bookerdog.com

I just wanted to do a little raving for a moment. My latest favorite little web freebie is the Google Toolbar. If you are browsing on a windows machine with Internet Explorer this thing is the greatest. Not only do you get a useful Google search right on your browser window, but it has the best built in Pop-Up Killer I’ve ever seen. Quick links to Blogger and if you right click on a page, you can get instant translation of the web page.

Oh and if you do a search, it shows all the words in your search on the toolbar too, and when you surf to a page, you can click the highlighter to highlight all the searched for words, or the word itself, and all the occurences will be highlighted. Very nice when researching stuff.

Well, consider that today’s commercial announcement.

Hello, visitors from the world of Pettus! I’m flattered that you are stopping by. Since you are obviously interested in Jason, I thought that now would be a good time to tell the tale of how a late-twenties, Midwestern, suburban mama such as myself is/was friends with Jason “so what I’m a bisexual writer in Chicago who has no job but lots of big dreams” Pettus.

Like many of the contributors to Jason’s big trip to Germany, I was friends with Jason back in college. I was an impressionable freshman and Jason was a jaded sixth-year senior. I would often skip Latin to hang out with Jason in Brady Commons and watch him smoke cigarettes and write poetry about other women. So often, in fact, that I got a “B” in that class that I so totally aced. Oh well.

One of my favorite memories of Jason is hanging out with him at the Chez. Ah, the Chez. I think they often purported it to be the oldest coffeehouse west of the Mississippi or something silly like that. I feel like I got to watch Jason get his start in performance poetry, watching him read his work on Open Mic night.

Jason and I actually spent quite a bit of time together that year. There was never anything romantic between us (I was seeing one of his friends), and Jason was always a complete gentleman, even when I passed out in his bed one night. I was completely crushed that he up and moved to Chicago without even saying goodbye. Although, from what I heard from some of the people that he did say “goodbye” to, I’m glad that he didn’t get the chance to burn this bridge. I still remember the good times…

I didn’t hear much from Jason after he left — a stray postcard here, a mention from a friend who had run into him there — but was overjoyed to find his web site back in 1999 or 2000. Like many of you, I find Jason’s life fascinating. Sometimes, it’s a complete train wreck and I swear that I’m going to stop reading. (True quote from me to my husband Tim – also an old college friend of Jason – when Jason first wrote about willow moving to Chicago: ‘This is going to end badly.’) Other times, I find myself laughing out loud at the launch of yet another Pettus scheme.

Ah, Jason. I would so love to share a Rhinelander Bock with you again some day.

Anyway, I have a problem. In real life, I’m a freelance copywriter and publication designer. So, naturally, I mentioned that to someone at church and now I’m designing the church’s monthly newsletter. When they asked for my email so that people could submit stories, I gave them my address here at bookerdog.com. Oops.

Not that I write about all of my shady wheelings and dealings here (my mother-in-law visits often, too), but still! Please, if you are visiting here from my church, DO NOT go to Jason’s site. I can’t be held responsible for the emotional trauma. In fact, just pretend that those links over there don’t exist. It’s funny stuff, to be sure, but definitely not PG.

I woke up this morning really angry. Early, and angry. This is not a good way to wake up, especially if you are me, who tends to run on the grumpy side of waking up as a general rule. (Tim is laughing now, I’m sure, as he knows exactly how grumpy I can be in the morning.

First off, I’m stressed about work stuff, just like every month around deadline time. But the kicker this morning was that I was incredibly angry about something family-related. Here it was, 6 a.m., and I was thinking about all the mean stuff I should say come Thanksgiving. Then I realized how completely sad it was that I was so angry that early in the morning over some silly thing that my stepmother told me this past weekend.

So I got my butt out of bed and went for a run. And I’ve been hobbling around and coughing up phlegm all day as a result. Super!

Anyway, Labor Day weekend was just full of new experiences. We went to Branson, which I’m sure you know is the “Live Music Capital of the World” (if you like that kind of music). Oh, the sarcasm and irony that veritably oozed from our pores as we drove around that town. We even disgusted ourselves with our unending cynicism!

I had to physically restrain myself from taking photos of some of the best sights: the live bait vending machine, the Yakov Smirnoff billboards, the “grand theaters” that were mostly metal warehouses with fancy facades, and all of the teeny-tiny motels along Branson’s strip, with their fabulous names and postage-stamp-size swimming pools.

No, we didn’t see any shows. Yes, we did eat at one of the worst Japanese steakhouses ever. Shogun! Where our sushi’s wasabi makes your nose hairs curl!

Auggie’s favorite thing all weekend was our visit to the trout hatchery. He is completely enamored of fish of all kinds. (Finding Nemo? Seen it twice. Mostly.) We swam in our resort’s postage-stamp-size pool, which was super-fun, as Auggie was having the best time counting to three and “jumping” into our arms in the water. Mostly, we just pulled him in on “three.” I’m telling you, the kid’s a natural swimmer.

