a Safeway to pick out things I needed before rushing off to a dinner party and a concert.

We passed the mean man right when he crashed his cart into the cans. I thought it was funny and ridiculous and assumed he would see the humor in it too, so I giggled and tried to make a joke with my comment. Just as I was about to quickly follow up with an offer to help him clean up, he shot me this really nasty look and muttered, "You come over here and I'll show you way to go dude....grumble, grumble, grumble." Hmph. Shocked that he was taking it so personally, I responded that this sort of thing happens to everyone and headed down another aisle. A moment later, I heard him one row over yelling at his wife about how much the woman who said "Way to go, dude!" pissed him off. I felt really bad for her and decided that, in the future, it's probably best for me to avoid saying things like that to random people. You just can't know how they will take it. Not, at least, without my tap shoes.

Ben Gibbard spits on the stage, and I don't like it. I saw Death Cab for Cutie at the Showbox the other night, and while initially it was great to see them up close in a small place, and they are good performers who sound amazing live, I became increasingly distracted and turned off by the spit wads intermittently hawked up there. I've seen them once before from a great distance at a large venue, and I thought I noticed it then, but I wasn't sure. Now I'm sure.

A. That's just gross.
B. I feel sorry for the clean-up crew. Ewwwwww.
C. Spit is slippery, and a pile of phlegm lying on stage is a potential hazard to the other band members when they rock out. It's best to avoid a Phlegm Incident.

We all know I've been to lots of shows, and I've never seen another performer do this before. I assume it's something Ben feels is necessary to clear his voice for singing, and most likely he doesn't spit on the carpet at dinner parties and the like. Still, try using a paper cup or a can to keep it contained. As much as I admire their music, I don't think I can handle the cringing in dread gross out factor again. I'm sorry to report that DCfC is strictly a CD band for me now.

In other music news, Nada Surf is coming back at the end of February with Rogue Wave! Yay, yay, yay! It's a tough call, but Nada Surf was probably my favorite concert of this year (followed closely by Snow Patrol), so I am very excited that they are returning to Seattle so soon. However, I'm grumpy that the show is over two months away. I think I'll need to go see Vendetta Red and maybe The Long Winters again to keep me entertained in the meantime. Someday I will grow up and start saving the money I currently spend on concert tickets and music for something very adult, like a 500 sq ft condo, but that someday is not now.

So, my sisters had a heyday teasing me about Dance Dance Revolution. Oh how they mocked me. Bryn was here when I got it (my friend works for Nintendo; I got the Mario version for free), and she gleefully recounted to Molly how I'd get down to the techno Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star beat. She also made repeated false claims that I told her she needed to just "feel the music" when it was her turn. Of course, Molly shared all of this with me when we chatted on the phone. Then, when I'd call Bryn, she'd tell me how much Molly laughed and laughed picturing me hopping around on my little mat. Hmph. Back and forth it went. I always had to hear about what a weirdo I was for my DDR hobby.

Surprise, surprise. Molly comes for a visit and now she is HOOKED. In her few days here, we played enough to progress to the difficult levels that make you look like you're dancing a crazy jig. When she calls, I tell her how much I miss Travis, and she tells me how much she's missing the Dance Dance. She's even asking for it for Christmas and is looking forward to me bringing my game and mats to K Falls over the holidays so we can have dance offs. Who's laughing now? Har, har.

When Mols was here, I also lost something small but very important to me, and I'm having a hard time getting over it. The night we went to the concert I wore my Celtic triple spiral necklace (a triskelion). I've had it for several years; it's something I bought during a difficult time in my life. I never really knew too much about the meaning, but for reasons that are a mystery to me, I've always felt very connected to it. Normally I don't get too attached to things, but wearing the necklace always brought me a sense of peace and strength. I haven't worn it so much over the past couple of years, but when I was thinking about getting a tattoo in Hawaii, I knew right away that the triple spiral was exactly what I wanted and was ultimately what I chose. And, when Molly and I were getting ready to go to the concert, it caught my eye in my jewelry box, and I decided to wear it.

Well, after downing a couple of plastic cups full of wine, Mols and I had a kick ass time at the show. During the encore, we even went up to dance with the rest of the audience near the stage --something I never do anymore but really loved. Holding hands, we jumped around laughing and singing. It was totally exhilarating and funny, because everyone was obviously having a fantastic (most likely drunken) time, but we were not down with the boys trying to start a mosh pit. It didn't even fit with the music, but whatever. They were determined. Whenever the rockers started pushing and shoving into us, we'd back away to the outer circle, with our arms outstretched to protect us, saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" We're very grown up now you see. Somewhere in the middle of all that activity, I must have lost the necklace, and I didn't even notice until we were out for dessert after.

A few weeks later, the thought of it still tugs at the back of my mind. The necklace is gone for good, and I'm sad. I bet I bought it for something like ten bucks, and I'm sure I could find another one pretty easily. Like a whiney little kid, though, I don't want a replacement because it won't be the same, or as good, as the original. Boo. I feel guilty fussing about a silly necklace, too, because I know it is miniscule compared to the huge losses people suffer every day. It was just a small thing that held great value for me. What I hope is it was found and kept by someone who will enjoy it, rather than swept up into a dustbin with all the grime and smelly beer cups.

Total holiday gifts purchased: Still holding strong at 1.5.

Congratulations Ms. Em on your fantastic new job!

Today is Megan day. I'm hanging out at home reading, writing, drinking coffee, doing a little Dance, Dance, watching movies (Just put in The Way We Were, which I love and will no doubt lead to a cry fest. Robert Redford - hubba! Can also identify with Katie, the early years, as hair stylist at student academy down the street gave me good cut yesterday but then proceeded to style in to fuzzy puffball. She asked, "What do you think?" I responded in horror, "Well, this isn't how I would style it," while really wanting to say, "Would YOU want to leave HERE looking like THIS?" Left her a big tip, of course, and went home to fix.), petting Kitty, paying bills, doing stuff around the house I never manage to get to, procrastinating on all the other stuff I don't feel like doing, thinking about all the holiday gifts I still need to buy. Total gifts purchased: 1.5. Number left: I don't even want to talk about it.

