Baby gifts, baby gifts, baby gifts

It's not that I've forgotten about the births of these babies, it's just that I haven't had the money or brainpower to sit down and buy stuff for each of them. I mean, come on, let's count: Susan and Liam's Peter, John and Heide's Jorie, and Josh and Dawn's Cole. They are soon to be joined by Kerry and Bob's third (April), Alice and Matt's first (March), and Emily and Jon's first (June). So many babies! [Editor's note: Don't any of you ask me about another one. I'm happy with the one angel asleep in the next room. Implying that I should, once again, flirt with insanity is grounds for getting your butt kicked at this point in time.]
But for these little tykes, all it takes is a bit of time trolling the baby sites to see where everyone is registered. I will say this: I have a new appreciation for what a new mom need. However, even knowing all that, I probably will still just get them all pajamas, since those are my favorite things to buy for kids.

Damn. It's 9:02 p.m. I promised myself I'd be done on the computer by 9. Okay, I'm outie.

"And I approve this message..."

ITEM!: The first floral arrangement of 2008 has arrived in my Inbox! There are baby green apples in the vase, and the arrangement itself has yellow orchids and yellow alstromeria, red-trimmed yellow roses (those green things on the orange branches are dates) and there are branches of kumquats.
ITEM!: I saw my first of many political ads this afternoon. Barack Obama was all about telling me how health care needs to be fixed, not just be talked about being fixed. I'll agree with that. I am less than impressed that the race has begun its infestation in Arizona in this manner though. And in all honesty, I had thought I would hear from a Republican candidate first. But I remember too well how invasive, irritating and headache-inducing all the political (mud-slinging or not) ads can be on my little brain when they're all over my television. I hate election years.
ITEM!: I'm somewhat, but not really, surprised to hear about the young actor, Brad Renfro, being found dead in his apartment today. I remember hearing all about his struggles with drinking and drugs. Wasn't he the one who stole the boat?
ITEM!: Should I feel guilty about making a casual wager with Dave about Britney and whether or not she'll live through the year? We figure either drugs or suicide, but with this girl's penchant for idiotic decisions, and now not even having her kids to be normal for, the world is getting darker and darker for my dear Brit. We speculate that she'll be looking for the big Marilyn Monroe death: shrouded in questions, enshrined as young and beautiful, and leaving a legion of fans behind before she could flame out entirely.
[Editor's note: Goodness, how morbid are we this evening? Ack!]
ITEM!: I still have not bought new bedding. I'm having buyer's remorse, certainly, but today was struck by indecision between the teal polka dots and the pink polka dots. I prefer the pink, but think that the teal will make for a more ... gender-neutral ... bedroom. But I can definitely see myself suddenly not caring about that and getting the pink anyway.

Pretty with the flowers, yes?

I keep forgetting that I've got a birthday coming up the end of this week. I'm preoccupied with the excitement of hanging out with Mom, I suppose, but it was weird to look at a calendar and see my name on the square reserved for Friday. (Yes, I include my own birthday on the calendar. You see how easy I make it for him?) And the number I'll be: 35. Yeck. You know what that means? It means I move up into the next age category when it comes to surveys and informational fill-outs. The dreaded "35-44" will now be mine. And that is bothering me in so many ways. I imagine that I'll be getting pretty philosophical as the day approaches, but I will try to not let it get to me too much. It just seems like such a ... drum roll kind of number. ... ... .... .... You know what? Whatever. It's just a number, another multiple of five, another age category. I say, "Get over it, little girl. Deal like the big kids do! At least you won't be getting a Medicare card any time soon."
(Love you Daddy!)

The winner is ... ack. Who cares?

