Wherein We Prove That ANY Footage Seems Exciting if You Set It to “No Church in the Wild.”

So everyone calm down about “The Great Gatsby” trailer now, right?

Stupid Things I’ve Done Since Getting Pregnant

I’ve heard countless pregnant friends and their spouses talk about “Pregnancy Brain,” the loopy, distracted state that many moms-to-be find themselves frequently beset by. I assumed it was a bunch of bullshit.

It’s real and I was a fool to ever question it.

No. 1
Took a pregnancy test a day for five straight days because I wasn’t buying it.
Fine, six.

No. 3
“Is it weather outside?”
–When I meant to ask if it was snowing.

No. 7
Wiped my butt with makeup-removing wipes instead of one of those Cottonelle wipes. It wasn’t fun. In retrospect, I should never have put them in the exact same spot just one drawer above each other.

No. 10
Got misty during the trailer for What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Two days later, sobbed uncontrollably during the climax of Tower Heist because they were up REALLY high and I’m really afraid of heights, and THEY WEREN’T BEING CAREFUL ENOUGH. Scott actually had to fast-forward to the ending to get me to stop crying.

No. 13
(Watching pre-Super Tuesday coverage)
Me: I haven’t been following the election at all.
Scott: Do you want me to catch you up?
Me: I guess.
Scott: charliebrownparentsRomneycharliebrownparentsGingrichcharliebrownparentsSantorumcharliebrownparents
Me: (pointing to TV) And what about that Peter Alexander guy? What’s his deal?
Scott: Ummm. He’s an NBC reporter covering the election.

No. 17
Me: Is John Carter some sort of Terminator prequel or something? I don’t get it.
Scott: (long pause) You’re thinking of John Connor.
Me: So … he’s like Linda Hamilton’s cousin?
Scott: (exaggerated sigh) It has nothing to do with the Terminator movies.

No. 19
Shoplifted from Starbucks. It was an accident!! I bought a coffee and a bag of those crack-like glazed almonds to have for a snack later in the day. Later in the day, when I went to pull them out of my purse, I found two bags instead of one. Oops.

No. 21
Repeatedly complained about how cold I was, asked Scott to turn up heat three times. Only then did I realize that I was resting on top of a pile of blankets instead of underneath it.

No. 23
(Watching ESPN and a news report flashes on the screen: “Sudden Death at Augusta”)
Me: Oh no, who died?!?
Scott: (maniacal laughter)

No. 25
(Watching ‘Moneyball.’ Five minutes into the movie, I hit pause.)
Me: Um, I have a question. Is this movie … about baseball?
Scott: (falls on floor from laughing so hard)
Me: I thought it was about gambling?

Miami 2012 Memories

When I look back in six months and wonder how I gained so much pregnancy weight, this post will come in handy. Miami in May was the result of quite a few new lbs.

We stayed on the bay side this trip, away from the hustle, bustle and bars of Ocean Drive. We were rewarded with gorgeous sunsets like this, which Scott enjoyed in person and I enjoyed in this photograph because the bed was soooooo comfy.

The best meal we had on this trip was at Yardbird Southern Table, which (as you might guess from the name) is dedicated to Southern staples like chicken and waffles, grits, collard greens, that sort of gorgeous food.

The delicious, amazing macaroni and cheese at Yardbird. I fell in love not just with this dish, but with the whole restaurant, where our server didn’t blink an eye when I asked for a big glass of milk to drink with my dessert. (We shared a communal table with two beefy guys, who gave each other raised eyebrows when my dinner turned out to be mac and cheese followed by s’mores pie and milk for dessert. It was all I could do to not shout, “Are either of you growing a human?”)

The BLT at Yardbird; fried green tomatoes, pork belly, homemade pimento cheese. Scott ate this, and reported that it was delicious. The fetus and I report that it was “suspicious.” (I’m sure it was delicious. Pretty much everything looks/smells suspicious to me right now, except Pop-Tarts.) Interestingly, Yardbird is the creation of a ‘Top Chef,” which we did not know at the time, but maybe we cool it on the TV chef stalking, huh?

Pizza is also reliably delicious, especially this — the Montecarlo Star Pizza from Giotto. Those edges were filled with ricotta and pepperoni. It was difficult to only eat one of these, and not go back here for lunch every day of the trip.