Friday night, I got to fulfill a longtime dream. At my department's annual holiday party, the faculty and students put on little skits as part of the festivities. This year, the staff finally got it together and wrote and performed the first ever staff skit. I had a big role, which normally isn't my thing. Public speaking causes me lots of anxiety, but I used to like to act, so I figured why not do something that sounded really low key and fun. Beforehand, we did a sound check to see if the microphones were loud enough, and I took my moment to say something into it that I've always wanted to say, "Sibilance...sibilance..." ala Tom Hanks as a roadie on SNL. The oldies, like me, in the room got it and laughed, and I felt great satisfaction that the opportunity had finally presented itself. I have a new love for the microphone!

Practice Makes Perfect

The weather report calls for snow tonight! Yay! Of course, I'll believe it when I see it. The experts around here like to get our hopes up, and then see them dashed when not a flake falls from the sky.

How was Thanksgiving dinner at Palisade? Very, very delicious. Thanks for asking. I scoped out the menu online ahead of time, so I already had a cocktail (raspberry mojito), salad (blue cheese & pear), a few entree options (went with prawns) and dessert (chocolate sampler, please) in mind. It was a great night in fantastic company, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The only part that felt weird was not having the traditional Thanksgiving fare at all over the long weekend. Oh well. There's always Christmas with the fam for that.

The fun never stops, people. While waiting for The Long Winters show to start Friday night, Em and I decided to check out the merch table. Once there, she asked me which of the CDs I owned, and I pointed to the Ultimatum EP and said, "That one." The guy working behind the table asked me if I like it, and I responded that yes, I do, but I really like the song Ultimatum. I didn't stop there. I went even further to offer that, in fact, I am "a little bit obsessed with it, actually." I didn't recognize him initially (not very familiar with this band), but in the middle of uncooly sharing my attachment to the song, I came to the uncomfortable realization that I was telling this to the lead man, John Roderick. To make matters worse, I also remembered that I had barely enough cash in my wallet to buy a soda, let alone any merchandise, so I was going to have to escape without making a purchase. Awkward.

Let the nervous energy take over. I turned to Em and muttered, "Well, I think I'm going to have to buy these (CDs) at the store. Let's go." Then I tossed out a "See ya!" in the general direction of the table and bolted. Smooth. Why is it that at home I can picture myself poised, witty, and charming in situations like that, but in reality I end up feeling like a heel?

I know it's not a big deal, and he probably thought nothing of it. Worst case, he figured I was an odd fan (not potential stalker, I hope), and at best, he was flattered. Em said he seemed pleased--such a good friend--so I'm going to choose to believe that. We couldn't help laughing about the whole thing shortly after. Really must avoid talking to rock star types until I master inner poise. Ha! Uncomf incident aside, the show was really good and lots of fun. I recommend checking them out when they play in your neighborhood.

It's late and still no snow. We shall see.

Hello, all. I am a delinquent blog poster with a cold. This is really great when your primary job function is to talk with people all day. I don't feel too bad, but I've had to constantly gulp tea so I can try to respond to questions with a scritchy-scratchy, yet somewhat audible, voice. People are really nice about it, but I know my obvious germiness makes me about as appealing as a Kitty with fleas.

I have been so busy. My time with my sister and the bobblehead (and my mom & aunt for a couple of days) was absolutely wonderful. It just zipped by. We always imagine our visits with plenty of sister time to just sit around, chat, order pizza, watch movies, blog...Of course it never goes that way. There are always too many things to do and people to see in a short period, but it's still so much fun. Laughing with my sisters is one of my very favorite things, and I wish I could describe the perfection and gratitude of knowing them (without sounding like a cornball), but I don't think I'd even know how to start.

Getting to bond with my nephew filled my heart. It's crazy and overwhelming to realize just how much you can love someone. I adore and miss his sweet face, fauxhawk, pouty lip (pics below), and all his great little baby sounds. My sister is truly amazing in her patience and skill as a mother, though. I definitely had moments of lukewarm feelings for the fussing, wailing, and 24/7-ness of it all, and she handles it so calmly and smoothly. Very impressed.

My friends, I'm embarrassed to say this, but I've unwittingly become something I never thought I would - a (wannabe) Groupie. Gah! How did this happen? Yes, I love my music, but I have no desire to be a band stalker.

Long story short, I kind of know a guy in a band, and in recent months they've played many shows here. I've gone with friends to a couple, and a couple of other times they've played at events I've attended. I usually end up bumping in to Band Boy in the small venues, so I say hi and maybe make a little (awkward) small talk. He's nice, and I enjoy talking with him, but there's only so much you can say in a noisy club. Obviously, I've seen them A LOT lately and, after hearing the same songs over and over again, I decided enough was enough. No more shows.

Well... With my mom in town, my sis and I took advantage of grandma's eagerness to babysit and decided to go to a show one night. Concerts are few and far between on Maui, and Mols wanted to see someone she recognized. I'm sure you can guess what she picked. I was really reluctant to go, but she was excited, so I decided not to make a fuss. When we arrived, I was immediately cheered by the large crowd and figured there was no way I would run in to Band Boy in such a big place. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Mols and I were standing near the stage during the opening act, and he walked directly in front of us, smiled and waved. Sigh. Behind the friendliness, I'm sure he's thinking what any normal person would think. Her again? Stalker!

