A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm!

Putting This One Next to the Cohibas

I must confess, I've always been a fan of silence.

It doesn't bother me very much, and it's nice and soothing.  What tends to make silence creepy is the insertion of little tiny noises that you can't notice when things are in their usual loud state.  It's very Hitchcock, I suppose, and it's not very relaxing.

But a lovely silence like right now-- both little Meows down for a nap and Mama Meow tap-tap-typing away with only the hums of the computer and the fridge to keep me company-- is one of those little treats that I wish I could store away in some cool, secluded chamber or soul's humidor of sorts to pull up when I'm feeling mad as a hornet and about to send out the pheromones to the hive.

This reminds me, also, that I have not wished my blog a Happy Birthday.  It is now four years and two months old (minus a day).  I'm not sure what this all means, except that having a blog?  It is really really cool.

Anyway, I hope you all out there in the blogiverse have a happy Wednesday!  Toodles!

Screaming For It And Betting You Will, Too

One of the few rules we lowly blogging reviewers have to abide whilst writing our reviews is a simple one: if you cannot write a balanced review, please do not write a review.

I am here to say that when it comes to ice cream, alas, the bias is pretty strong.  How on earth can ice cream really be improved and make me gush lovingly about it even more, so it even exceeds my already pretty big bias toward ice cream?

Live and learn, I suppose.
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I was lucky enough to receive four samples of the new Häagen-Dazs ® five ice cream product line last week, and you may think that just because I got ice cream in the mail I am gushing about it.

True, it's exciting.  And getting the dry ice that came along with it and cackle madly as I poured hot water on it was fun, too.

But dear people, this ice cream!  It is DELICIOUS!  It is magic that dissolves in your mouth and it's creamy goodness that could have not arrived at a better time so I could enjoy it during an incredibly nice spring day.

The five line gets its name because only five ingredients are used in the making of the ice cream:milk, cream, sugar, eggs and the essence of the featured flavor-- such as my hands-down favorite flavor, passion fruit.

[N.B. Häagen-Dazs ice creams are already very minimalist; for instance, their regular vanilla  ice cream also boasts only five ingredients, as do the coffee, chocolate and strawberry flavors.]

Amazingly enough, the pruning of the ingredients list also makes the ice creams in this line lower in fat than those from the Häagen-Dazs premium line; although 11 grams of fat per 1/2 cup serving is still a LOT OF FAT, which also means that you probably should not sit down and drown your sorrows with an entire pint of ice cream to begin with, but please don't let me stop your consumption of ice cream.

I must admit that when I first opened my thirlling parcel of cold goodness, the thing that caught me off guard was the flavors: ginger, passion fruit, mint, brown sugar.  To be honest, they all sounded a little oddball and maybe not particularly thrilling.  However, once you get past the possible oddness of the varieties and actually taste them, the concerns melt away as easily as the ice cream does in your mouth.
As I've noted, my personal favorite was the passion fruit flavor;  Monsieur Meow liked ginger best; Herr Meow was a big fan of mint, which I thought a sophisticated choice for a little fella of three; and Rev. Mom thought the brown sugar was best-- though she was torn between it and the passion fruit.

And if you would like to try a FREE 14 oz. pint (*cough*apintisSIXTEENouncescheapskates*cough*) of Häagen-Dazs ice cream, be one of the first three people to leave me a nice, thoughtful comment as to why you deserve ice cream and I will send you a coupon. 

Now let me hear you scream for ice cream.  I know I already did.

Grace and Naps: Priceless

I am cross-posting here from Grace in Small Things, because while I have not been feeling like blogging lately--what with trying to sleep and recover, I have not been able to locate my inspiration-- I did feel like being a little grateful and catching up.  So here we are: a special slacker post, just for you!

Incidentally, I MUST post about a great book I've been reading while nursing Don Meow at 3 am: The No-Cry Nap Solution, by Elizabeth Pantley.  This book is a MUST READ, even if you have no kids-- certainly it's driven the point home that naps are not just necessary but they are a way of life.  I promise, this post will come soon!

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Yes, it's true: I am trying to catch up on a whole bunch of days all in one post (catching up on TWENTY-ONE days' worth of thankfulness, no less). It is a tall order for one blog entry, but I am confident this little post is The Little Post That Can.