I was going to watch the Golden Globes news conference tonight, but then I discovered that the only network upon which I could was NBC. The problem with that? Um, it was being hosted by Billy Bush, whom I consider to be the ultimate bane of the entertainment world. He's just so irritating. So I got online to check out the winners, and then kinda decided that, well, I didn't really care. I haven't seen hardly any of the movies, thereby ensuring that I wasn't emotionally vested in the outcome; and it's just not as much fun without the red carpet, cheesy speeches and overwhelming self-congratulations that the awards show offers us viewers. Boring. I sure hope the Oscars doesn't go down this way.

I did watch the new show Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles though. I don't know why exactly, but I have been ridiculously eager to see this program. And I'll say that it did not disappoint me. In fact, I've made it a "record all" on the DVR -- a distinction that so many shows wish for. The basic gist is that it takes place after the T2 movie, and before the third Terminator film, but also kind of acts as though that third movie never happened. So we're to forget all about Nick Stahl and Claire Danes (shouldn't be too hard), and be all about this new John, Sarah and Cameron, the good, protective Terminator, which, incidentally, should be quite easy. I'm already loving the whole thing. The second half of the premiere is tomorrow night. Finally! Something I might enjoy as much as Dancing with the Stars to take up Monday night!

Catching ZZZs by midnight

I suppose I should be excited to have an evening all to myself. But much to my dismay, I really don't have any projects that I'd like to accomplish that would require, not only Sydney sleeping, but Brian being out of the house. Yes, Brian's friend, Dave, arrived in town this morning, and the boys are out whooping it up at goodness-knows what kind of bars tonight. I was not made privy to their itinerary. I do, however, know that some sort of strip club will be visited.
As it stands though, right now, I've got my iPod plugged in to iTunes getting it all updated and synced. I've got the television on one of those cable music channels ("The '90s," in case I'm not feeling old enough with my birthday around the corner). I've got about three more sips of iced tea. I guess I could put all my photos in the photo albums, but that just seems so boring. Actually, that's a good project, now that I spend some time thinking about it. Perhaps I'll embark on that one after I'm done here.
Of course, it's also almost 11:30 p.m., and maybe a good night's sleep will do me better. I yawn. Yes, sleeping will be the best activity for me right now.

Bad boys are awesome

I bought 3:10 to Yuma at Best Buy today. I gotta tell you, I love me some Russell Crowe as a bad-ass cowboy. I actually thoroughly enjoyed this movie. And I am not a big fan of the western genre, at all. I guess I didn't really like gladiators either until a few years ago, come to think of it.

I have moved my pile of to-be-read books into the office and placed it on the bookshelf in there. I have come to the sad realization that everyone was right, and that I will not get hardly any reading done now that I have a little kid. I was told that this phase of my life would not last though, and with that in mind, I am eager for the resurgence of reading as a pastime. Oh, don't get too disappointed in me, because I am still me, and about 50 pages into an Agatha Christie right now. But what I also am is tired of staring at that seemingly unchanging pile of books that was taunting me from my nightstand. I was nursing some serious guilt about that pile, and now have completed my shame spiral by just removing the tomes from my eyesight ... unless I'm in the office ... then they silently whisper my name and say rude things.
"Kimmie, you aren't reading me ... You're illiterate now, aren't you? ... Don't you appreciate the written word anymore? ... Take me now or lose me forever ... "

They call it Xanadu-uu-uuu

You know how, sometimes, you've got a whole lot of iTunes credit from Christmas, and it's kinda burning a hole in your account because you really want to spend it, but then you can't really find anything you want to buy right this second, but then you see something that makes you say to yourself, "Holy crap! I must have those songs right this moment!"?
You do? Great! I just had one of those moments! And guess what I bought! Songs from the movie Xanadu. Actually, what led me to that was the newly released soundtrack to Xanadu: The Musical, which was highlighted on the iTunes homepage. I clicked on it automatically upon seeing the name, but then immediately noticed my error when it popped up with all these songs sung by some chick that's not Olivia Newton-John! Blasphemy! So I did a search for the soundtrack to Xanadu the movie and directly downloaded those awesome songs. All the while thinking, "Holy crap! I must have those songs right this moment!"

