Howie

You know, I look at that last post and I find myself wishing that my life were again as it was that night.
I hate saying it, but avoiding the truth of the words doesn't make it less true. Howie died on Wednesday. My wonderful, ridiculous, loving, inspiring, mockable, happy, selfless Howie is no longer in my life, and I don't know how I'll come to grips with it.
You all know what he meant to me. You all know that I loved him so much. Most of you probably thought that I picked on him too much. But you know what? If I didn't, he'd want to know why I was mad at him. If I didn't, he wouldn't know how much I love him. If I didn't, he'd get to tweak at me unimpeded, and that would have sucked.
What to say, what to say. I'm at such a loss for words, though you wouldn't know it by how much I've written over the last couple days. As I told Mom, it's fitting that the education that he paid for, that the writing talent that he was so proud of, would be used to compose an obituary, directions to the remembrance gathering, and yes, a eulogy.
It's too much for me right now, to try to approach this on this level, in my personal space that I share with you all. It's too much for me to grapple with.
I will be back soon though.

My scalp's a bit warm

I've got Saran Wrap on my head. Yes, my head is wrapped up in plastic, like some weird translucent turban. I've applied the color on my hair, by myself, and am waiting for it to soak all in and take away the pink. I've made a bigger mess in my bathroom than Brian does when he shaves his head.
Malia concocted the color, included the gloves and application bottle even, and gave some very specific instructions. Reasons why I love Malia: she and I have the same birthday; we tell each other everything; she encourages my whims (pink highlights), denies my flights of fancy (not a blonde), and totally digs it when I sit in her chair and say, "Let's cut it all off." She also ends her very specific instructions with the statement, "It's pretty simple. You can't ruin anything so don't worry."
I thoroughly enjoy how well some of my favorite people know me. All my friends were like, "Pink hair? Whatever. That's so you." And my fave hairdresser in the world was all, "I know you. You could screw this up, so I'll make it as easy as possible. And, I'll make it idiot-proof."

Rescue: 2010

And now we know that there will be an official ending to Lost. Per Variety, ABC and Lost producers have agreed on a finishing point to the series: in the 2009-2010 season, three years from now, 16 episodes each season, to be shown in one block without any repeats. (Click here for the article on Yahoo!.)
One word: Brilliant! This was the best way to control the show's plotlines, give the viewers the knowledge that everything will be resolved in some way, and allow ABC the gravitas to market the show for all it's worth over those three years. I'm excited! This is a precedent-setting move by the network, which will be able to say that it was "the first" to give a show an endgame. It makes a promise to people like me who want to be sure that their time invested in the show will eventually pay off. It sets us all up for a great 48 episodes over the next three seasons. It also means that I've only got four more DVD sets to buy.

They're nude

This is funny! LOOK at all the naked people!

Thousands of naked volunteers pose for U.S. photographer Spencer Tunick at Mexico City's Zocalo square May 6, 2007. A record 18,000 people took off their clothes to pose for Tunick on Sunday in Mexico City's Zocalo square, the heart of the ancient Aztec empire. (Daniel Aguilar/Reuters)

Southwestern eggrolls and a salad

So I spend this Saturday night at home watching the fights with my hubby. I'm no fan of the sport, in fact, I hate watching boxing at any time. But Brian was intrigued, and, since I like to sit next to Brian, it's the fight on television tonight. The first two fights are over already, and I actually watched them. Right now, Oscar De La Hoya and Floyd Mayweather are in the ring, dancing around a little, and preparing for their big event. I have no allegiance to either of them, and couldn't care less who walks out of this one a winner.

We did some productive stuff today, though I didn't get as much done as I wanted. We did make it over to the Costco home store, and made arrangements to have them come and pick up our sofa. Actually, we paid for them to pick it up. They'll call me next week to let me know when they'll be by to get it. Unfortunately, we didn't find anything at the store to replace our outgoing sofa, so I need to find some furniture stores for us to check out. As it is though, Brian trusts me to find us a good sofa (as long as it's pwoofy) within the next two weeks before Costco comes to get our current piece. That, of course, is tacit approval that I get to pick whichever one I want, provided he doesn't have to go through the search with me. Fair enough, I guess. After the home store, we hit the actual Costco, picking up fun stuff like toilet paper and trash bags, as well as some frozen food items.
But that is not today's gravy. Wait for it ... Brian consented to eat lunch at Chili's. Why he doesn't like the restaurant is beyond me. Seriously, it's one of the most benign places ever.