The weather was reliably gorgeous. Sunny, in the 80s, no humidity, with a thunderstorm every day around 4 p.m., except for our last day there, when it rained all afternoon, so we went to see ‘Avengers’, during which I ate too much popcorn combined with a Tylenol, resulting in a stomach ache and some tears.

Normally we take cabs to and from the airport, but this trip, we drove and parked in economy just so we could pop into Georgetown for Sprinkles Cupcakes before we went home-home. For the record, Friday is the best day to stop by Sprinkles, as both Chai Latte (the blue dot) and Lemon (the flowers) are available. Also present are Red Velvet and Salty Caramel (the best short-term flavor, ever). These have made for excellent breakfast treats throughout Mother’s Day weekend.

It’s Time for Big Props and a Wee Announcement

The props go to my husband. During the past few months, he has …

Provided endless foot massages.

Single-handed cleaned the litterbox, all by himself, day in and day out. (Ha, ha.)

Dutifully rubbed lotion onto my back every morning and night.

Cooked countless meals, some of which I suddenly couldn’t eat once they were in front of me, and some of which I immediately threw up after eating.

Happily spent long stretches of weekend afternoons at home while I caught up on the work I couldn’t do during the week because I was throwing up.

Secretly ridden his bike into Georgetown for Sprinkles cupcakes when I swore the only thing I thought I wouldn’t throw up was a cupcake. (I was right, I didn’t throw it up. [Fine. I didn't throw them up.])

Barely blinked an eye when I would climb into bed at 7:30 at night and not move a muscle until the next morning.

Wished me goodnight from the doorway of the bedroom on the rare nights when he’d have a few beers, because I could smell those nasty hops from that far away.

Perfectly absorbed every undeserved bit of crazy, hormonal bullshit I lobbed his way.

Trucked all the cartloads and cartloads of “junk” I discovered during reverse nesting out of our place and to the thrift store.

Cheered me up after I sold the MINI for what some insensitive types knowingly and unknowingly referred to as my new “soccer mom” car.

Showed up early for every doctor appointment, held my hand through the scary parts, and only made one semi-inappropriate joke to my doctor (who made an equally semi-inappropriate joke in response).

Said incredibly touching things to me like, “I can’t wait till this baby is born, so I can finally be the one to take care of it for awhile.”

Said jokingly admonishing and completely endearing things to my abdomen like, “You are being a terrible burden on your mother! Stop making her so tired! And stop making her puke”

I’ve barely scratched the surface of all the ways I’ve leaned on Scott recently, but I know I wouldn’t have survived the first few months of pregnancy without him. And I know the only way I’ll get through the next many years of parenthood is with him. I’m so grateful, and so lucky, in so many ways.

(Baby arrives in late October, or ideally, as I told my doctor, early November. [The birthstones are better!] And yes I know that by 35 weeks I’ll be begging to be induced, it’s a joke, people.)

In Defense of ‘Whitney’

Whitney Cummings & Chris D'Elia discuss impending marriage in the season finale.

‘Whitney’ is not the hellaciously bad show everyone acts like it is.

Not even close.

I’ve been meaning to write this post since mid-season, but instead I focused on telling everyone I could that, “No, really, give it a chance, it’s funny,” which felt like doing something, even though it was the laziest possible something.

There were really three early criticism of ‘Whitney’:

Criticism No. 1: The summer marketing campaign was relentless and annoying.
This is fair. Whitney Cummings was everywhere. Some of the jokes in those ads weren’t super fun and got old after the second viewing, and rotten after the 12th. I agree. But in the network’s defense, we’re talking about NBC. Can you blame them for trying to make a hit show? You can, and actually you should’ve probably blamed them and not the show itself. Somehow I can’t imagine that Whitney Cummings was sulking around L.A. muttering to herself, “If I was just on a few more buses…”

Criticism No. 2: The two main characters seemed to hate each other for the first few episodes.
OK, fine, but honestly, I bet if you threaded together just 22 minutes of any couples’ week it might easily look like they hate each other, too. I also felt some allegiance to the Whitney and Alex (Chris D’Elia) and their punchline-filled exchanges, because Scott and I operate under a similar relationship law — zing at all costs (i.e., deliver the joke, even if it’s a little mean). We always apologize after! The writers really seemed to focus on fixing that criticism in the second half of the season, intermingling the supporting characters’ relationships, strengthening Alex and Whitney’s relationship (they got engaged, suckers). They even changed Whitney’s hair mid-season from straight-straight-straight to soft ringlets, like they were visually trying to show that things were loosening up. (This was the one element I did not like — I like Whitney’s hair straight! And I felt sad for her whenever I thought about how long she must’ve had to sit in the hair chair before filming all the time. Curls like that don’t come easy.)