The problem is that I hardly talk with him (gee, I wonder why?), so I don't have opportunities to explain the how and why I'm always there. Even if I did, it would sound like lame excuses to cover up my apparent obsession. Maybe I'm wrong, and he thinks nothing of it or just appreciates my "dedication" and support, but I have my doubts. And, I have tickets to see another band I really love in a smallish venue in December, and once again Band Boy is part of the opening act. What to do? Sell ticket vs. go incognito. Major dilemma.

Happy Thanksgiving all! I am so thankful for all the family time I had this past week. It was very special to me. I am also thankful for the opportunity to go out to dinner at Palisade with friends tonight. I have never been but have always wanted to go. I'm excited and hardly eating a thing in anticipation! Delicious food. Yummy drinks. Dressing up. No family (mine or others) drama. And, best of all, no cooking or dishes! Sounds pretty perfect to me.

Can you say...

Wooja!

Do you ever have a day when...

-You like a movie just as much as the book it's based on? I saw Shopgirl this afternoon and loved almost everything about it. It is beautifully filmed and completely captures the humor and melancholy undertone of the novella. Jason Schwartzman is perfectly cast as Jeremy (hilarious!), and the acting is solid throughout. Even when you think you are totally wrapped up in the emotion of a scene, the wonderful music draws you in more. My only criticism is that the occasional narration was unnecessary and semi-cheesy. I cracked up when Steve Martin narrated that his character, Ray, has a house in computer-oriented Seattle. I felt like he was saying "computer-oriented" and had the urge (ok, and sometimes I acted on it) to make air quotes any time they flashed a clip of the city.

-Your sister decides she must come for a visit with your nephew (the bobblehead) for a few days before her maternity leave ends? They arrive on Thursday! Yay!

-Someone you've worked with for over a year tells you he just learned that you say your name Megan rather than Meegan? You know he's heard your name several times, so you wonder why he failed to make the connection on pronunciation a year ago. It sort of reminds me of the first few times I met my now close friend's husband. We kept seeing each other at parties and every time he would come up to me and say, "Hi, my name is Keith." Not good for the self esteem, as I started to ask myself if I was utterly forgettable. After the third introduction, I reached my breaking point and said very huffily, "I KNOW! We've met. Several times." He's great, and we laugh about it now.

- You finally get around to unpacking that last box from your move three months ago? I don't know what's wrong with me, but I couldn't stand the thought of dealing with it. I just kept sliding it to different spots in my apartment before it could make a permanent imprint on the carpet. The box ended up wedged behind my bed for my housewarming about a month ago, and there it stayed until tonight.

- You fail to get your Halloween costume together in time? Instead of dressing up as Napoleon Dynamite's Rex Kwon Do for the party and walking around saying, "Do you think anyone wants a roundhouse kick to the face while I'm wearing these bad boys?" in your American flag pants, you're forced to go with one of the old standby costumes in your closet. My standby was a poodle skirt my mom had made for me when I was 13. I've worn it off and on over the years, but the last time was probably about five years ago. Let me just say that my ass has changed since my teen years, and the waistband of the skirt is made of tough, government-strength elastic that stretches to a point, and then there's no give at all. Getting myself into that thing this time took about 10 minutes of maneuvering and a little pain. As the night wore on, I started to think about how I'd get it off. For a brief moment, felt lucky not to have boyfriend or one night stand to witness the humiliation of difficult skirt removal. Time for a new standby, I think.

-You feel that the perfect thing happens for you at the perfect time? In general, I believe we're all experiencing what we need in any given moment, but there are certainly instances when we feel this more than others. Sometimes we fight it and sometimes it's okay. My favorite moments are when I notice that every part of me is in alignment and flowing with what is happening. I had this experience Friday while doing energy work with my friend Amy. I'm interested in energy healing and have studied it a bit, but I'm still a sometimes skeptical novice. I went in to the session with no expectations, but then everything she tried and we talked about resonated so clearly with me. In an hour, I felt like I was given the little push I needed to remove blocks and shift my thinking in a healthier direction. I felt overwhelmingly happy and surprised by the outcome. It made me feel great all weekend and reminded my inner grump girl to appreciate how quickly and easily things can change for the better.

In music news...I am infatuated with the song Ultimatum by The Long Winters and recommend the band to all. Good day.

Last night, Em, her roommate, and I were entertained at the bar by a very drunk girl sitting at the table next to us. Through the smoky haze and blaring music, she leaned over to encourage us to get up and dance, and then asked to inspect our ring fingers to see if we were single like her. Once convinced, she started yelling "Singletons! Yay!" and pointed to the guy sitting with her shouting "He's single, and he's f-ing hot! He's f-ing hot!" Yowza.

We laughed, decided to avoid future eye contact, and turned out attention to the Seth from the OC look-alike sitting nearby. A short time later, Drunk Girl stood up on her booth swaying dangerously to the music, and then wiggled from table to table, trying to get others to dance with her. Her mortified friends attempted to rein her in and then gave up to helplessly watched her progress. Drunk Girl stopped to chat briefly with the group at the OC table and learned that one of the lovely ladies sitting there was celebrating her 25th birthday. She shouted with glee, "You're 25 and your ovaries are still perky! DO YOU HEAR ME, her ovaries are still young and PERKY!"

Oh my.

Over the past couple of days, I've spent time thinking about blog topics that will shift focus from my glaring accident-proness. I suppose I could talk about current events, politics, travel, work, books, movies, music, etc. All interesting to me, and I do discuss these things from time to time, but truthfully I like writing about every day stuff more. If only I had great dating adventures like Breakup Babe, I would happily share the juicy details with you. Sadly, if I chose to write about my romantic life over the past few years, my blog entries would be of the short, dull and infrequent variety.

