Potty training update -- feel free to avert your eyes.

I heard Brooke tooting and for the first time in months I got her on the potty in time.  Yay me!  Then immediately I heard Leah tooting and I thought, "I will be a freaking ROCKSTAR getting both of these kids to poop on the potty within 5 minutes of each other!"  Leah sat and sat and sat and never went.  Then 15 minutes later she comes to me with her pants around her ankles.  "Leah!" I asked excitedly.  "Did you go potty?"  Upon closer inspection, I can tell she did because her pants, undies, shoes, and socks are soaking wet.  Which means she stood up from her seated position on the potty where the pee was supposed to go and PEED ALL OVER HERSELF.  Brain damage.

Two! Four! Six! Oh!... crap.

I am insanely excited about the Les Miserables movie coming out in December.  And it's like the filmmakers were worried that I wouldn't go so see it anyway so they had to go and cast Russell Crowe as Javert.  Sold. Sold to the crazy platypus down front.

Anyway, after bugging my father-in-law, "So, Les Miz is going to be our Christmas movie, right?  Right, right right, rightrightrightright?" I got to thinking about my first Les Miz theater experience.  Talk about a serious injury inflicted.  Perhaps you would like to hear the tale?

I think I was a sophomore and my high school had purchased a block of tickets and was sponsoring a trip to see a performance at the Sacramento Community Center.  I bought a ticket with my Christmas money and my friend Brian and I went with the other 30 or so students from school.

There was excitement in the air as we boarded the yellow school bus which was to carry us all to the venue. I'd never been to see a professional theater performance and I'm sure this was the case for many of the others.  Looking back on it, it seems like Brian and I were maybe a year or two younger than all the other kids on the bus.  Not just because we didn't really know anyone else but I remember that we were... well, obnoxious.  I don't remember exactly what we were doing or how we were behaving (just loud and giggly, I'm sure) but I distinctly remember getting a lot of dirty looks from the upperclassmen and thinking, "We are REALLY obnoxious."  Not that we were inspired to tone it down at all.  Actually, we probably just got more amped up every time we saw someone look down his nose and whisper, "They are really immature."  So, by the time we got to the community center, an hour later, everyone was probably really glad to be rid of us.

The bus driver pulled up and dropped the group off in the roundabout in front of the building.  Mr. Teacher instructed us to meet in the EXACT SAME SPOT after the performance.  We went inside and joined the throngs of theatergoers as we climbed the stairs (and stairs and stairs and stairs) to find our seats.  Every though we were as far back as one could possibly get in the auditorium, we were awed by the performance and generally had a great time.

After the show, Brian and I wandered around in the lobby among all the vendors selling Les Miz programs, mugs, hats, pins, and posters.  It took us a long time to decide which priceless trinket we would purchase to commemorate our monumental evening.  (We both ended up with posters, of course.  I wish someone would have just told us to buy a dang poster to begin with.)

It wasn't long after that that the vendors began to take their booths down and we figured we should go outside to meet up with the group.  After getting a bit turned around in the building we managed to find the correct exit and stepped out into the frosty midnight air.

The frosty deserted midnight air.

A single limousine glided silently out of the roundabout and we were completely alone.  No bus waiting.  No group of high school students.  No teachers.  Not even a single other theater patron.  Just Brian and Andrea.  Standing on the steps.  Alone.

We looked at each other.  And then back at the dark street.  And at each other again.

"Uh-oh," Brian whispered.

"I think they left us," I croaked.

"They... it's a school trip... they can't just leave us... can they?"

What Brian didn't know was that I already had a track record of being left behind after field trips.  When I was in grade school, the classes used to take regular walking field trips to the local community college for shows and concerts.  At one such show, the children in the audience were invited to come up on stage after the play and meet the actors.  I did and my class left without me.  I had to walk back to school with a class of first-graders and be humiliated by my own teacher when I returned to a classroom full of my peers who were all studiously working on their math problems.  "Nice of you to join us, Ranger," he sneered.  (He knew I hated being called by my last name.)

So yes.  It was not only probable that our group had left without us, based on past experience, it was almost certain.

We stood in silence for a few minutes.  Then Brian piped up.  "We could, uh... call a cab, I guess.  How much money do you have?"

Being two kids from Pollock Pines, neither of us had the slightest idea how much a 60-mile cab ride would cost.  Honestly, neither of us even knew how to even call a cab in the first place.  Not that we had the option to do so.  The theater was now locked up and there were no payphones in sight.

"I don't have any money left.  I guess we'll have to find a phone and call one of our parents.  Yours or mine?"

"Mine will be really, really mad.  It's the middle of the night."