Maybe even $200

I totally would have paid $100 to see Britney lip sync on stage for 15 minutes. That would have been the coolest thing ever! I can't wait for her next concert tour, because I am ALL OVER IT!
Entertainment shows are all, "Crazy people! Who pays that much to watch someone recycle three-year-old material and then not even sing it with their own voice as it is right now?!" We're all, "Back up that truck! Leave Brit be! She's just checking it all out!"
Thankfully, the fans have been supportive (with a few naysayers about the non-singing), so maybe we'll be seeing Brit back on stage with some new stuff soon. I'm missing some kicky pop in my life, so Britney might be the answer to that.

Strawberry Shortcake, I presume?

ITEM!: Brian dislikes the pink hair. He actually said to me last night, "And I really don't like your hair." I knew that he wouldn't love it, but I really didn't think that he would dislike it that much. And while, yes, I am a modern woman who doesn't need to be perfect for her man, I do like it better when he doesn't see something he dislikes in glowing pink. So, off to Malia's tomorrow to see what she has to suggest to fix it. I'd like to rid myself of the pink on top, since it's fading anyway. The bottom part is going, too, but I think I'll keep the pink in my bangs. I like it there.
ITEM!: I'm so disappointed in The Hoff. Have you seen that video of him, all drunk and slurring, on the floor of his room in Las Vegas? It's so disgusting, really, to watch him crawling on the carpet, trying to feed himself a hamburger, talking (sort of) to a family member who was recording him so he could see what he was like when he's drunk. While taking the initiative to have someone record you in such a state so you could use it as a learning tool is an interesting approach, having a family member do it is kinda sad, and seeing it on Extra is just icky. Hoff, I applaud your struggle for sobriety. But, herein, my illogical crush on The Hoff is ended. I'm creeped out. Sadly, I'll never be able to see him again without thinking of that video.
ITEM!: My apartment management has agreed to replace my microwave, replace my washing machine, and will install a ceiling fan in my living room, all in exchange for us signing a new lease, and paying more per month. I really don't want a ceiling fan in my living room, but I don't know what else to get from them that is comparable. My carpets are already clean. I suppose I could have asked for all the shrubs to be allowed to grow as they please.

Bunny hopping is fun

* I'm at a loss. Someone explain to me why Meatloaf (or, as my mom used to call him to be funny, Hamburger) is performing on Dancing with the Stars: The Results. I can't decide who picked the short stick here: the show or the performer. Actually, I think the show got the short stick, because I would totally have watched the show instead of a concert by Meatloaf. He's got a red scarf hanging from his microphone stand. Does anyone do that anymore? Okay, does anyone other than Steven Tyler do that anymore? [Program note: They have got to stop these Jimmy Kimmel bits. They're just stupid.]
* Have I told you about the sofa issues? That cool leather sofa that we had to have is wearing in a couple spots. Because I didn't really want to deal with it, I was avoiding contacting Costco Home in regards to getting a replacement. Of course, Mom to the rescue, and she called them to see what's the deal. Guess what? Since the store doesn't sell that sofa anymore, they'll refund the money for it. Now begins the search for a new sofa. This one will not be leather. Who knew that leather sofas were so hot to sit on? I'm sure a lot of you did, but clearly, we had to learn on our own.
* Our apartment complex sent us a lease renewal over the weekend. They want to up our monthly payment by about $100. It's not the money really, because still, compared to Boston, this place is a frickin' steal. It's that the place isn't any better for the money they want now. They wouldn't clean my carpets for me, and, as you all remember, they would not give me a new microwave. And, my washing machine has rust at the bottom of the basket. Here's the thing: Can you really negotiate with an apartment complex? I would love for them to tell me that I don't need to pay any more. However, I would settle for paying more, if they give me all the stuff I want.
* I'm so bummed that John is leaving the show! He was so cool! They're all doing the Bunny Hop!! Awesome!! Okay, now I'm convinced that there is some kind of red state conspiracy to keep Billy Ray, who clearly is done with this whole thing, on the show. Is it that they like to giggle at him?