A Big Bird cake

It's not very often that I come across a picture of my Gramps and I that I've never seen. Or at least that I can't remember ever having seen before. And here one is, courtesy of Daddy and the never-ending box of my Grandma's photos.
I don't know how old I am here, but I love that I'm clearly frightened of my birthday cake, and that he is obviously giving my concerns all of his attention. I dig that so much about this photo. How many of the other adults in the room were silently giggling at my ridiculous fear of a cake? But then there's my Gramps, seemingly explaining that, "Kimmie, the cake is just a cake shaped like a bird. Your mom worked really hard on this, so don't be afraid of it, okay? C'mon. It's made of chocolate. How bad can it be if it's chocolate?"

Damn, you guys, my Gramps rocked the house. Oh, how I wish I could introduce him to my baby girl.

It's just a silly name, really

I find myself a bit disgusted right now with the state of our political races in New Hampshire. All that disgust comes down to the snide and condescending comments made towards Hillary Clinton after her emotional response to a question asked by an audience member at a rally today. When queried as to how Clinton is able to cope with the rigors of the campaign, as well as all the other stuff going on in her life, Clinton got visibly emotional and even choked up a bit explaining that the rough experience of campaigning was worth all the turmoil because everything she's doing is for the good of the country. I'm down with that answer. What bugs me is that Sen. John Edwards was the first opposing candidate to comment on the emotional answer and elude to how, yes, campaigning is "hard," but not as hard as it will be as life as president. (And really, Clinton knows that better than any of them.) Perhaps I'm being sensitive, but a comment like that, to me, speaks volumes of, "Ya'll see! That's is why them chicks cain't be prezdent! They be cryers!"
And that it's all over the news and Internets tonight! One would swear that the world has never seen someone being truthful before. (But wait. Maybe that's why it's news.) But really, I gotta tell you. I don't think there's a single thing wrong with having someone with emotion in the White House. It's better than the frickin' robotic, Texas tumbleweed-for-brains yahoo we've had residing there for the last seven years.
To be clear, I haven't decided which Democratic candidate I'll be voting for in November. I actually liked John Edwards until his little dick-ism comment this afternoon. And I would love to see a woman president in my lifetime. And I actually do think that Obama needs a bit more political experience before he takes on the presidency. And for goodness sakes, we simply can not have a president named Huckabee.

We actually own the Resident Evil

I don't remember the last time it happened, but Brian and I managed to knock out three movies this weekend. A new one every night, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Friday night: Balls of Fury (ridiculously bad). Saturday night: Resident Evil: Extinction (I'd say bad, but I really like those movies for some reason). Sunday night: The Kingdom (quite good). I feel accomplished this morning, like I've once again stepped into the arena of pop culture, and can say truthfully, "Yeah, I watch the movies."

Pirate fantasies encouraged

Sometimes, I think it must be somewhat cool to be an 8-year-old boy in today's world. Witness this bed, one of the most fantastic things to ever be shown on a Costco floor. It's a pirate ship!! How frickin' cool is that?!? Seriously, I read the box itself to find out if it was available in a queen. (Alas, it is only for people sleeping in twin beds.) And I took two pictures of it to be sure I got the right angle to catch not only the bow but the flag as well. I like the whole Pirates of the Caribbean thing going on, but I am totally digging this simply being a pirate ship bed. Talk about your theme bedrooms. I love this. I don't even know how much it is. I didn't look. I don't care. It's worth every penny. Argh!

And the award goes to ... Bueller?