On Sunday, we ended up at this lame little kiddie-ride place and Auggie was asking to ride the train ride. I was hemming and hawing about whether or not he would actually sit through the entire ride by himself, and Tim was just like, ‘Buy him a ticket. He’ll be fine.’ And he totally was. In fact, he was so fine, when the girl running the thing unbuckled his seat belt at the end of the ride, he immediately rebuckled it, refusing to get off. So I bought him another ticket. Needless to say, we have about 20 minutes of the most boring vacation video ever of Auggie riding in circles on this little choo-choo train, but it’s gold to us. By the time we were dragging Auggie away from the place, we were already brainstorming soundtrack ideas. Elvis’ “Mystery Train”? Yes, I think so.

The ride home on Monday was enough to make me swear off road trips on Labor Day for the rest of my life. It was completely miserable. Rain, traffic, jams, that point when you’re two hours away from home and you just want to cry because you were supposed to be two hours from home, like, two hours ago…

And then we were home. Sweet, sweet home.

Oh, man, today was one of those days. I feel terrible saying this, but at several points this evening (after Tim was home), I could’ve walked right out the door and not looked back.

Auggie woke up at 5:30 this morning. Tim and I traded grumpy early morning comments about what to do until almost 6, when Tim finally got up and tried to get him to rest his weary head for just a little longer. He gave up on that at about 6:30, when Auggie got into bed with me. By 7, he was up again. About 7:30, I dragged my grumpy self out of bed and into the kitchen for some Raisin Bran.

Sweeeet.

Auggie ended up going back to sleep at 8:30 for another two hours, and I’m not ashamed to say that I went back to bed too.

As it was bloody hot again today, I tried to think of some fun stuff that we could do this afternoon that involved luxurious amounts of air conditioning. Oh, did I mention that Auggie and I have had the same cold since last Wednesday? Oh, yeah, it’s super-fun.

I decided that we would throw caution to the wind — or should I say rationality since Auggie is a sick and grumpy 2 year-old with a short attention span? — and go to see “Finding Nemo” at the theater.

There was popcorn, there was “Cookie

Dough Bites,” there was Diet Pepsi — it was great! Great, for about an hour. Once the sea turtles were over, Auggie was done. He had an even better time wandering around the huge cineplex, examining the vending machines and arcade games.

Once we were back out in the blast furnace, all I could think to do was to go back home and ride it out until Tim got home from work.

You know what? I think I’ll just go ahead and stop whining about it and go to bed early. Tomorrow will be better, right?

It is incredibly surreal to be downtown in the middle of a weekday when you aren’t there for work. Auggie and I went down to take Tim out for lunch, and I had forgotten just how city-like St. Louis feels when there are actually people there. Usually, we’re down there for a baseball game in the evening and the place is d-e-s-e-r-t-e-d. Like, “The Day After” deserted.

Even stranger is to have a toddler with you when interloping with the worker bees. They all look at you like you’re toting an alien or something. I felt like a circus sideshow, and we were only eating a little “Curry in a Hurry.” Maybe they were all just wishing that their kids could come and eat with them for lunch.

Auggie got his first hot dog from a bona fide hot dog stand. Yee haw! (It was awesome too. I had a bite.)

Some fun moments from Auggie’s second birthday party:

• Tim and I being completely distracted party hosts, trying to socialize with friends while simultaneously not burning the food or slicing our fingertips off.
• The typical confusion of the two-year-old while opening presents: ‘Now, why can’t I play with that amazing toy that I just opened?’
• My friend Susan asking what we used to marinate the portobella mushrooms, since she hasn’t found a good technique yet. ‘We just threw them on the grill.’
• All of the kids at the party sticking their fingers in the cake’s icing at some point before it was actually sliced.
• Auggie acting all shy during the rendition of “Happy Birthday”, hiding his face in my shoulder, but instantly signing “more” once everyone stopped singing.

Last week just kinda passed in a blur. I can’t get a general picture of what happened, just moments that flash in my mind like one big movie montage cop-out set to the tune of “Do You Believe In Magic?” I led my first La Leche League meeting on Monday night, and it went pretty OK. I was nervous, but there were only three moms there, so no biggie. The next one will be easier. Tuesday, I was completely ticked at myself for gaining 2 pounds. But, oh, the excuses I had! Birthday cake, Taco Bell, drinks galore, frozen custard too! Whatever.

One of my dearest friends is heading off to the Redding Festival soon. She leads such an amazing life, and there really is no one else in this world who deserves happiness more than her. Sometimes, I try to imagine what her life must be like — meeting rock and roll heroes like Paul McCartney and Neil Young, traveling all over, spending weekends on Long Island at their beach house. Sigh. My life pales in comparison, yet I still feel incredibly happy.

