Monday, March 10, 2008
Car Conversation
We're all in the car and the radio is tuned to my favorite station, 92.7 Energy. Dance music. Kevin is still wondering how I've snagged a button for this station, and asks what I like about this driving beat and repetitive lyrics. Uh, the repetitive driving beat? And repetitive lyrics? Don't cast the first stone, Mr. Bob-Seger-Lover.
It takes a mighty big iPod to hold our combined CD collections. There's not much overlap. We may be four years apart, but it's a light year in terms of musical taste. At a bar one very late night one very drunken night, he played even *more* Harry Chapin than the Harry-Chapin-loving bartender could stand. I couldn't even tell you who Harry Chapin is, except that hearing his music makes me want to vomit.
We're all in the car and the radio is tuned to my favorite station, 92.7 Energy. Dance music. Kevin is still wondering how I've snagged a button for this station, and asks what I like about this driving beat and repetitive lyrics. Uh, the repetitive driving beat? And repetitive lyrics? Don't cast the first stone, Mr. Bob-Seger-Lover.
It takes a mighty big iPod to hold our combined CD collections. There's not much overlap. We may be four years apart, but it's a light year in terms of musical taste. At a bar one very late night one very drunken night, he played even *more* Harry Chapin than the Harry-Chapin-loving bartender could stand. I couldn't even tell you who Harry Chapin is, except that hearing his music makes me want to vomit.
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 8:46 PM 
Sunday, January 27, 2008
I Have The Greatest Husband In The World
We were watching the 4th in a series of documentaries (28 Up from The Up Series), during which a husband and wife were being interviewed about their daily lives. He said that his wife worked from 9am - 4pm, and then he worked from 7pm - 2am. The interviewer asked if he helped out around the house and they both laughed. He said that when he got home from work, he didn't think he should have to lift a finger. My greatest-husband-in-the-world turned to me and asked, 'Didn't she work all day, too?'
We were watching the 4th in a series of documentaries (28 Up from The Up Series), during which a husband and wife were being interviewed about their daily lives. He said that his wife worked from 9am - 4pm, and then he worked from 7pm - 2am. The interviewer asked if he helped out around the house and they both laughed. He said that when he got home from work, he didn't think he should have to lift a finger. My greatest-husband-in-the-world turned to me and asked, 'Didn't she work all day, too?'
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 4:18 PM
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Luggage
I bought a new suitcase, and it is liberating. Let me explain--since I began traveling for work in the 1990's, I've used one suitcase. Well, after I had disastrous episodes with garment bags, evil, evil, garment bags who entice you to stuff them so full that they not only won't fold, but they can't be carried! They must be dragged along infinite hallways, gathering dust and debris before you reach the mocking agents at checkin. Well, that's what I get for waiting until the last two trips to take all my stuff home from a corporate apartment that I'd been living in for months.
Anyway, after that I decided that I wouldn't be humiliated anymore by awkward, ugly luggage that I couldn't carry. So I bought myself a nice rolling bag that I could carry on, along with a suit bag for the inevitable expansion (and shopping) during the trip. So I went out and got one of these, a Hartmann suitcase, in the old-school color. They don't even make them anymore, everything is expandable. But in my day, the don't-check-anything-days, they had to fit or you weren't carrying it on. Remember when the x-ray machines had the little openings on them that everything had to fit through?
But one of the stresses of traveling for me now is fitting everything in. Yes, I've been dumping my larger items in Conor and Lucy's luggage, but now that everything has to be checked, why not get a bigger bag? I did, and I have to say my stress at traveling has gone down considerably because I can fit many, many, more clothes than I can wear in this one!
I bought a new suitcase, and it is liberating. Let me explain--since I began traveling for work in the 1990's, I've used one suitcase. Well, after I had disastrous episodes with garment bags, evil, evil, garment bags who entice you to stuff them so full that they not only won't fold, but they can't be carried! They must be dragged along infinite hallways, gathering dust and debris before you reach the mocking agents at checkin. Well, that's what I get for waiting until the last two trips to take all my stuff home from a corporate apartment that I'd been living in for months.