Who started this?

Sometimes Mom will pass on to me an article that she finds particularly interesting. The piece could be anything from an example of egregious spelling and grammar to something that she knows will bug me. I love it especially when she sends me the "Miss Manners" from our hometown newspaper. (Yes, I know it's syndicated nationally, but it looks so much more "small townish" in our news.) Anyway, she was right to save this particular article, as it had me reading with my jaw hanging open. Because I love you, I'll share.
Dear Miss Manners: I received an e-mail from an acquaintance who is recently married and intentionally pregnant, asking if I might like "to be the coordinator of some support for us once the little one emerges. It would involve checking in with us on a regular basis about what kind of support we could use, and then a fair amount of e-mailing and phone calling (probably a few phone calls and/or e-mails a day) and making some sort of calendar to keep track of what, who and when. Needless to say, it would be a fantastic gift."
The [more than] 50 friends and friends members who also got this e-mail were told, "If you don't want to organize but are interested in being on the help contact list, some suggestions we have been given for ways to be supportive are: meal drop every other day or so, grocery shopping, helping clean or organize around the house (dishes, laundry, etc.). We are looking forward to sharing this immense transition with you."
Is their request appropriate? Worth noting is that both sets of the couple's parents are financially very well off and live within 10 miles of them. It seems that they are asking their friends to take on the job of volunteer nanny.
The reader goes on to ask if this is an appropriate request for the couple to make, and what she should respond. Miss Manners tells her to ignore it, because no, this is not an appropriate request, and the couple should be smacked for suggesting it (I paraphrase).
Me? I'm appalled by it! YIKES! Who do these people think they are? They willfully enter into this situation called parenthood, and then ask everyone they know to do stuff for them because they'll be too swamped? The whole idea of this leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Ridiculous, I say.
Really, it's been two hours since I first read the thing, and I still can't wrap my head around it.

Baby update: six months

And because it is the biggest thing happening in our lives right now, I will break from the blog's "normal" content, and bring you an update on Sydney G., who is six months old today. I can't believe that she's getting so big. Time goes by so quickly, as everyone knows, but it just seems to kick into super fast forward with the kid. (Quite frankly, I'm pleasantly surprised that we all made it through these last several months in as good a shape as we are in.)
So how's she doing? She's a frickin' rock star, people. I love the kid so much it scares the hell out of me. What's she up to? Well, she's scooting around the floor like no one's business, and is, seriously, days away from crawling everywhere. She's got one tooth that's already erupted (that's how the dentists say it), and another one on the way. She's smiling and giggling at everything, and is really engaging with people. She and I are totally and completely in sync with each other, though we still have our rough days. She pulled herself up to standing for the first time a couple days ago. She loves to jump. Diaper changes are no longer as easy as they used to be, since she's such a little wiggle worm.
Right now, she's everything in the world, and if it gets better than this, I can't wait.

It glows in black light, too

Dude, you guys, I got pink hair. Not the whole head of hair in pink, but a significant streak on the top, a good portion of the under, and some in my bangs. I'm loving it.
Do you remember after the Golden Globes when I commented on how much I loved Rachel McAdams and the pink hair she was working that night? I've been thinking about it a lot, and decided that, since I don't have a boss to bug by doing it, Sydney is too young to be embarrassed by it, and I'm really still kinda young enough to pull it off, I would go ahead and roll the dice and sport the pink myself.
Actually, I was willing to be talked out of it by my hairdresser, but she dug the idea, and we jumped into the pink hair dye with eager enthusiasm. (I still haven't gotten my cell phone an e-mail account, so am unable to get a pic of my own hair up here. As soon as I get that done though, I'll post a picture.) The entire exercise took about three hours, and it was totally worth it! I can't wait to show you all!