Life is good. My husband is the best. My son is the funnest kid I know. My family is really fun to be around. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But I had the greatest Jason Pettus-esque fantasy this weekend that Tim and I should stick around here for five years hoarding money, and then travel the world, spending six months to a year in all of the places we’ve always wanted to go: New Zealand, Australia, Great Britain, Ireland, Japan, the list goes on… Auggie would get the greatest education learning other languages, seeing other cultures. What’s keeping us, really?

This week is tripping on by, just like an August week should. Sorry for the no-show yesterday, but it was one of those days that really wasn’t all that bad, but, for some reason, the Big Gray Cloud of Discontent fell over me late last evening and I felt powerless to do anything but lie in a fetal position in my bed.

But all’s well this morning, and I have ever so much to tell you!

We can begin with the fact that August, the boy, not the month, is officially 2 years old! I completely flaked at the pediatrician’s office the other day when she asked whether he is putting words together to form phrases. Was all, “..?” and “I’m sure he does, I just can’t think of any right now.” And she was all, “If he doesn’t start doing it by Christmas, give me a call and we’ll talk.”

Immediately upon leaving the office, I called Tim, distraught that our son might be “behind.” And he’s like, “Beth, how about ‘I’m gonna get you’ and ‘Love you’ and ‘Thank you’ and ‘Little People’?” And I was like, “I think I’m the one who’s “behind”.”

I have serious performace anxiety at the pediatrician’s. I try to think of all of the stuff that he’s doing beforehand, but then when faced with our kindly doctor’s inquisitive stare, I blank. D’oh!

Speaking of, Auggie has awoken from his nap. I must flee! More later, I’m sure…

It takes me until Tuesday to finish the Sunday Times crossword.

Even when I cheat.

sigh.

Stuck at 49 pounds gone, but perhaps the flurry of workouts that have been kicking my butt here recently will make a dent in the 11 stubborn pounds left to go.

Only 2 more days until my baby isn’t a baby anymore… Why this makes me a tinge sad, I don’t know.

But, on the positive side, no more referring to his age in months! I’ll just be able to say, ‘Auggie is 2!’ instead of, ‘My son is 22.45632 months old. Thanks for asking.’

By the way, I ended up staying awake until 3 am. last Wednesday night. Not fun.

Stupid, stupid caffeine! Why, oh why do I always have to have that second latte at Kaldi’s?

So, here it is, 1:30 in the dang morning, and I cannot fall asleep. Following is a list of the different techniques I have tried so far to bring about the sleepiness:

* A hot shower. I even shaved my legs! Relaxing, yes. Sleep-inducing, no.

* Praying. No, not praying for sleep, just my usual gratitude, reflective mental inventory that I try to get through every night. Most nights, it goes like this, ‘Dear Lord, please forgive me for my snnnnxxxx…’ Not tonight. I even prayed for the damn dogs, and no sleep.

* Thinking of incredibly boring things. Examples include, trying to remember the tune from “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” the names of all of my school teachers while growing up, how to thread my sewing machine, etc. No go.

* Making a mental list of all of the things I needed to do tomorrow. Not the right thing to do to relax, when you have a big Thursday ahead of you and still haven’t fallen asleep.

* Reading a book about parenting. Nothing like reading about the joys of attachment parenting to send you off to dreamland, wrapped in the warm glow that you’re doing something right, right? Uh-uh, not tonight.

* Blogging. You can see where this is getting me…

Now, I’m off to tread the calm waters of the Internet, looking for incredibly boring Web sites. Ooo! There have got to be some amazing snore-fest about Robert’s Rules of Order, right?

Think sleepy thoughts for me, night owls.

Hey kids, didja miss me?

Nothing like saying you’re taking a break to make you think of a million things to blog about. But, oh no, by golly, we said we’re taking a break, so we’re taking a break, missy.

So I stored up minutiae for an entire week, like some kind of super-mommy squirrel, just biding my time. So here it all comes — watch out!

• Auggie’s newest words/phrases: Love you, excuse me (sounds more like, ‘meh-me,’ but mommies can decipher these things), cracker, Little People (‘Ee-you’ is somehow ‘Little People’? I refer you to my earlier point.) and, the classic, boo-boo.
  

• Tim started his new job with much aplomb. He seems most excited about working downtown. I’m most excited about seeing him in his fabulous suits. Rrowr!
  

• One of my father’s cousins has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. She’s in her 40s, with a teenage daughter. This sucks a lot. But what really sucks is all of the stupid questions that I’m dying to ask her: Do you talk on your cell phone all the time? Do you live near huge power lines? Eat too much bologna? Use Pantene shampoo? Disturbing.
  

• My obsession with Aqueduct has recently been displaced by a growing affection for The Postal Service. It warms my 80’s music-loving heart. Tonight’s search for Dntel (PS’s predecessor of sorts) was futile, alas.
  

• Does anyone else find their heart rates increasing while reading the ads for Apple’s new G5? I’m all flushed.

There, that feels much better.