First and foremost, I am catching up because I gave birth two weeks ago. It's true that some people are up and running marathons or walking the Victoria's Secret catwalk within two or three weeks of giving birth, but I am still just trying to take things in stride and get some sleep. So this will not be a conclusive list, but here is a good effort:

1. Little Don Meow, Herr Meow's baby brother and new love.
2. Having a quick labor (which did not seem so quick at the time).
3. The way the Wilson Bridge, the Washington Memorial and Old Town Alexandria looked all lovely and lit up the night I gave birth.
4. No traffic on the Capital Beltway-- this is, more than Grace, a miracle in itself.
5. Being able to laugh through vicious contractions.
6. Good hospital food. It exists, amazingly enough.
7. Nice nurses who truly care for their patients and trust their patients.
8. Lovely, kind people calling to congratulate and issue good wishes.
9. Family.
10. Noggin.
11. Sprout.
12. Cable, in general.
13. Sleep.
14. A baby bladder that works in proper order, even if it means getting sprayed with a generous plume of pee on an occasional basis.
15. Friends who help out or offer to help out.
16. Home-cooked meals.
17. Waking up weighing ten pounds less. The thrill is cheap, but it doesn't quite get old.
18. "Time Bomb" by Rancid.
19. Milk!
20. Being able to bend over without gasping for breath.
21. Celebrating five years of marriage.
22. Reconnecting with people you really, really like.
23. "Recuerdos de la Alhambra" by Tárrega.
24. Memories triggered by songs.
25. Wine, delicious wine.
26. Prosecco too.
27. Typos that make "prosecco" turn out like "prosexxo"-- which is quite a statement.
28. Windowshopping online.
29. Catching up and surpassing one's birth weight.
30. Being an inch longer than when we were born, too.
31. GOOD haircuts on the men in your life.
32. Naps.
33. Mothers who can cook well, and do.
34. Blankets and covers and pillows and warm things.
35. Newborn fuzz.
36. There can never be enough gratitude for Netflix in my heart.
37. Or for chocolate.
38. Or for food in general.
39. Or for blogging, really, even as much as I've neglected it lately.
40. Or for life in general, which is pretty thankfulness-worthy.

The Best Part of Wonking Up

When I first started dating Monsieur Meow, I remember --now fondly-- one of my first foot-in-mouth moments with him. 

It was the moment wherein I declared that I couldn't believe any sentient human would watch C-SPAN for fun.  And then he told me about all his favorite C-SPAN shows.

And then he tuned the TV to "Washington Journal." 

And I seriously wondered if life was trying to test me.

___________

But really, "Washington Journal" isn't so bad.  Actually, it's quite entertaining.

Between you and me and the world at large?   It's possibly one of the most brilliant and unintendedly funniest shows on television.

And I am forever grateful to my sweet husband, he who's expanded my weltanschauung in ways I never really thought relevant or possible for me.  Also, am grateful that he was able to put my less-than-flattering comments about C-SPAN behind us.

__________

Back to "Washington Journal": chances are that you're not familiar with the show because, hello?  It's C-SPAN and most people don't really watch C-SPAN on Saturday morning at 7 am (or, really, at any other time of day, unless they are Monsieur Meow). 

The show takes place in a bare-bones studio, whose only decoration is a large picture window featuring a gorgeous angle of the United States Capitol and which allows you to see the sunrise and the change of the seasons in DC (this is possibly my favorite part of the show).  For periods of time --I believe they are half-hour segments-- there is only a host sitting comfortably at a desk and reading newspaper headlines from around the country and sometimes from abroad, as long as they cover American politics.  In zen-like motions, he guides us through highlighted passages, many of which relate to a topic of the day.  This is possibly the cushiest job in the world: reading pre-highlighted newspapers.  You don't even have to memorize a line!  The stuff is all in front of you!  How hard can it be?

Of course, the host does penance in other ways; you see, this is also a call-in show.  I am pretty convinced that the hosts for this show are selected on their ability to hold a pretty damn good poker face for long periods of time.  (Memo to self: Never invite a WJ host to a poker party.)

The host periodically repeats the phone numbers you can call if you would like to opine on the main topic of the day.  There are three lines: one for Independents, one for Democrats and one for Republicans.  It does not escape my notice that the line for Independents was a total afterthought.  Behold:

(202) 737-0002  Democrats
(202) 737-0001  Republicans
(202) 628-0205  Independents

Whatever happened to 737-0003?  Tsk, tsk.

At certain intervals, the host is joined by one of several guests --politicians, economists, policymakers and other notables-- to help discuss a tailored topic fitting the abilities of the guest or the topic of the day (it varies).  Just to give you an idea of what the topic of the day may be, today's is about the economic stimulus package planned in addition to the current stimulus package approved by congress.  Civic life and the internet is the topic hosted by the guest currently, and he's fielding his share of very old people who are not quite sure that the Internets really have a role in politics.  The guest nearly loses his composure on a couple of occasions-- his mouth twitches, hand goes to his mouth.  Solid gold.

And then we get the crazy people.  Oh, the crazy people are the best thing ever: like the lady who just called and sang something about "poor Georgie, Obama will pardon you"; or the caller who refused to tackle the subject of the day until the host agreed that C-SPAN's assertion that it's paid for by the cable industry really truly means that C-SPAN is actually funded by cable subscribers, which means that we all pay for C-SPAN whether we like it or not.  These are the best moments of the show: totally bizarro and unscripted and hilarious--especially when you look at the host and he's trying valiantly to keep his composure in the face of someone who's hijacked the phone line for five straight minutes to basically be heard about ANYTHING.