Lots of Seattle's singles claim that the scene here is tough (Google the "Seattle Freeze" and you'll get a sense of the attitude that applies to dating too), and me and my single friends agree. The other day, Em IM'd me a link to an article in the Seattle PI with the comment "I think not." Sperling's BestPlaces rated Seattle the #1 place to hook-up. Huh? The article acknowledges that most Seattlites will scoff at this rating (you can see the evidence in the linked blog discussions) and makes good points about how the set up of the bars here can make it difficult to start conversations, even if our environment is great for it. Also, I learned that 20% of those surveyed define hooking up as groping. Hmmmm. Now all I need to do is grab some guy's ass at the club in order to claim that I "hooked up" with someone. Good to know.

While pretty much everything I read rang true, and it's easy to place the blame on outside factors, I hate the idea of playing victim to a supposed bad dating scene. I could make a case for how normal and lovely I am (really!), so it's such a mystery that dating is a challenge (yeah, dude!), but I feel like that's beside the point. I'm first to admit that I'm a dating novice after nearly 10 years in a long term relationship, which started when I was a teenager. Last winter, I haltingly tried online dating and found myself out with a guy who claimed to not find first meetings awkward, but then proceeded to act incredibly awkward during our entire walk through Gasworks Park. I've had promising prospects that very frustratingly didn't develop into anything, and I've had pseudo-dates with great guys I wish I could feel more for than friendship. And, there are stretches when I'm not meeting anyone, and the thought of going out to a bar/club/party is exhausting.

While chatting about this article, Em and I agreed that there are many ways we could be a lot more proactive in meeting men when we're out in the world. Actually making an effort to strike up conversations with people is a good start. You know, become part of the solution rather than the problem, blah, blah, blah.

From this realization, the idea of Flirt Week was born. Sometime in the next couple of months (week still to be determined), we plan to go out every night with the explicit goal of talking to new people. We're getting in to the idea of visiting a new neighborhood each day. I can see us strategizing, examining a city map and placing pins, maybe with notes on little flags, in neighborhoods of interest. Em even suggested that we make it a rule to get at least one guy's digits every night, but that reminded me of the character in "Singles" who went around bragging to his friends about all the meaningless phone numbers he had stored in his watch. We'll see. Flirt Week is in the very early stages of planning, so more details to come as the idea takes shape. If nothing else, it could be interesting...and probably lots of fun!

Errrrrr. After reading the entry below, my friend just referred to me (via email) as THE most accident prone person she knows. Maybe you're thinking well, duh, but I was completely surprised by this comment. Hmph.

How could she have possibly gotten this impression? I mean, yes, I've had an issue with pants this year, but I've managed not to spill, drop, or break too many things, and I don't think I've tripped and fallen once yet. I don't feel inclined to change the name of my blog to klutzygirl. I just don't understand! Should I start keeping log of all the days nothing happens to prove that mostly I'm accident-free? All this time I've worried that I come off sounding too chipper with my positive spin point of view on torn jeans and exposed thigh skin, and instead I'm leading everyone to believe that I'm a walking disaster.

Oh well. I'm over it. I responded that I doubt I'm actually the most accident prone person she knows. Really, it's just that I'm such an unbelievable writer that I can turn any minor incident into a good story. Heh. I don't know if she will buy it. Are you convinced?

In the ongoing Megan Has Issues With Her Pants--and not in a good way---saga of 2005, I have another incident to report. In case you aren't aware of my problem, let me summarize:

1. This winter, I wore my very cool green birthday pants to work. Somehow got bleach or other color-removing substance on them in the course of my day and had to walk around with big white splotches on the back of my legs.

2. Getting in to friend's car (again at work) to go to lunch, button on back pocket of another pair got caught on seat and broke off. I decided I can still wear those sans decorative button, though.

3. Summer capri pant tear along my butt cheek. Those, unfortunately, could not be saved.

And now....

4. The great tear across the thigh.

When I returned to work last Tuesday after being sick, I wore a pair of jeans I bought in Minneapolis this summer. I was drawn to them in the store because of the interesting design at the bottom and fun little accordion folds in front at the top of the legs. They quickly became favorites for comfort and how they went with most shirts.

Well, apparently those folds were not made for my active self. As I was clicking away on my keyboard Tuesday afternoon, I noticed a long rip had developed along one of the ridges across my upper thigh. Normally, this wouldn't be a huge deal, but I was in charge of facilitating a panel that evening, and I wasn't prepared to display a pale stretch of thigh skin to a large group of students while standing there speaking. Visions of judging eyes gaping at my tattered clothes put me in a self conscious panic.

What to do? With no sewing kit in sight, no chance to run home, and no extra pants hiding in the filing cabinet, I locked myself in the staff bathroom with an assortment of office tape to try to hold things together. And, when my first taping job fell apart after about 20 minutes, I marched determinedly to the bathroom with more rolls tucked up my sweater sleeves. Repeat. Repeat. By the time the panel started, the layers of tape underneath my jeans were thicker than the material itself.

Luckily, when I got to the room and saw the set-up, I figured out a way to facilitate while sitting at the front of the room. No need to worry about the adhesive not holding up mid-presentation. The bad news: as the students were filing in and grabbing seats, I mentioned to a friend why I needed to sit, and she responded that she didn't think showing some leg would be a big deal. When I countered that flashing my thigh skin to our college kids at a school event would be inappropriate and at least a little bit uncomfortable for all, some of them overheard and laughed. Embarrassing, but at least I entertain.

Wooja!

Love the bobblehead!