Anyway, after that I decided that I wouldn't be humiliated anymore by awkward, ugly luggage that I couldn't carry. So I bought myself a nice rolling bag that I could carry on, along with a suit bag for the inevitable expansion (and shopping) during the trip. So I went out and got one of these, a Hartmann suitcase, in the old-school color. They don't even make them anymore, everything is expandable. But in my day, the don't-check-anything-days, they had to fit or you weren't carrying it on. Remember when the x-ray machines had the little openings on them that everything had to fit through?
But one of the stresses of traveling for me now is fitting everything in. Yes, I've been dumping my larger items in Conor and Lucy's luggage, but now that everything has to be checked, why not get a bigger bag? I did, and I have to say my stress at traveling has gone down considerably because I can fit many, many, more clothes than I can wear in this one!
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 10:22 PM
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Reindeer Licks
I really cannot say enough about this candy. First, there's the name. And then there's what you look like as you eat it. It looks as though you are French-kissing a tiny animal. (I took pictures of the kids eating it, but they creeped me out so I deleted them.) I did not photograph or look at myself while I ate one--you're not really aware it's a tongue, but you do sit there and nnnn nnnnnn nnnnnnnn lick at it. Apparently these now come in a variety of animals, in case reindeer aren't your bag.
Perhaps I am especially amused by the tongue candy because of my childhood. My father likes to eat cow tongue. And when you buy it in the grocery store, it looks exactly like what it is--a giant tongue, wrapped in plastic. And nce he got it home, my dad would take the tongue out and chase my brother and I around the house licking us with it. I never understood why anyone would want to eat tongue cooked and sliced up, and I cannot fathom why someone would want to eat a *candy* tongue. What's next--candy toenails!
I really cannot say enough about this candy. First, there's the name. And then there's what you look like as you eat it. It looks as though you are French-kissing a tiny animal. (I took pictures of the kids eating it, but they creeped me out so I deleted them.) I did not photograph or look at myself while I ate one--you're not really aware it's a tongue, but you do sit there and nnnn nnnnnn nnnnnnnn lick at it. Apparently these now come in a variety of animals, in case reindeer aren't your bag.
Perhaps I am especially amused by the tongue candy because of my childhood. My father likes to eat cow tongue. And when you buy it in the grocery store, it looks exactly like what it is--a giant tongue, wrapped in plastic. And nce he got it home, my dad would take the tongue out and chase my brother and I around the house licking us with it. I never understood why anyone would want to eat tongue cooked and sliced up, and I cannot fathom why someone would want to eat a *candy* tongue. What's next--candy toenails!
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 9:59 AM
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Ladies Night(s)
I went to Las Vegas with the girls this weekend, and I suppose when we stop going out and drinking and dancing we'll have to stop calling ourselves girls. But not this trip!
Things I wish I'd said to the airport security guy who made me take off my sweater and go back through the metal detector again in just a camisole:
-Show me yours first
-Okay, but it wil cost extra to take off my pants
-Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?
And then there was the Spanish-speaking flight attendant who was trying to explain to an elderly Asian couple that they couldn't sit in the Exit row if they couldn't understand English well enough to follow emergency instructions--BUT SHE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAY IT IN ENGLISH. So she had to get another flight attendant to translate. The couple wisely moved--they were in front of me in the security line, and spoke perfect English--and I was rather surprised that EVERYONE in the exit row didn't as to be reseated at that point.
I went to Las Vegas with the girls this weekend, and I suppose when we stop going out and drinking and dancing we'll have to stop calling ourselves girls. But not this trip!
Things I wish I'd said to the airport security guy who made me take off my sweater and go back through the metal detector again in just a camisole:
-Show me yours first
-Okay, but it wil cost extra to take off my pants
-Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?
And then there was the Spanish-speaking flight attendant who was trying to explain to an elderly Asian couple that they couldn't sit in the Exit row if they couldn't understand English well enough to follow emergency instructions--BUT SHE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAY IT IN ENGLISH. So she had to get another flight attendant to translate. The couple wisely moved--they were in front of me in the security line, and spoke perfect English--and I was rather surprised that EVERYONE in the exit row didn't as to be reseated at that point.