Criticism No. 3: Taped before a live studio audience, whaaaaa?
Unusual choice? Sure. Does it ruin the entire experience of the show? I don’t think so. Once the show got past some initial rough patches, and the lines of dialogue where they were obviously just clumsily stitching in lines from Whitney’s standup routines finally went away or got better, I grew to like the live element of it — if only because I find it charming how Whitney completely cracks up every time Alex delivers a zinger. You wouldn’t get those kind of offbeat, unscripted moments from a taped and edited show. It just works for me.

Now, moving away from the criticism (which I think I have effectively brushed off) — there are some things about the show that deserve a little bit of props, including:

Chris D’Elia
I spent the first few episodes of the show sort of liking it and sort of wondering how this goofy guy could possibly be the main love interest. Then a friend of mine gushed about how adorable and charming she found him and I realized, fine, he’s not my cup of tea but he’s plenty of other people’s cup of tea. He now delivers some of the funniest straight-man lines of the show (with a straight face), though the engagement episode did prove that he is terrible at acting drunk.

Rhea Seehorn (The Chick Who Plays Roxanne)
She started out just as a boozy vehicle for punchlines, but the writers worked on developing her a bit more in the second half of the season. But frankly, I was fine with her as a boozy vehicle.

Dan O’Brien (The Dude Who Plays Mark)
Mark gets to deliver, in my opinion, the funniest, most laugh-out-loud lines of the show, because he’s basically representing Whitney’s vision of crass single dudes. The scenes that he’s in are always the funniest of any episode.

Peter Gallagher (Whitney’s Dad)
It makes me happy to see Peter Gallagher get work. I feel like I usually see him in dramatic stuff, but he manages to make every line he delivers on this show — even in the briefest of scenes — very, very funny.

Is it the best show on TV? No. Is it going to win Emmy’s? No. Are you ever going to be chatting about it at cocktail parties? Probably not, but ‘Mad Men’ is back now and that’s what that’s for anyway. I will tell you this much: I have dared anyone who has told me “That show sucks!” to watch a couple episodes. Most of them come back and say, sheepishly, “I started to like it.”

You’ll start to like it.

And if you’re like me, you’ll also start to look forward to season 2. (Let Whitney have straight hair!)

Look at Taylor Swift’s Teeny Tiny Lion Fascinator

What do you mean, there's a lion on my head?

The March Madness Event NO ONE Saw Coming

My bracket doesn’t suck.

This never happens.

Prepare yourself for Armageddon.

I Love Being in My Thirties.

Life has changed a lot in the past several years, no more notably than the way I spend my recreational time with friends.

The Roaring Twenties: Weekends involved bars, high heels, makeup, short skirts, strangers, lots and lots of drinks, at least one fight, 3-1 odds that someone would fall down and skin a knee, and 50-1 odds that someone would get kicked out of the (strip) club. Half of each weekend day was typically lost to a hangover.

The Quiet Thirties: Weekends now involve getting up early to hit the farmers market, the gym, and maybe even the 10:30 a.m. matinee. Hangovers are rare, and only one cup of coffee is needed per day. Sweatpants are common. (In fact, so common that my thighs haven’t seen the inside of a pair of jeans for a full day since at least mid-2011.) Meals are often prepared, from scratch, and filed into the freezer for later enjoyment. Books are consumed in hour-long sittings; conversations are largely remembered.

It is heavenly.
It is indulgent in productive, lovely ways.
It is grown-up and responsible and rewarding.
It also leads to conversations that go a lot like these two.

Friday, 9:30 a.m.
BFF: I must admit something to you. It’s a biggie.
Me: Uh oh. Are you watching Breaking Dawn again?
BFF: I like Whitney. A lot.
Me: Dude. It’s one of my favorites.

Friday, 5:40 p.m.
Me: You know what movie isn’t terrible? Just Go With It. There. I said it.
BFF: I AGREE!
long pause
BFF: Who are we?
Me: I have no idea who we are anymore. But I like us.