Garage Sale-ing At Home

There is a 24/7 garage sale in my apartment building’s garage, and everything is always marked at the same low price--FREE. That’s right. I’ve lived at this new place for a few months now, and it’s become clear that an accepted practice by tenants is to leave all unwanted junk on display for any takers. No unnecessary trips to Goodwill or Value Village for anyone in my building! The shopping area happens to be right in front of my space, and when I return home from work each night, I get to look forward to scoping out the new merchandise as I head in. Previous and current items include:

• A ratty, old, lopsided recliner (still waiting for a home if you’re interested).
• A dirty, beat up, high chair that I’m assuming came from a large family with lots of babies. Otherwise, what happened?
• A floor lamp with a crooked and torn shade.
• Garbage bags that I’m too frightened--and, frankly, not that interested--to open. I hope they’re filled with clothes.
• Half-used box of pet flea treatment (where was this when I needed it a few weeks ago?).
• Plastic popsicle molds.
• Tupperware with no lids.
• Huge collection of 80’s exercise tapes.
• Faded Trivial Pursuit with a round hairbrush neatly placed at an angle across the top.
• A skateboard scooter that allowed me to briefly relive childhood when I took it for a spin or two around the garage.
• Extremely ugly wall art and other miscellaneous crap I can’t identify.
• And, most disturbingly, huge kitchen knives, usually tossed into one of the Tupperware bowls.

For the most part, I find the junk giveaway amusing and harmless, but I’m unhappy when something that could so obviously be used as a weapon is left out in the open for anyone to grab. Plus, as I’m sure you can tell by the merchandise list, there are plenty of kids in our complex, and I would hate to see any of them get hurt at the garage sale. So, I’ve started furtively chucking the knives into the garbage when no one is around. Even though I think I’m doing the right thing, I sort of feel guilty at the same time, like a character in Clue. Madame Megan, in the garage, with a serrated kitchen knife you’ll find in the dumpster.

This Just In

Still not a ton to report, as most of the activity this month is happening in my own little mind. I'm having a lot more quiet time as I contemplate things I want to do and changes to make, but here are a few small updates.

1. Baby picture seekers should now check out Molly's MySpace account. She's posting updated photos of Travie & fam there.

2. Am considering side business as Madame Megan, online tarot reader. :) Have had an influx of requests for readings from friends lately, and I have to say I'm enjoying the practice, as well as seeing what comes up for everyone. Will design elaborate webpage with picture of me in big gypsy earrings and shimmery purple head wrap, advertising an intro rate of $9.95 per reading. What do you think?

3. If you live in WA, don't plan to serve Key Lime Pie Martinis at a party. Liquor stores in our great state no longer carry KeKe, a necessary ingredient for this delicious drink. Grrrrrr. No fun. Chris and I discovered this after a thorough search pre-housewarming party. Ended up serving Chocolate Martinis (or Chocotinis, for those of you who take offense at calling anything not the standard a martini--this issue arose at my party).

4. If you are me, accept fact that you should not take on responsibility for making anyone's birthday special. You are bad at it. Seriously. I have bad luck with birthdays despite my best intentions and mostly well-thought out plans. When I planned a fun birthday trip to Ocean Shores a few years ago for my friend, Shannon, the day was filled with a series of mishaps. First, I got mildly sick from our lunch at a local restaurant. Then, we spent a couple of hours driving around Ocean Shores and its surrounding cities unsuccessfully searching for a hotel, since none of them would take reservations for less than two nights during the summer months. This was followed by a game of miniature golf and window shopping, and then we were off to the beach to watch the sunset before driving home. There, I managed to get my boyfriend's Jeep stuck in the sand after realizing I didn't know how to use the four-wheel drive, and we stayed stuck until a friendly passerby helped us out. Arriving home exhausted and still feeling slightly sick, we crashed at my apartment. The next day I tried to redeem myself a little bit by taking her for a birthday lunch, but, at the end of the meal, I discovered I'd lost my wallet (it was under a seat in the Jeep), so she had to pay for it all. I don't think I need to say how lame I felt after that.

This year, my bad energy in this area continues. I accidentally marked the wrong date on my calendar for my other good friend's birthday. She and I got together for lunch on the real day, which of course I treated just the same as any other and kept mentioning, with no clue about my mistake, that we should plan something fun to do for her birthday. Chris's day turned out okay in the end, with a delicious dinner and fun concert, but all the "little" errands we planned to incorporate into our afternoon went amiss. We spent a ton of time running around and then came home to find out we accidentally locked Kitty out on the balcony for five hours. Oops.

5. Winning the war on fleas requires heavy duty, expensive treatment from the vet or pet store. If you think you are getting ahead on your own, you are wrong. While it works wonders within mere hours, and your Kitty (aka Fleabag) is ten times happier right away, it does have some not so great side effects. Primarily, if she likes to spend time on your bed when you're not home, your sheets turn into a little graveyard for the dead. Ew, Ew, EW! We are now doing frequent loads of laundry at my house. Down with fleas!

6. I'm still buying concert tickets for upcoming shows through early November, and then I'm going to stop until at least December. For real. Don't think I can't hear your sounds of disbelief.

7. In just a few short days, I will have my own DDR mat and game. Will begin quest to become DDR champion! Woohahaha! Soon I'll invite you over to compete against my crazy dance moves. Watch out.

Here I am sitting at my computer wanting to write, but aside from dealing with my Kitty having fleas (She must have caught them from the riffraff hanging out around building. Gross. I know this is fairly common, but I never thought it would happen to my kitty. We're in the middle of a treatment and cleaning program to throw the little bugs out), I don't feel like I have anything new to report. School started this week, which is always crazy, so I've been bogged down with work, work, work. Next thing you know, with nothing better to post, I'll be one of those dull people who records their daily activities on the Internet.

I woke up this morning and ate some Fruit Loops. When I took a shower, I noticed that the shampoo is almost gone (turned it upside down for tomorrow) and my razor is now rusty. I answered 100 emails at work and then sat in traffic for 45 minutes. At the grocery store, I debated about whether or not to buy lettuce or pre-packaged salad. Couldn't decide, so bought jumbo bag of M&Ms instead. When I got home, Kitty meowed at me until I fed her, and then I surfed the Net and watched TV until it was time for bed.