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 6:28 PM
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
A Weekend Away
We went away for the weekend--without the kids. For the first time. And stayed at a hotel. So you know we did all the things every parent dreams of doing in a hotel room—-we slept a lot and left wet towels on the floor. And don’t get me started on the joys of room service...a greasy bacon and egg sandwich after a night of drinking? What could be better?
We went away for the weekend--without the kids. For the first time. And stayed at a hotel. So you know we did all the things every parent dreams of doing in a hotel room—-we slept a lot and left wet towels on the floor. And don’t get me started on the joys of room service...a greasy bacon and egg sandwich after a night of drinking? What could be better?
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 4:12 AM
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Back At Work
I'm working again. It really fell into my lap in a nice, neat package. I got a call from a company I'd done work for in the past, and I didn't immediately say no because then they'll stop calling. So while I was working on my very good reason for not working, I ran into a friend, a mom from Conor's preschool, who's a nanny. And she was looking for work, too.
It's hard to get excited and into a project because my time is so limited--and delimited. I have the literal hard stop in order to get home on time. It is hard to constantly keep your eye on the clock and leave before everyone else. And the guilt is an old friend. Wanting to be at work means wanting to *not* be with your kids.
The first day back was a prime example of why it's so freaking hard. Lucy got sick and I had to take her to the doctor. But I laughed at fate because I had reserved the day to work at home *and* we have a nanny this time around--we're throwing money at the problem instead of fretting about how bad a parent you are for sending a sick kid to daycare.
I'm working again. It really fell into my lap in a nice, neat package. I got a call from a company I'd done work for in the past, and I didn't immediately say no because then they'll stop calling. So while I was working on my very good reason for not working, I ran into a friend, a mom from Conor's preschool, who's a nanny. And she was looking for work, too.
It's hard to get excited and into a project because my time is so limited--and delimited. I have the literal hard stop in order to get home on time. It is hard to constantly keep your eye on the clock and leave before everyone else. And the guilt is an old friend. Wanting to be at work means wanting to *not* be with your kids.
The first day back was a prime example of why it's so freaking hard. Lucy got sick and I had to take her to the doctor. But I laughed at fate because I had reserved the day to work at home *and* we have a nanny this time around--we're throwing money at the problem instead of fretting about how bad a parent you are for sending a sick kid to daycare.
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 6:34 PM
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
How I Amuse Me
We had friends in town from Texas--my college roommate and her family. When she and I were at the University of Texas at Austin, we'd often get asked if we knew so-and-so or what's-their-name. Why yes, we'd respond, we do know them. There are nearly 50,000 students at UT and we personally know each and every one of them. We'll mention it at the next school-wide meeting.
So while squiring them about town on tourist-related excursions, every time I saw someone in Texas paraphernalia I'd ask my friends if they knew that person. Needless to say, this was much more amusing to me than to them. They actually looked at the individual and tried to figure out if they really did know them.
This reminds me of how I still smile to myself when I think of how during a DC trip I brandished my Smithsonian membership card at each and every museum so I could get in free. (This is even more amusing if you know that all the Smithsonian museums are free every day, all day, to absolutely everyone.)
We had friends in town from Texas--my college roommate and her family. When she and I were at the University of Texas at Austin, we'd often get asked if we knew so-and-so or what's-their-name. Why yes, we'd respond, we do know them. There are nearly 50,000 students at UT and we personally know each and every one of them. We'll mention it at the next school-wide meeting.
So while squiring them about town on tourist-related excursions, every time I saw someone in Texas paraphernalia I'd ask my friends if they knew that person. Needless to say, this was much more amusing to me than to them. They actually looked at the individual and tried to figure out if they really did know them.
This reminds me of how I still smile to myself when I think of how during a DC trip I brandished my Smithsonian membership card at each and every museum so I could get in free. (This is even more amusing if you know that all the Smithsonian museums are free every day, all day, to absolutely everyone.)