Who figured that the Writers' strike would last so long, and eventually put awards show season in jeopardy? I'll tell you that I've been kinda enjoying having my nights relatively free without television, of course, in the end, I am dying for some new programming. If for any reason, to put ridiculous reality programs such as American Gladiators and other dreck back to pasture. But back to awards shows. I was really pretty intrigued to see how the Golden Globes and the Oscars would play out without official writers. Would stars be forced to stand on stage with nothing but a list of nominees and an envelope? Would we be spared the awfully "witty" repartee that they are forced to read through as an introduction? Could we see a stripped-to-the-bones presentation, and how long would that show last? But alas, the Screen Actors Guild and the actors supporting the strike are saying that they won't cross the writers' picket lines to even attend the show, let alone present or accept an award. While yes, disappointing, I'm still interested to see how this goes. At least for the Golden Globes. I was so excited to see how Jon Stewart was going to rock the Oscars this year.

I could never have this bed

So between the really cute comforter set I saw at Target yesterday, and the fact that my dog vomited on my bed again today, I am under the firm conviction that I will never be able to have a "grown-up" bed. My mom's got one, you know, with the perfect comforter and selection of pillows that sit just so. She's got the bed that you see in the Pottery Barn and Crate and Barrel catalogs. Her bed also sits approximately four feet off the ground so her dog can't jump up onto it. My dog does jump on my bed, he sleeps on my bed and he consumes his treats on my bed. Sadly, he also prefers to throw up on my bed. It's not cheap to get my comforter washed; it runs about $20 every time.
But I also feel like this predicament can give me a measure of freedom with my bedding choices. The current comforter is a kinda-bland purple one. I chose it because it looks good with the adorable sheets I bought. But it's already developing holes in its seams, and is looking pretty raggedy. (Vomited on and washed too much already.) The freedom is in knowing that no matter what bedding selection I make, the set itself will be cheap because I know that Oliver will eventually throw up on it, and it can therefore be traded out with a minimal pang of guilt after only, say, 10 months. Some of you know that I'm quite finicky about my bedroom linens. I may love something one day and hate it the next. (Mom knows this better than anyone.) And now that cool pink-and-brown polka dot comforter is swimming before my eyes. It's just a matter of time before it's mine.

I've used this picture already, haven't I?

It was my intention to start the year with a post a day. Already, that has not happened. So I will compensate by posting twice today. Besides, the little post archive looks so lonely with only a "1" notated for 2008.
Really quickly, I want to give a shout-out to Amy, who writes in her Christmas card that she still stalks the blog, and mention how happy that makes me to hear. (I like that my peeps from Boston are still interested enough in what I'm up to.) I also want to thank Aunt Bette for being such a staunch supporter of this little writing hobby of mine. And of course, Mom and Daddy, who for long periods of time, tend to be the only people who comment.
By the way, I'm intrigued to notice that the actual number of posts has continued to grow over the years of the blog. Frankly, I'm surprised to see that I'd posted that much in 2007. Silly me, I thought I hadn't done anything but change dirty diapers, pick up after a sloppy boy, and obsess about my dog getting the appropriate amount of attention. I guess I really did have some time to do my own thing. That makes me feel a bit better about myself editorially. I really thought that I'd lost a step or two. (Of course, I know better than any of you that several 100-word pieces do not a writer make.)
Anyway, thank you all for being such awesome readers!

A big pile of boxes, please, and some tape

And because I couldn't possibly find one more thing to stress out about, I visited my apartment manager today to find out when our lease here is up. Come to find out, the lease itself expires on March 31, and given the 60-day move-out notice required, we need to make a decision on moving somewhere by then end of January. Of course, the manager had no idea how my monthly rent would change right now, and I'll have to wait until the middle of the month. Thanks for nothing helpful, jerks. I'd love to know how much they intend to bend us over for to stay here. But of course, I don't want to stay here. I want a house, townhouse or condo. I want a grassy knoll for my dog to sniff around whenever he wants. I want a dining room and a decent-sized living room. I want a kitchen large enough for the four of us to occupy it peacefully.
There are a couple in our price range available near here, so I guess I've got a new purpose to my routines this month. Ugh. Moving. Boxes. Crap. And not to mention the extremely "helpful" one-year-old that I've never had to deal with when boxing up all our stuff.