Scary. Luckily, my days aren't quite that lackluster, so we won't reach that point, but still. Maybe what I write about now isn't all that entertaining for anyone else, but at least I don't want to be bored by it.

Also, I feel like I can't and/or shouldn't post the entertaining stories I have on file at the moment. Not because they are particularly juicy or bad (I have to say they are pretty funny, so I'm sorry), but I can't help worry that if the people involved find/read my blog, they might not like it. So, I choose to protect these unnamed individuals, and most importantly, me, in the event that anyone I don't know very well could take issue with my stories. I don't mind baring potentially embarrassing details about me, my family, or close friends, but acquaintances or near strangers? No way.

My fun concert month starts tonight with the Franz Ferdinand show, and will be followed in the coming weeks with Nada Surf, Harvey Danger, Visqueen and probably a couple more bands I have my eye on. Whenever I decide to put a stop to buying concert tickets, another great show comes up, and all my resolve goes out the window. I'll be broke but entertained.

My friend, Chris, is coming to town in a few days, and we're seeing Visqueen for her birthday. We're also hosting a flea-free housewarming/birthday shindig, because my friends are insisting I finally have a party to celebrate my new digs. It should be fun, but I think it's a little silly to celebrate signing a year lease on a very cozy apartment. Woohoo! And, by very cozy I mean 650 sq. ft. The main entertainment of the evening will no doubt be seeing how many people I can fit into this place, drinking numerous key lime pie martinis, and playing a little game I like to call Please Don't Spill That Cup of Red Wine on My Rental Carpet. Actually, I'm really looking forward to having everyone over. I like my new apartment, and it's been ages since I've planned a get together. Plus, maybe this event will provide me with some much needed blog material. I have a couple more parties coming up this month that should help with that too. I hope, I hope.

So, my friends, that's it for now. I promise to stop the boring train here and not write again until I have something "interesting" to share with you. Later!

Chopped Liver

OK, everybody. I'm back home to my fabulous wireless connection that does not require me to perch on the edge of a specific chair near the window in the living room, facing slightly to the left, in order to post, but I'm also no longer on a tropical island, which is kinda depressing. I realize most of you are checking the old blog repeatedly for the sole purpose of seeing more pictures of Travie, but I think I'm out of new ones at the moment. He didn't change too much in the remaining week I was there, but I'll look through the digital camera again and see what I can find. Your requests (primarily through word of mouth) are not being ignored, so relax. :)

In case anyone is wondering, the rest of my trip was fantastic. I had lots of good sister time with Mols and Brynna, and of course I adored every moment with Travis. Who knew little inert babies could be so interesting? On my last night, Mols and I were sitting on her couch playing Boggle, our favorite game, while Travis slept on the boppy in front of her. His little body suddenly jerked awake, and his eyes opened in surprise for a moment before he drifted back to sleep. Molly wondered out loud what that was all about, and I suggested that maybe he was having one of those in between awake and asleep dreams about slipping on the stairs and falling. Don't those cause all of us to wake in a panic before we hit the ground? The thought of a week-old baby having dreams about tripping on stairs gave us a serious case of the giggles for the rest of the night.

Also, I think the little guy could be slightly confused about his name now. When I first arrived, Molly gave me a tour of the baby's area in their loft bedroom and showed me all of his new clothes. Thoughtful friends and family had handcrafted about a dozen onesies with Travis's name printed clearly on the front of each one.

"These are really cute, but it seems like a little bit of a dangerous gift. What if you decide to change his name at the last minute?" I asked.

"I know," Molly said. "Any thought of that pretty much went out the window when I saw these."

"Yeah," I responded deep in thought. "I mean what if you changed it to something completely different...like Phil?"

"Phil, Megan?" she laughed, giving me a look like I was nutso. "Who names a baby Phil? If we named him Philip, we'd have to call him Philip, at least while he was little. Anyway, we're not naming him Phil. I don't even like that name."

"I'm just saying. If you did that, Phil would always wonder why he was wearing onesies with the name Travis on them when he looked at his baby pictures. It might give him a complex."

"Hmmmmm. I guess we could get a Sharpie to cross out Travis, and write in Phil."

"OK," I said. "That could work."

I kind of forgot about that conversation until a couple of nights after they came home from the hospital, when Molly jokingly referred to the baby as Phil. Not only does the name not fit the boy at all, but it really does seem ridiculously adult for an infant. Therefore, we found it hilarious. We couldn't resist calling the baby Phil from time to time, and I don't think his dad appreciated it much. I'd walk by the little guy in his swing and greet him with a "Hey, Phil." He'd gaze my way with a blank stare. I'd come over to talk to Mols while he was breastfeeding and ask "Are you having a good snack, Phil?" Blank stare. When he wound up and started to cry, Molly and I would look at each other and one of us would say "Uh oh. Phil is upset." As my departure date approached, Molly would tell me that Phil didn't want me to go home. Poor kid. At this rate, I see lots of therapy in his future. Of course, I'm sure with my bad influence safely across the ocean he's gone back to being just Travis/Travie now. But, I couldn't resist text messaging Molly when I left to ask her to give Phil a big kiss for me.

Name confusion aside, the little man is deeply loved by his parents, and they are doing a great job taking care of him and adjusting to parenthood. It was so wonderful to watch them with their son, and I can't wait to see all the changes when they visit in a few months. I love holding the little bobblehead boy in my arms, and I felt such joy when I could sometimes help calm him down or put him to sleep by rocking, patting his bottom, and singing/humming a little tune. Travis seemed particularly fond of a Megan original that went like this: Whatever works, whatever works. What-EVER-works. Whatever works, whatever works. What-EVER-works.