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 2:51 PM
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
The Marital Bed
Kevin and I got a new bed. It's a big deal for us, because we have been sleeping on the compromise bed for quite a while, and it's everything a compromise promises to be--reasonable, but ultimately irritating to both of us. Bed-wise, Kevin wants a brick and I want a marshmallow, so this compromise bed was somewhat firm, with two, count them, two pillow-tops.
So we started out bed search a while ago. We tried the Sleep Number beds, which really just made us laugh. Their whole selling point is based on the experience of laying on an uncomfortable bed that gets comfortable. Seriously--no one is expected to adjust their bed all the time, are they? I know the thing has a remote, but unless you mistake it for the TV remote, I doubt anyone fiddles with it much. (Except your kids, of course.) Anyway, so the salesperson determined which kind of bed you wanted, then set the bed to the opposite and let you enjoy feeling it firm up or soften. It's a great tactic, I'll admit, and one of the few beds that would actually accommodate our diametrically opposite preferences, but it just made us laugh as Kevin's side of the bed raised up and I sank down low to rest amid the crackle of air baffles. His sleep number? 83. Mine? 22.
Another option (whose brand I can't remember) consisted of two Lego-like piles of different kinds of foam. If we took all the 'firm' Lego's and put them on Kevin's side, and then put all the soft ones on my side, it worked. This configuration, however, wasn't recommended. Why? Because one side will be lower than the other!
So we ended up at the ergonomic/organic/NPR-supporting/locally-manufactured bed store. And we picked one out. And waited for it to be delivered. And it sucked--for me, anyway, but Kevin loved it. And I didn't handle it very well, either. See, the bed HURT me. I woke up and could barely walk my hips were so sore, but Kevin got up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which really pissed me off. How could he love a bed that was obviously out to get me? I HATE this bed, I told him, and I REFUSE to sleep on it. Unfortunately, Kevin didn't understand the depths of my hatred for this bed, and he was rather surprised that I slept on Conor's bunk bed for over a week. Even Conor got tired of me taking over his bed!
I called the store to take them up on their 'comfort guarantee'. The saleswoman I spoke to suggested that I switch the bed to a softer model--but not tell Kevin. She said she did that to an ex-boyfriend and he didn't notice! I refrained from pointing out that I'd like to have both a husband and a comfortable bed, and said we'd come back in to try out the other models. And we picked another one, waited for it to be delivered, and I swear their business plan is to wear you down with the waiting and the switching so that you'll just take whatever bed they send over the second time. Conor and Lucy love this bed--they said my side would soften over time, so I'm working on accelerating that process by having them jump on the bed fairly frequently.
Kevin and I got a new bed. It's a big deal for us, because we have been sleeping on the compromise bed for quite a while, and it's everything a compromise promises to be--reasonable, but ultimately irritating to both of us. Bed-wise, Kevin wants a brick and I want a marshmallow, so this compromise bed was somewhat firm, with two, count them, two pillow-tops.
So we started out bed search a while ago. We tried the Sleep Number beds, which really just made us laugh. Their whole selling point is based on the experience of laying on an uncomfortable bed that gets comfortable. Seriously--no one is expected to adjust their bed all the time, are they? I know the thing has a remote, but unless you mistake it for the TV remote, I doubt anyone fiddles with it much. (Except your kids, of course.) Anyway, so the salesperson determined which kind of bed you wanted, then set the bed to the opposite and let you enjoy feeling it firm up or soften. It's a great tactic, I'll admit, and one of the few beds that would actually accommodate our diametrically opposite preferences, but it just made us laugh as Kevin's side of the bed raised up and I sank down low to rest amid the crackle of air baffles. His sleep number? 83. Mine? 22.
Another option (whose brand I can't remember) consisted of two Lego-like piles of different kinds of foam. If we took all the 'firm' Lego's and put them on Kevin's side, and then put all the soft ones on my side, it worked. This configuration, however, wasn't recommended. Why? Because one side will be lower than the other!