"Mine too.  Also, I don't even know where we are.  We're in downtown Sacramento.  At a convention center of some kind.  What are we supposed to tell them?  Just look at all the convention centers and theaters in Sacramento until you find us standing out front?"

"Well, if we can get ahold of them, they could call the school and find out where we are."

"Who are they going to call?  It's the middle of the night!  They'd have to call an emergency number or something!"

"This is an emergency!  And it's the school's fault!  THEY JUST LEFT US HERE!"

We stared in silence a while longer.  "This is Sacramento," I offered helpfully.  "Maybe there's a homeless shelter we could stay at until morning?"

Suddenly, the irritated voice of a teacher rang across the street.  "There you two are!  Finally!  It's about time!"

"About time for what?" Brian asked snarkily.  "We are right here.  Waiting.  Exactly where you told us to wait.  Where.  Is.  Everyone?"

"The bus is parked a couple of blocks away.  We realized the two of you were missing because you were so rowdy on the drive down," he said reproachfully.  "I had to come back looking for you."  He sounded like he thought he'd done us a favor.

"Hold on, every single other student in our group just happened to know that the bus was parked somewhere other than was agreed and just happened to find it?  In the dark.  At midnight."

Mr. Teacher averted his eyes.  "You're lucky we figured out you were missing."

"Really?  How far up the road did you get before you realized you were missing two kids?  Because we've been standing here a long time trying to figure out how to get home."  Brian wasn't letting him slide.

Mr. Teacher gave a let's-just-put-this-thing-behind-us chuckle.  "Well, no harm done!  Let's get on home!"  He led us back to the bus, which was parked several blocks away.  We never could have found it even if we knew exactly where it was.

The other students glared at us as we boarded.  Maybe they were annoyed at having to return for us.  Maybe they were expecting a repeat of our obnoxious behavior on the way back.  They didn't realize that it was only because we had made such an impression on the way down that someone even noticed we were missing on the way back.

Otherwise we would have had a date with the local homeless shelter.

Please excuse my dear Aunt Sally

I've got 3 kids in diapers (pretty much).  I've changed hundreds, if not thousands of diapers in the last 3.5 years.

One would think I could remember one simple rule.

Snap the onsie, THEN put the pants on.

Apparently, I'm old enough to have a 20-year reunion

I went to my 20-year high school reunion last June.  I ordinarily wouldn't have gone, but Brett ended up DJing the party so I felt like I couldn't skip out.  A friend asked that I analyze the event from a psychological, sociological  and anthropological standpoint and report back to her.  


"Andrea, all these people have a social lubricant that you do not have. It lowers their inhibitions and allows them to interact more freely with one another. Alcohol." ~Brett Fox

So, since I'm a lot more confident in my social interaction than I was in high school I went in figuring that I could interact comfortably with pretty much anyone I would run into. I was only expecting to see half a dozen people that I still know because I'm friends with them on facebook. 

It actually would have been easier if it had been a room full of strangers. There would be an openness to getting to know anyone there. And it wasn't like there were boundaries or cliques or anything like there was in high school. It was just weird because people are looking for their friends. And if you don't know the person, there's no point in chatting them up. There's also a huge added level of awkwardness because everyone is wearing a badge with their name and yearbook picture. So, there's all this sneaky sideways glancing to see if you can catch the name and recognize the face before approaching and talking to someone. It's quite evident when you are deemed unworthy by someone who had previously been approaching because they thought they might know you. And you hug EVERYONE. For no reason. I hugged a dude I hadn't seen since eighth grade graduation.

You would have had a much easier time because you would have a wingman. Brett was DJing so I was flying solo. After about 15 minutes I had seen everyone that I knew and it was evident that this wasn't the place for making new friends. So I went over to the DJ booth and reported my findings to Brett. He suggested that I just start chatting with people, even if I didn't know them. Honestly, in most other circumstances that's what I would have done but it was really, really hard for some reason. I felt myself starting to hang back and peoplewatch rather than try to socialize. 

Then it was time for dinner. I was toward the front of the line so I got pretty much first pick of seats. I chose a table right near the door where everyone had to exit after getting their food. Surely, someone I knew and had already talked to would see me and want to sit with me. Person after person exited and I watched as everyone veered off in different directions. I ended up sitting at this 4 person table ALONE (with Brett when he wasn't up taking care of the music.) I'm sure it wasn't me, it just happened that way, but I was pretty much ready to call it a night after that. 