It's repetitive but effective. Hey man, whatever works.

Coming Home

Proud Auntie M

Update from the DJ/Doula

Thanks to everyone for their well wishes and excitement over Travis! I will post more pictures soon! The four last night took me about a gazillion attempts to upload with my unreliable connection here. Gazillion attempts = two hours on the computer hitting buttons and swearing, and I just don't think I have that energy tonight. I'm still so tired.

Mother and baby are doing well. We spent a few hours visiting today with the rest of the family in town. There are so many people to love him, and I know they can't wait to spoil him. He is very sweet; even his cry is adorable. Molly is recovering nicely and can't stop staring at her beautiful boy. He is her love, and he is totally amazing. I am in no way biased. I so look forward to seeing Molly and Joe raise their little one. He's taken to eating quite well and can't seem to tear himself away from the breast. I guess he's worried about maintaining his big boy status.

I love that so many friends wished me luck on my DJ/Doula duties. It cracked me up and I felt so happy knowing that people enjoyed my story about my plans for the birth. I have to say that I think I did a decent job at both, in spite of my worries. In addition to keeping a good variety of music going for most of it, my strengths were with the ice and cold rags, visualization, and setting a rhythm during contractions. I admit that Joe did handle most of the massage, but I mostly willingly took over when needed. All in all, I think the three of us were a pretty fine team.

The whole experience was so overwhelming. I still feel overwhelmed by it, and so it is a little bit hard to talk about. My sister was strong and lovely and kept her sense of humor for so long. We laughed and joked for much of the first 8 hours in the hospital. One of the pictures below is of me feeding her some broth, and we giggled endlessly about me spoon-feeding her, as well as the jello that tasted like lemon fresh Pledge. She held it together so well during the early intense contractions after the breaking of the waters. I learned I'm not that squeamish, because I thought the big gush of fluid was awesome, as well as the injection of the drugs in her spine. I watched in fascination. It was the Discovery channel experience I always wish I had.

Progress was slow for most of the day, but during a two hour rest post drugs (mid-afternoon) she went from 4 centimeters to 9.5. So fast! I came in after an hour-long food break to discover we were rapidly approaching the final stage, and my help was needed immediately. Molly pushed for two hours straight, with no pain medication (it wore off at go time), and she showed great stamina. I was blown away by her strength.

I have to tell you that although there is so much joy in having Travis here safely, as well as my sister so happy and healthy after surgery, my own emotions are a jumbled mess. I'm still working to sort through them. It was the most wonderful-horrible experience of my life yet. This is the hard part to talk about, because I want to give an honest account from my view without giving the impression that I regret being there or don't appreciate how lucky I was to share in this. I can't imagine being anywhere else, and, if needed, I would do the whole thing again in a second. Yet, I feel changed, and I don't know if I can ever have a kid myself. I'm going to have to think really hard about that.

Molly tells me I helped her lots during this time, and I hope that is right. I wish I could say that I had no problem staying in the moment, strong and confident that all was well. Sometimes I felt incredibly useful and okay, but mostly I felt helpless and about an inch away from a breakdown.

The truth is that seeing my little sister I love so completely endure such terrible pain was gut-wrenching torture. She went through so much, and although I could not feel her pain, I was swept away by it. The pain became a powerful current that connected me to her and jerked us along, and at times the urge to flee its force overcame me. Even though I knew the pain was necessary, my emotional response to it was sometimes hard to manage. When she cried and screamed and said she couldn't do it anymore, my little voice inside said I couldn't either. I counted down the time for every push to help her stay focused, and my voice would sometimes waver as I started with 10, threatening to collapse with each decreasing number. I'd think that I couldn't go on without bursting into tears, but I'd struggle to stay steady, as I felt she grew to rely on me keeping the time, not to mention a calm exterior. I held up one of her legs and her head during the contractions, and in my weaker moments the need to throw down her leg and bolt was strong. But, in it I had become part of the process and breaking away would have broken the experience. She was going through so much and needed support. I don't think I would have forgiven myself for leaving her or missing a moment.

After she worked so hard, I was sad that she ended up needing a c-section anyway, because she was so determined not to have one. Making that decision and waiting for the surgery to be over was a very emotional period. However, it was a major relief to know that her pain was soon ending and a baby was actually arriving. She had given it her all, and I am so proud of her. There was very little progress for a long time, and it was frustrating for all of us, unbearable for Molly. It turns out that the baby's head was at an odd angle and too large to pass through her body no matter what she did. The doctor wasn't very forthcoming with that information until the very end, and at that point it was clearly the right thing to do for all. Molly was spent, and the baby was stressed. Sadly, my time with her ended then, as hospital policy is to let only the father in during the surgery and recovery. But, I was ecstatic to hear that she was okay, and I can't even describe how purely gorgeous it was to see my nephew in his first minutes. The payoff for the struggles of the day was tremendous.

Mols says she remembers everything, and we plan to talk about it soon. That and some sleep will most likely help with the processing. Aside from posting additional pictures of Travis, I will probably go back to regular blogging now. I'll encourage Molly to add her thoughts in the comments later on, and I'll let you know if she does that. Maybe she and Joe will decide to make a Travis blog at some point. That would be fun!

Thanks all for reading my rambling perspective on the birth of Travie. The sleepy DJ/doula is signing off.

Travie has entered this world!

Like his Auntie Megan, he has a big head that got caught up en route, so this "little" 8lbs 11oz, 22 inch baby was born by C-section at 7:22pm tonight. Big conehead (right now) aside, he is still too cute for words (dark curls, long eyelashes, and a screamin set of lungs), and he is being doted on by all. As my littlest sister, Brynna, so eloquently put, "I never knew I could love someone I don't even know yet so much." Welcome, Travie!