And finally, there is the rare glimpses of someone who seems to understand the question and deliver a thoughtful and thought-provoking comment.  These are the moments that make the show truly worth watching: the moments that remind you why this is a country that thrives on discourse and on the freedom of speech.

But for the main part, "Washington Journal" is nothing but hours upon hours of delightful, unscripted mayhem, punctuated by the dignified calm of the host.  It's that quiet, resigned desperation that makes this show an undiscovered hit-- a rare gem that allows us to watch a broad swath of America undisturbed and unburdened by the shackles of thought.
Needless to say, I am a total convert, and I think you should be, too.

Happy (cold) Saturday!

All I Need Now Is Cristy Lane's Velvet Voice

I am currently a blank slate getting an internal ass-kicking from a fetus.

My esophagus runneth over with gastric juices and my girth is making Jupiter feel a little jealous-- and peckish.

And Bones is on tv-- back to back episodes.

My feet are up and I look vaguely matronly in my fuzzy house slippers.
I'm delighting in my relative unattractive comfort.

Sometimes you just have to cut your losses and realize that if nothing else, having your feet up and being warm is possibly the greatest achievement of your day.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see about getting me some Tums by telekinesis.

Odds, Ends

I am very tired.  This is actually what I am blogging about tonight, more than anything because it's still NaBloPoMo  and I don't want to let go with only two days to go.  We've just finished watching Kung Fu Panda and now we're tackling some episodes of Bones, and I'm still in a nice turkeyish trance, courtesy of leftovers.

Seriously, this is not a bad way to end a week.  And bonus?  I cannot believe my little man will turn three tomorrow.  It seems like a nebulous and distant past when I gave birth to him, and when I could wear tank tops and flip flops in lat November.

Where did this year go anyway?

How about you out there in blogland?  Any Black Friday shopping?  Any good stories?  Any relatives gone wild?

Still Two (Eight Times Over)

Thank you to those of you who made a point of wishing me a happy birthday today.  We may mature and grow older, but there is still a little bit of giddy magical anticipation that surrounds that happy day where one celebrates being granted entry into this world.

If in the past I've griped, today I feel gratitude and peace.  Maybe there is something special in itself about this funny little number, 32, that is just an eightfold iteration of the number two --such a wonderful and confused age all in its own right.  Or maybe letting go and just enjoying the day is truly the key, even if it is a 95-degree day with more humidity than is proper when summer is more of a technicality than a reality.

And just because I love this stuff, here is some trivia on today, September fourth.  Happy night!

Reduce, Reuse, Reread

Hey blogland!  It's a lovely, balmy, ununsually-pleasant August night here in the Land of Pork. This means that if I weren't pregnant, I'd be eagerly trying out the recipe on today's WaPo for Tamarind Margaritas (*faints*) instead of sticking to water and juice. 

(By the by, I think you need to be subscribed to the Washington Post online if you want to read that as of tonight.  Tomorrow I think it's fine.  Sorry about that.)

Anyway, so since I'm so very relaxed and laid back, I am sharing an entry from almost exactly two years ago.  If you haven't read it before, it's new to you!  And, tell me, isn't that special?

Enjoy the rest of your evening, all!

Some People Don't Want Miracles

Another magical St. Anthony's day has come and gone.  If you don't know what St. Anthony's day is or who St. Anthony is, please click here to read last year's entry.  Incidentally, this is one hotly-searched-for post in the Interwebs, because it seems that there are lots of people searching for lost things. 

And boyfriends.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, please, again, I exhort you to go to last year's entry.

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It's funny that what I'm about to write should have kind of transpired today, traditional day where people celebrate the saint to which so many pray for lost objects.  And boyfriends.  And girlfriends too, I imagine, though maybe not as wildly.

Today the Meows went to be swingin' with the beautiful people at happy hour. 

Okay, we were just getting some dinner; but you know, it was Friday and the partying starts early.  So as we were enjoying a lovely family dinner (sample snippets from our sparkling repartee included, "Sit down! Eat your food!  Don't go under the table! Stop climbing over mommy and daddy! Sorry, what did you say? Hand the credit card over! Stop doing that! WHAT? Eat your food! No! No! No!")*, we couldn't help but notice that we were the only family at an establishment that unabashedly was catering to single people.

Now, I have no problem with single people: as a former single person, I have been there for both the good and the bad (though exactly how much "good" and how much "bad" as compared to other single and formerly single people I've done is hard to gauge), and there are times I wish I were single.  No, not fervently or ardently or actively, but there is always a little fun and mystery and adrenaline  when it's just you and there is flirting and there is money only for shoes.