I once heard a comparison about a rider on an elephant to the subconscious mind. An elephant is a huge beast. There's no reason for him to do anything the rider wants him to. The rider might think he is in control of the elephant, but in reality all he can do is ask politely for the elephant to go in a certain direction. If the elephant chooses otherwise there's not much the rider can do. The subconscious mind is one huge elephant. You might think you are in control of your thoughts and feelings but when stress and anxiety strip you down your subconscious is going to do what it is programmed to do... what is familiar and comfortable.

So this is where I ended up after dinner. Sitting at a table by myself watching people socialize and dance with little effort while I watched and tried to blend into the background. Just like I had done so many times as a teenager.

Unfortunately, now I am more aware that sitting by yourself and not moving at a party or dance is not socially acceptable. So instead of being nestled a cocoon of comfortable familiarity I was wrapped in self-loathing. I finally mustered every ounce of willpower I had and forced myself to get up and wander. Because you look less desperate and silly wandering than sitting by yourself. Before I knew it I was standing in a shadowy area of the deck trying to blend into the background again. I hadn't planned it that way, it just happened before I realized it. 

I finally spotted the table where all the people that I knew where sitting. (Any surprise that all of my friends chose to sit at the table furthest away from all the loud music and action?) I wanted desperately to go sit with them but I was held back by some fear that I couldn't identify. Did I really think they would reject me? No, they are all nice people. Did I really think I would have nothing to contribute to their social interaction? No, just let me tell a few stories and they'll be rolling on the floor. After playing out the worst case scenarios in my brain, I realized that my fear would be that I would get over there and they would say that all the chairs are being occupied and there would be a weird awkward moment, chair-wise.

I may be a social dork, but I'm a resourseful social dork. So to conquer my fear, I grabbed a chair from the closest table and dragged it down the path with me. 

They watched me coming. I couldn't see their faces in the fading twilight. I took a deep breath and plunked my chair down and said, "I didn't realize how much it would suck to not have a date tonight!" Silence hung in the air for an unbearable and interminable moment, then... laughter. "Of course!" they cried. "Pull up a chair! Your husband is doing a wonderful job! It's so good to see you! Tell us about yourself and your family!"

Crisis averted. I settled in to have a fairly pleasant evening catching up with a the very few people I would have wanted to see at the reunion anyway.

The very last song was "Jump Around," which I knew Brett was playing just for me. I thought, "I'm not a dancer but anyone can jump around. I'll hit the floor since this is the last song." As I tried to squeeze in among the long, tan legs, high heels, and short skirts on the dance floor, I realized that 20 years makes little difference in who you are. Not only could I not squeeze in physically, but I was on the outside in other ways as well. I finally gave up and retreated to my safe little hobbit hole, with the other hobbits, far from the loud music and drunken dancing, hugged everyone again and went home.

P.S. It doesn't matter in the slightest what you wear.

This was my report.  It sounds like I had a terrible time, but in reality I look back on the evening with fondness.  It confirmed to me that the people I had as friends in high school are still the people I would want to hang out with today.  I have good taste in people.

Also if I hadn't gone to the reunion I would have missed out on this delightful interaction when two VERY drunk girls who I barely remembered from high school stopped by my table...

Girl #1:  Heeeyyyyyy... *peeking at my badge*  I .... remember you?
Girl #2:  Yeaaaaaahhh.... she was in our... uh.... one of our classes...
Me:  I'm not sure, but it's nice to see you anyway.  Are you having fun?
Girl #1:  Yeaaaaahhhhh!  It's time to PAAAAAAAR-TAY!!!!
Girl #2:  Heeeeeyyyy!  You don't have... *hic*... a drink.  Where's your drink?!
Me:  I'm just drinking water tonight.  I'm good.
Girl #1:  Noooooo.... lemmemme buy you a drink!
Girl #2:  You don't... *hic*... have a drink.  Where's your drink?!
Me:  Thank you.  I'm good with just water, though.
Girl #1:  Lemme buy you a drink!  *fumbles with her wallet and dumps its entire contents on the ground*  Oops!  *bends over in her too short skirt, flashing everyone on the dance floor*
Girl #2:  Oh, sh*t!  *bends over to help pick up the credit cards and spills her drink in Girl #1's hair*
Girl #1:  *doesn't notice the booze in her hair* Heeeeeyyyy!  Where's your drink?  You don't have a drink!  Lemme buy you a drink!

I kid you not, she dumped her wallet on the ground again, retrieved it again, and said, "Heeeey! You don't have a drink!" again.  This would have gone on all night if I hadn't distracted them by promising to get the DJ to play their favorite song.  He never did, but I don't think they noticed.