Scratch that

Hello, again. We're all a bit deflated this morning. It turns out that the hospital was full today, so unless nature intervenes, we're going to have to try again tomorrow. I woke up at 5:30am to get ready, and then we found out at 6am that we couldn't go yet. Went back to sleep until 7:30 to find out there still wasn't any room in maternity. Back up at 8:45am to find out today just won't work. Sigh. And, we may have all this to look forward to again tomorrow. Yippee. My only hope is that my exhaustion will knock me out early tonight. I hope that for Molly too. She isn't taking these delays very well. I'll keep you updated.

Go Time

Just a quick post to let all interested parties know that the baby has not arrived yet. The doctors will induce early tomorrow morning, so we may have a long day ahead of us. I'm now at a place where I have internet access, and I'll post the details as soon as a can. Lots of good thoughts and prayers will be appreciated. More soon!

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12am

It’s late, and I should be sleeping so I will have the energy necessary to be useful tomorrow, but it’s really difficult to settle down. We have to leave Lahaina at 6am (after a call-in to make sure it’s a go) to arrive at the hospital for Molly’s check-in time at 7am. Right now, this girl who can barely get in to work by 9:30am is having trouble imagining dragging herself out of bed at that hour, but it’s what I must do. The only thing that could prevent us going is if the hospital is already full of women in labor, and that sounds pretty unlikely.

Although the tiny sensible part of my brain knows I should be sleeping, the overly excited, childlike heap is in full party mode. My little thoughts are swirling in my head, invading every corner. Sleep is not an option. I’m hoping that writing will help quiet the mind.

Tomorrow I will meet my nephew! I cannot wait! More mind boggling is that my sister will meet her son. And, I will be participating in the process. The process is what makes me a little nervous right now. Okay, very nervous. When Molly told me she was pregnant in January, my protective side pushed through my shock, and I immediately offered to be with her during the delivery. I knew it would most likely be difficult for my mom or other sister to make it at the right time, and I felt that I could offer her familiarity and security (and maybe a little humor) in a completely foreign and intense situation.

While I imagine myself as the ultra-supportive, nurturing big sister who knows exactly the right thing to do each step of the way, the fear sector of my brain suggests that maybe I’m not the best fit for this position. Yes, there will be moments of pure joy, warmth, and overwhelming gratitude, but I’ve also heard that things can get pretty painful, testy, and messy. Having never gone through this myself, how do I know what to expect and how I’ll react? I’m not exactly one of those people who pauses while channel surfing to watch the “fascinating” face reattachment surgery on Discovery. Uh-uh. I either cruise on by as quickly as I can and hope I forget what I saw, or, if I’ve seen too much, I cover my eyes with a pillow, take deep breaths, and blindly search for something suitably distracting to erase the image – like Wheel of Fortune. I’ve had to put my head between my knees to avoid passing out after watching something medically graphic on TV, and one word always comes to mind when I see videos or pictures of birth. Unnatural.

My squeamishness aside, I am afraid that I won’t actually know what to do, and possibly nothing I try will succeed in helping my sister through what could be a very trying ordeal. Maybe I won’t know how to support her and Joe if they have to make tough decisions about how to proceed. Maybe I will get tired and cranky and do or say the wrong things. Maybe my unpracticed massage techniques will stink. Maybe I won’t have half the strength that she undoubtedly does to bring this boy into the world, and all I’ll be useful for is my DJ duties. I just don’t know.

For now, I’m as ready as I can be. My alarm is set, and my backpack full of my CD selections and other delivery room necessities is waiting by the door for our pre-dawn departure. I just need to relax and rest. I think I’m going to have to trust that this is meant to be and I will know what to do in the moment. Staying by Molly’s head, away from the action, may be best for all. Hopefully, my presence alone will help make things a little bit easier for her, and whatever I can offer and do on top of that will be enough. I’ll give it my all.

Tonight I bought the cutest little journal that ever was, because I found myself returning to look at it several times while in the store. I couldn't stop smiling at the image. The cover art is called Pyromaniac by Yoshitomo Nara, and I love it. Rather than a dangerous, fire-starting maniac, she (yes, I believe firmly she's a girl) looks like an edgy little kid whose sidelong grumpy glance is the result of being all dressed up (weather appropriate) with nowhere fun to go.

She's really annoyed with her predicament. I totally relate.

Lately, I've had this little bit of restless huffiness happening inside of me, and it's captured by this picture. I even have a little sound effect for it, but it doesn't translate well cyberly. I'm going to keep this journal with me on my daily adventures, so when I feel my inner grump bristling, I can look to her. She gets it. Of course, I hope to put the pages to use and record blogworthy tidbits too.

Vacation (slash baby nephew duty) is coming, and I'm ready! It's starting to feel like fall, and I want to escape to the endless summer of Hawaii to forget about that for a while. With all the terrible things happening right now as a result of weather, it's lame for me to gripe about the change in seasons. It's just that autumn is normally my favorite time of year, but I'm not getting in to it yet. I usually feel energized by the fresh crispness to the air, but instead I find myself wanting to hold on to the warmth for as long as possible.

Also, it seems like time just skimmed over August to leap into September. According to my astrology forecast for the month, yesterday was supposed to be my #1 shining, fabulous day. Huh. Basically, I ended up dragging myself through work with a migraine, and then came home early to take drugs and collapse on the couch in a headache stupor, but whatever. See picture above for my new feeling about horoscopes.

The one major plus of this autumn is all the great new music and fantastic bands playing here in October. Paychecks are rapidly disappearing with the purchase of concert tickets, but I can't stop myself. I'm looking forward to Nada Surf's new one the most. I hope you will check it out. The songs on the site are amazing, and I adore the artwork and colors used for the cover. Good stuff.