Check yourself, fellow diners

I'm not usually comfortable pointing out that someone is being deliberately obtuse. Actually, yes, I am comfortable pointing that out, but not always to strangers. Today, I crossed that subtle, yet sometimes necessary, line to show someone that they were being stupid.
Cryptic storytelling alert: There are two women sitting at a booth across from mine today. One knocks her knife onto the floor in the aisle. She sees the knife on the floor, but chooses not to reach over and pick it up. She pretends to not notice the knife. I get stressed out. Every time someone walks by, I fear that they'll slip on the knife and crack their head on the floor. The fourth person walks by and narrowly misses the knife. I decide that I've had enough. I slide out of my booth, bend over and retrieve the knife. I set it on the table and say, "Here, I'll get this for you. I keep worrying that someone will slip on it." They both thank me, and the woman has the nuts to say to me, "It's so noisy in here that I didn't hear it fall." I smile, and in my head say, "Yeah, and you're a lazy liar."
More times than not, I allow these situations to go by without saying or doing anything. I've decided that I'm going to be a bit more proactive though. There's really nothing wrong with being that person, especially when it comes down to a potentially dangerous event. If though, for the rest of their lives, these two women know that even though they may not care, someone may notice that they don't care, and that compels them to act responsibly, I'll be happy.
Look at me! I love it when I can play "more conscientious than you." The opportunity so rarely presents itself.

A "ticket to ride" back to England

Tonight, on Dancing with the Stars: The Results, we got to say goodbye to Heather Mills. At the end of it all, I do think that she got special treatment, though not enough to keep her in the competition. Last week's performance, if I may say, was strained, unenthusiastic, and boring. I'm sorry to say that the more time she spent on the show, the more ungenuine she seemed to be. Someone wrote that her place on the show was a campaign to win the hearts of the Americans. Whatever. Next week, I'll be happy to see Billy Ray Cyrus get the boot. I'm digging John Ratzenburger, though he won't make it beyond mid-May.

Two stars, if that many

Who doesn't have a movie/television crush? (Since I'm an adult now, we'll call it a "crunch," since it's really more of a passing fancy than a posters-on-my-wall type feeling.) It's fun how these crunches develop, seemingly from nothing at all. My new crunch? Actor Nathan Fillion. Not much of a hottie, I'll admit, but I've always enjoyed the guys who make me laugh, or, in the case of Fillion, take on a character with whom I would happily go on adventures. Fillion's Capt. Malcolm Reynolds of the television show Firefly and the movie Serenity, is that character, and the impetus behind this newest crunch. (I'll stop saying it now.)
Unfortunately, falling for a new guy tends to lead you into stupid mistakes, and mine was watching Fillion's latest movie endeavor, Slither, on HBO last night. I noted his name as the star of the movie, and made sure to catch it. Sadly, it's a ridiculous movie about a worm from outer space that infects Michael Rooker, forcing him to kidnap a woman, infect her, and force her to eat raw dog and animal meat. Shortly thereafter, the woman explodes, and little worms take on the whole town, infecting everyone and eventually joining with Rooker to make some huge alien slug. Fillion plays the town's chief of police. I was watching it, and kept waiting for it to become a comedy. Sadly, it did not become one. Slither seemed to be taking itself seriously. At any rate, I enjoyed it because of Fillion, and will probably stop on it now every time it happens to be on, just so I can watch my latest bit of eye candy.

It's a bit purple, too

If you can believe it, my toe still hurts. I wore a new pair of sandals to Tara's wedding last night. The first time shoes are worn, in itself, becomes a painful series of events. Let's combine that with all manner of frivolity that is associated with weddings. Add one more thing: parking in the wrong place and deciding to hoof it up a half-mile incline, and making it about a third of the way before sending Brian back to get the car and come pick me up. (We shall ignore how out of shape I am and how much wheezing and gasping accompanied the decision to wait for the car.) As it stands right now, I'm about 24 hours beyond the wedding, and the middle toe on my left foot is still achy.
I'll tell you; I think last night's event was one of the most elegant weddings I've ever attended.
*The flowers were simple and understated: white and yellow tulips brought out the brightness of the event, but also kept it easy and happy.
*The food was excellent: an amazing lobster bisque, and a dual entree of filet and Chilean sea bass.
*Brian's favorite part: an open bar.
*The music kept everyone up and on the dance floor: usually, when kids attend weddings, they monopolize the dance floor. Not so last night; the music was so good that the adults were sure to hold their own.
*I think that this is the first wedding where, as a guest, I sat at a long, rectangular table: I dug it. Brian and I were fast enough to the table that we took the window seats, and we could enjoy the view of Phoenix.
*Tara, of course, looked gorgeous. She was so happy, she was glowing. I hope Jeff has an idea of how lucky he is to have her in his life.