The Haunting

Several years ago, Brett and I visited his brother and sister-in-law who live in Virginia.  In August.  I mean, they don’t just live in Virginia in August (that would be silly) but it was August when we visited them.  Actually, that was silly.  I’ve only been to Virginia twice, once in October and once in August.  October was brilliantly sunny with a delightful crispness in the air which perfectly complemented the trees turning into flaming bonfires of orange, red, and yellow.  August was… well.  It was hot.  Dang hot.  Like, Tarzan hot.  And humid.  It was literally 99 degrees and 99% humidity. 

It should be noted that at this time I was also suffering from an undiagnosed thyroid condition, the main symptom of which is “heat intolerance.”  And not just heat intolerance like, “Gosh, it’s hot and uncomfortable~I wish I was drinking lemonade in the shade” kind of intolerance.  This was more of a… how shall one say, “GIVE ME A GUN AND KILL ME NOW JUST SERIOUSLY PUT MY OUT OF MY MISERY LIFE IS NOT WORTH LIVING IF I HAVE TO BE SO HOT WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SO HOT AND WHY CAN I NOT GET A MOMENT OF RELIEF” kind of intolerance.

Avoiding the heat became an obsession.  It occupied all my waking thoughts and some of my dreams.  There was never enough air conditioning.  Not in the house.  Not in the car.  Not in the stores or the restaurants.  I desperately just wanted to park myself in an igloo in my underwear and never come out. 

So, it was while we were visiting Bill and Suzanne (who have a perfectly lovely air conditioned house which they maintain at a perfectly lovely temperature) that one night I determined that I COULD NOT SLEEP ONE MORE NIGHT NEXT TO THE BLAST FURNACE WHO CALLS HIMSELF MY HUSBAND.  I went in search of cooler, less populated surroundings. 

The unfinished basement with its cool cement floors and wide open spaces beckoned to me.  I tiptoed down the stairs and pulled the chain on the single hanging bulb.  I had planned to sleep directly on the concrete if necessary, but the futon seemed like a better place to start. 

I watched a little TV to relax and cool down.  Ahh… so much better.  I might be able to sleep after all.  I closed my eyes and began to drift off.

I was somewhere between sleep and waking when I heard.. a voice.

I snorted and sat bolt upright.  “Yes!  I’m down here!  Just getting cool…” I said in the direction of the stairs.  I was sure it was Brett looking for me to come back to bed.  There was no reply. 

There was no sound of any kind.  No footsteps or breathing or shuffling or anything that would indicate that I was anything but alone in the dark basement.  I must have imagined it.  Part of a dream which my brain misinterpreted, I’m sure.  I laid myself back down and drifted off again.

Once again as the murky twilight enveloped me I heard a voice.  This time there was no mistaking it.  I couldn’t make out what it had said, but it was definitely a man’s voice and it was definitely in the room with me. 

I leapt up and pulled the chain on the light.  My eyes struggled to adjust as I spun frantically around.  I saw no one and aside from the neat row of cupboards along the wall there was no where for someone to hide.    

“Someone is going to hide in a cupboard and try to scare me by talking in the middle of the night?” I wondered.  He would have to be devoted.  He would have had to have gotten in there to hide before I went to sleep.  And he would have had to wait for me to finish my show.  And he would have had to wait for me to fall asleep.  And, most importantly, he would have had to know that I would end up sleeping in the basement tonight.  A fact which I didn’t know myself until an hour prior.

It was unlikely, but since I couldn’t think of a more reasonable explanation, I tiptoed over to the cupboards.  I threw open the doors quickly and violently lest the prankster get the upper hand by bursting out and scaring me before I could uncover him. 

The cupboards were full of board games and baby toys which the kids had outgrown.  No pranksters.  No monsters.  No voices.

Now what was I to do?  I desperately wanted to sleep.  I was too hot upstairs and too scared to stay in the basement.  I pondered my plight and inspiration struck me.  The TV!  Of course!  I must not have turned it off properly or there is a video game or something still playing in the background.  Better check the electronics. 

Satisfied that everything was off and stopping short of unplugging everything that could possible make any noise I resumed my position on the futon.  And because I’m a pansy, I left the light on.  The basement was silent and with the light protecting me I closed my eyes.

Again!  A voice!  It was deep and slow and distorted, bearing an eerie resemblance to what a demon in a movie might sound like!  But this time, it didn’t stop.  It kept groaning on in a distinct cadence that was frightening but oddly familiar at the same time.

“Nrgh… nnnnrgh wr grrr… craaaaaaw,” it droned.  “Phrrr…  phrrr wr grrr… orrrrrrrs.”  A chant.  Some kind of demon chant. 

This basement is a portal to hell and I am about to be dragged into the lake of fire and brimstone. 

So hot.  So very, very, very hot.