But when you're no longer single and, in my own personal case (because I know there are many people who enjoy the single life very much), you are glad that the nights are not so soul-crushingly lonely and you're glad that every social occasion and gathering does not become another opportunity to pine, flirt, ignore, and get involved in weird is-he-or-isn't-he cycles.  You're also glad that you can enter a fine, or not-that-fine-really, establishment in shorts and a peasant top and with your hair in a ponytail and that it's quite okay (even if you feel slightly underdressed amongst the patrons with adorable dresses and tight pencil skirts and cute peep-toes and proper pedicures that don't look like you got your cat drunk and took inappropriate pictures of her and then threatened to release them unless she painted your toes) because you're not trying to dazzle anyone with your polish and your undernourished frame.

And so, being the lonesome couple in an area that's increasing in meat-market-y level also places you in some sort of display: you can imagine some quiet tour guide whispering sotto-voce,

"And over here you can witness the endangered species Nucleus familiaris var. unigenitum.  Note their sparkling repartee and the way the adults hover over the child-- this is called 'posture of impending doom.'  We're walking... we're walking...."

Some people love seeing Herr Meow, both within and without a restaurant.  They wave or smile or shake their head in a conciliatory way when he runs into their shins at 40 mph and we whisper "sorry!" here and there.  Some people are even interactive and ask for high-fives or call him "buddy" or wave goodbye. 

Some people are more reserved --this would be the larger group: they politely get out of the way or simply prearrange their route to circumvent the Whirling Dervish.  If in the same room with him, they may smile momentarily and go back to their amazingly-uninterrupted and possibly grown-up conversations. 

But then there is the third group. 

_________

It's hard to put into nice words this feeling --this static-- but the best way came through Monsieur Meow.

"Did you see those people back there?  They gave us the 'Breeder!' look."

_________

Some people resent the husband and wife team, and the fruit of what people refer to as, "The Nasty."  They stare openly as we walk into what they may perceive as their terrain, daring to disrupt their Pad Thai or their perfectly chilled cocktail with our flurry of arms and legs and shrieks and admonitions and sorries and hellos.  They look up from menus or roll their eyes derisively into their BlackBerrys and wonder what we are doing infiltrating their five o'clock no-children-allowed world.  They raise eyebrows and nudge elbows and cringe inwardly.  They think they are subtle.

They shoot looks of hostility, as if we were deliberately flaunting our... what?  Our conformity?  Our lack of fluid dinner conversation?  Our fertility, perhaps? 

This didn't put a damper on our evening, but it did make me wonder if those looks of open hostility are nothing but a subverted longing for what appears to be greener grass.

Or maybe I had spinach in my teeth.

_________

*Note: This dinner conversation was, effectively, drowned out by the din of about 80 office workers and about as many other Marines who lined the place from wall to wall.  Normally our dinners would include some of the same repartee, but just at hissing level, and peppered with more frequent threats of, "If you don't stop that by the count of three WE. ARE. LEAVING!"

There is no Such Thing as Old Age: There is Only Ditziness (and Booze)

Sometimes it's no fun being the adult.  Today I was feeling particularly dragged-down and awful in the early afternoon.  It all started right after saying goodbye to a good friend with whom we had a lovely lunch: suddenly the pressure dropped and the humidity reeeeeally set in, as if to say, "Why by Jove!  This is the SOUTHEASTERN United States!"

Herr Meow, who seemed oh-so-sleepy earlier in the day, was the embodiment of the chatty life of the party as we lurched forward toward Capitol Hill.  Placing him in his stroller and going for a walk only wore me down even more --damn you, cute strappy J. Crew flip-flops that offer no support whatsoever despite looking pretty cute and highlighting my orangey-red nailpolish!

Going to the park and having him play and walk around offered no relief either.  And then I started to doze off on one of the park's benches.

May I repeat that?  I.  Dozing off.  Benches.  Two-ish p.m.

I suddenly felt old and aggrieved by allergies and the complaints of those who can't even hold their own when the weather turns the least bit muggy and unfavorable.  I schlepped the kid home and forced us to have a nap. Meanwhile in my mind I kept pouting/thinking, "Why do I feel so awful and sick? Booohoooo!"

________

When Monsieur Meow arrived, complaining about the greater heat and humidity today, he also said something along the lines of, "...and of course, the hangover."

I stopped in my tracks.  OF COURSE, THE HANGOVER!!!!

I am not a dowdy, mumsy, boring person who gets sick in the heat and humidity after all!  I am a sometimes-dowdy, preternaturally-mumsy and 50/50 boring person who happened to drink sangría like it was her job last night.

Let me tell you: I have never felt so good about realizing I was fighting some major ethyl alcohol poisoning.

Maybe I'll drink to that, when I feel a little less bleary.

Pee Ess: Sorry, Edith Wharton.