Because, with this thirties mellowing out seems to have sprung patience. Give something a chance and you discover it’s not so bad. Sit on the couch, watch the show, watch the movie, sip that wine. Chill. Sure, maybe it’s lower standards, but maybe it’s also relaxing. In my twenties, I always felt like I was clenching; gritting my teeth, forcing myself to like the things I felt I should like because they were intellectual or respected. Screw it. Not everything always has to be crazy, dramatic, a whirlwind. It’s so much better. (Clarification: The Roaring Twenties weren’t awful or anything. They were confusing and slapdash but necessary to arrive here. If you’re in your twenties, enjoy them.)

On an unrelated note, coming soon, a long post called: Everyone Should Stop Hating Whitney.

Girl Scout Cookies Are $4 a Box!

Which is why, when a coworker brought his daughter to distribute boxes earlier today, and mentioned that they brought extras, I went over to her with $21 and said, “Can I have a box of Thin Mints? I’ll give you $21 so you can just give me $15 change.”

She was sweet and adorable and shy, and off I went with my Thin Mints.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting at my desk, STUFFING MY FACE with Thin Mints, and my coworker and his daughter stopped by with $2.

“You gave her $21, and she only gave you $15,” he said politely. “She got the math wrong.”

I won’t lie: I couldn’t do this math in my head, but rather than question him — I was PRETTY SURE he was wrong — I just nodded and planned to whip out my calculator later.

And then he said to his daughter: “$21 minus $15 is $17, sweetie.”
And I said: “Sadly, I did the math. I told her to give me $15 change.”
I couldn’t let this sweet little girl take the fall.
When she handed me my $2 I looked her in the eye and said, “Study hard in math class. Don’t end up really bad at math like I did.”
She nodded solemnly and walked off.

STUDY HARD IN MATH, KIDS, FOR REAL.
Otherwise you might end up a writer type like me, using your and you’re correctly, and stringing sentences together properly to “make stories.” Nobody wants that.

The Kills @ 9:30 Club: The Concert Project (February)

The Kills are a sneaky, sneaky band.

Photo by allsongs, all rights reserved and no permission granted though they do allow downloads so ... I guess this usage is OK: http://www.flickr.com/photos/allsongs/.

Their albums seem to sneak up on me — both in terms of when they come out (they released an album in 2009 that I only found out about in 2011, which was an extremely fun surprise) and the tracks within (I don’t think I realized how many of their songs I absolutely love until I heard so many of them live and felt thrilled and danced my ass off).

They kill it live.

Alison Mosshart is all stringy pink/blonde hair and energetic headbanging (Scott called her “a female early Axl Rose” on the drive home).

Jamie Hince is thin and stylish in skinny jeans and a scarf, a look only English dudes can pull off.

Photo by allsongs, all rights reserved and no permission granted ditto confusion: http://www.flickr.com/photos/allsongs/.

For songs requiring a bit of booming percussion, they were joined on stage by two guys in black leather, faces covered in red scarves — a combination of creepy and surgical. (I was relieved when they dropped the scarves after a few songs, because the show was packed and it was HOT.)

Highlights/Lowlights:

• Heart Is a Beating Drum: This was the third song they played — the pounding drums, Allison screaming, Jamie flitting around — this was the song where they were warmed up and hit their stride.
• Drunk People: People at this show WERE SO WASTED and SO YOUNG. I hate drunk people — and that’s going to be the hardest part of actually completed this year’s project.
• U.R.A. Fever: No song makes me want to get in a fistfight as much as this song does. Luckily we found an open little place to relocate away from drunk people, so I was able to just dance this one out and not fight anyone.
• Tape Song: This is my favorite song of theirs, and I clearly wasn’t alone. I danced this one out with two strangers.
• Crazy: They covered Patsy Cline. It hurt my ears a lot.
• Nail in My Coffin: This is one of my favorite cardio songs. They played a completely slowed-down version of it, and at the time I expected the tension of it to build and build and explode into an all-out, full-speed version. It didn’t, and I was disappointed.

Big Bonus! NPR was there, taping the show, so you can listen to the whole thing here. While that’s cool and all, it always annoys me that the 9:30 Club doesn’t sell a few less tickets, because the NPR recording equipment takes up A LOT of space and then a sold-out show just becomes uncomfortable.

Opening Band: Jeff the Brotherhood

We missed the opening opening band, Hunters, because there was a parking spot right outside Graffiato and we couldn’t resist. I know. We missed most of Jeff the Brotherhood as well, which is a bit of a bummer because they are really great. Coincidentally, my favorite song of theirs is called Bummer, and you should check it out.

Previously:
January = Cults