So we ended up at the ergonomic/organic/NPR-supporting/locally-manufactured bed store. And we picked one out. And waited for it to be delivered. And it sucked--for me, anyway, but Kevin loved it. And I didn't handle it very well, either. See, the bed HURT me. I woke up and could barely walk my hips were so sore, but Kevin got up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which really pissed me off. How could he love a bed that was obviously out to get me? I HATE this bed, I told him, and I REFUSE to sleep on it. Unfortunately, Kevin didn't understand the depths of my hatred for this bed, and he was rather surprised that I slept on Conor's bunk bed for over a week. Even Conor got tired of me taking over his bed!
I called the store to take them up on their 'comfort guarantee'. The saleswoman I spoke to suggested that I switch the bed to a softer model--but not tell Kevin. She said she did that to an ex-boyfriend and he didn't notice! I refrained from pointing out that I'd like to have both a husband and a comfortable bed, and said we'd come back in to try out the other models. And we picked another one, waited for it to be delivered, and I swear their business plan is to wear you down with the waiting and the switching so that you'll just take whatever bed they send over the second time. Conor and Lucy love this bed--they said my side would soften over time, so I'm working on accelerating that process by having them jump on the bed fairly frequently.
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 12:11 PM
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Television!
Our television is broken, and we're having it repaired. How old-school is that? And not even cool old-school, either. The television has broken before, in the exact same way, but this was apparently in the age before computers because they couldn't find a record of the repair. Based on the address the repair shop had on file, it must have been 1998.
So we're getting it fixed, and as I speak two men are in our living room breathing life back into it. I considered, very briefly, that this was a sign and maybe we should live without television. And then I laughed! Television is one of the (many) leisure activities mothers who work outside the home give up. I, however, have rediscovered it! Netflix! Replay! How you entertain me, and keep me from re-reading the classics! Oh, I love the (occasional) illicit pleasure of watching television during the day. And how could I deprive Conor of his Mythbusters and Dirty Jobs? Oh, Television, how could we live without you?
Our television is broken, and we're having it repaired. How old-school is that? And not even cool old-school, either. The television has broken before, in the exact same way, but this was apparently in the age before computers because they couldn't find a record of the repair. Based on the address the repair shop had on file, it must have been 1998.
So we're getting it fixed, and as I speak two men are in our living room breathing life back into it. I considered, very briefly, that this was a sign and maybe we should live without television. And then I laughed! Television is one of the (many) leisure activities mothers who work outside the home give up. I, however, have rediscovered it! Netflix! Replay! How you entertain me, and keep me from re-reading the classics! Oh, I love the (occasional) illicit pleasure of watching television during the day. And how could I deprive Conor of his Mythbusters and Dirty Jobs? Oh, Television, how could we live without you?
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 11:14 AM
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Accidentally
I was pulling out of our street, turning left onto a busier cross street and some young college girl nearly took off our front bumper. I swear she didn't realize what she had hit until some guy on the sidewalk pointed us out to her. She was flying down the road, trying to get back to UC Davis to take an exam. She was so flustered by the whole experience that when I asked for her insurance, she handed me her Blue Shield card. I felt like Kathy Bates' character in Fried Green Tomatoes. "Face it girls, I'm older and have more insurance."
We've had the car fixed, and the front bumper is shiny and clean and perfect. There's not even a license plate holder on it, just a vague indentation of where one might go. It looks like a Ken doll's genitals to me.
I was pulling out of our street, turning left onto a busier cross street and some young college girl nearly took off our front bumper. I swear she didn't realize what she had hit until some guy on the sidewalk pointed us out to her. She was flying down the road, trying to get back to UC Davis to take an exam. She was so flustered by the whole experience that when I asked for her insurance, she handed me her Blue Shield card. I felt like Kathy Bates' character in Fried Green Tomatoes. "Face it girls, I'm older and have more insurance."
We've had the car fixed, and the front bumper is shiny and clean and perfect. There's not even a license plate holder on it, just a vague indentation of where one might go. It looks like a Ken doll's genitals to me.
Labels: Home Front
// posted by Georgia @ 8:37 PM