Don’t they know I have a thyroid condition marked by severe heat intolerance?

I can’t go to hell.  No way.  I’ve already spent a week in Virginia in August.  I’ve already been there. 

I steeled myself and walked toward the sound.  No little demon was going to get me without a fight.  Pre-emptive strike! 

I found myself standing next to the cupboard which I had checked just moments before.  I flung open the door, ready to gouge out the little red eyes which I knew would be staring back at me.

“C… C is for cow…  D… D is for dog…”

My nemesis which I stood poised and ready to destroy was not some naked, scaly, cloven-hooved, bat-winged succubus.  It was a Fisher Price Barnyard Speak-and-Say children’s toy. 

With trembling hands I pried the batteries out and dared it to taunt me a second time.  It did not.

Good thing, because if it had continued to speak I don’t know what I would have done.

Clue, Zoolander, and a brush with celebrity

It started when a certain family member watched for the first-time, and did not enjoy, the movie Clue.  Certain other members of the family were aghast that anyone would not enjoy Clue.  Then the discussion drifted to other movies, comedies specifically, which were held in high esteem by some and loathed by others.  Zoolander was mentioned as one example and indeed it had even polarized a married couple who generally share the same taste in movies.

My favorite movie critic, Eric D. Snider (www.ericdsnider.com) write a column called "Re-Views" in which he re-watches movies to which he had given extremely favorable or unfavorable reviews when they were first released.  He then offers his opinion about how well the movie has stood the test of time and whether he responded the same way upon a subsequent viewing, usually about a decade later.  He's an open-minded fellow like that.

I remember not liking Zoolander when I saw it in the theater and so I was very surprised to see that Eric D. Snider had given it high marks.  So, I e-mailed him for some more information.  And he e-mailed me back!

Here's how our exchange went:

Our family is having a lively facebook debate about the merits of Zoolander.  I thought I'd check to see what you thought of it and I see you gave it an A.  Have you re-viewed this one?  I'm wondering if it stood the test of time.  Most of the family who didn't like it just don't care for Ben Stiller.  I generally like Ben Stiller but didn't think Zoolander was funny.  The side of the family who enjoyed it the first time still maintain it is one of the funniest movies OF ALL TIME!!!1!1!  I don't think they are impartial judges at this point.

Your thoughts would be appreciated.

Andrea

***

Sorry I didn't reply sooner! I'm at a festival. I did see ZOOLANDER a second time, in 2006 or thereabouts, and I remember still laughing a lot but feeling like I would probably ease off on my "A" grade a little. Comedy is too subjective to debate, though. If it don't make you laugh, it don't make you laugh. 

Best,
Eric

So, there you have it.  My brush with celebrity!  I'm practically a celebrity myself now!  Almost like the time I shook hands with Eddie Van Halen!

(Just for the record, I did watch Clue again as I promised.  I wanted to like it.  I really really did.  The whole dog poop bit at the beginning made me laugh.  Christopher Lloyd made me laugh once.  But there wasn't enough funny to justify all the running from room to room and repeating what had happened over and over and over and over and over and over.)

(I have yet to watch Zoolander again.)

(And speaking of Eric D. Snider.  This is one of the funniest things I have ever read.  I usually try to re-post it around Halloween each year.  If it is new to you, enjoy!  If you've read it before, enjoy again!)

Field of (Old) Dreams

After years and years of saying, "You know what movie I'd really like to have on DVD?  Field of Dreams" we finally acquired it.  (Yes, we are still buying DVDs instead of BluRay.  Shut up.)

I was amazed at how much I still enjoyed it after all these years.  I was in 7th or 8th grade when I saw it in the theater.  I remembered really liking it but I can't be sure that wasn't because I was with a friend and her parents bought us a MASSIVE tub of popcorn and we gorged ourselves silly on buttery and salty goodness.  (I find many of my fondest memories involve an activity which is accompanied by eating as much as I wanted of something.)

It's a little dated for sure.  I mean, Ray goes to the library and looks at old newspapers on microfilm while sitting in front of an enormous card catalogue.  He calls his wife from a payphone and she talks to him on their gigantic corded home phone which makes a clangy, ringy sound when she hangs up the receiver.  These are things that most kids who are old enough to drive and date and even get married these days have absolutely no experience with.

"Just think about this," Brett piped up.  "You are older now than when Kevin Costner made this movie.  How's that for a mind-blower?"

"Nu-uh!" I began to protest.  "He's got to be at least thirty-five in this film."

Brett let that sink in to my consciousness without saying anything.

How did I get so old?

(I looked it up today.  Kevin Costner was 33 in 1988.  Yup.  Younger than me now.  Crap.)