Back to school

My high school reunion is taking place this week, the day after Thanksgiving. I know the standard thing to say is that I can't believe it's been 10 years, but actually, high school does feel like a LONG time ago. Now college, that I can't believe was 6 years ago, but then again I enjoyed college a lot more than high school too. Also, had more friends. Also, made jokes and drank more. [Note to self: investigate possible drinking/jokes/friends/enjoyment correlation. Also, check Nobel committee deadline.]

But anyway, I don't really know what to expect going into it. It's a cash bar, so right away we're starting off at a deficit. Plus, to make a personal confession, I was a bit of a nerd in high school. No, no, I know, but suspend your disbelief. Not at all what you'd expect to hear from a 28-year-old who blogs about comics and bad movies, of course, but the world is a strange place sometimes. To give my alma mater credit, there wasn't a ton of bullying or ostracization of smart kids, possibly because it was an academically competitive school where the cool kids were the smart kids, and our football team blew. Nonetheless, there were still nerds, and my specific dilemma was always that most of my friends were nerds, but I spent most of my non-school time doing sports. An outgoing person would have used that unique situation to become Ferris Bueller, but sadly I, sir, am no Ferris Bueller. The long and the short of it all became that while there were plenty of people I was friendly with and who were friendly to me, I didn't stay in touch with any of them past graduation. With the exception of three old classmates I reconnected with last year and met for drinks once, I'm going into this sucker completely cold.

However! That does give me the advantage that I'm actually much the better for wear a decade later. Obviously I don't wish misfortune on anyone, and I hope everyone's just as attractive as they were back then, if not more so. But candidly speaking, you and I both know that some of these people reached their physical peak in 1998 and it's been all downhill from there. Some of the guys are going to be fatter, some of the girls won't be as cute as I remember. Whereas I can honestly say that I've gone nowhere but up since then, and before you roll your eyes at my shameless self-flattery, allow me to clarify: there was a lot of room for improvement. I cannot fault a single one of my female classmates for never having dragged me under the bleachers or gotten lightheaded upon seeing me at swim practice. Acne + no muscles + an inexplicable attachment to long hair was not a good combination. Plus I didn't learn until college that if you say jokes out loud instead of just in your head, other people can enjoy them too. Funny, that.

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that in college I gained a few muscles, lost the acne, and finally (finally, finally, finally) in my senior year, ditched the quasi-mullet. THAT was a long time coming. So I'm looking forward to seeing what's what this weekend. I still don't expect any of the women to drag me into the coat closet, but at least now I can pretend that they're stopped from doing so solely by my wedding band and the incredibly cute pictures of my daughter that I'll be showing to everyone within reach. Other than that, we'll just hope no one remembers any embarrassing stories about me that I've managed to block out of my memory.

Oh, and my money's on "Glory Days" getting played within the first hour. Mark it down.

Isn't the preferred term "ladies of the night"?

Tonight, while talking about the baby weight she still has to lose, my wife complained that her bellybutton is "like a hooker's vagina."

God help me, that's why I love her.

The ways of the ninja

First, two quick things. Last night I come home from work, and because the little scream machine has been fraying Ann's nerves all day, I take her upstairs to change her so that Ann can mainline some tequila or something. Anyway, I get the squirt on the changing table and say "You remember Daddy, don't you? Are you happy to see Daddy?"... and no sooner have the words left my mouth when the little angel scrunches up her face and lets out a mighty fart. Yep, she's my daughter.

Second, later that night I was feeding her when she suddenly, with no prompting whatsoever, let loose with a literal geyser of spit-up. Oh, she's puked plenty of times and gotten our carpets and couch more than once, but in the past it's always been (relatively) constrained... a bit of distance, sure, but no world records. But I kid you not that for a brief moment, it looked like Old Faithful. A fountain of spew erupted out of this tiny creature, soaking my shirt and pants but also hitting Ann, who was sitting a good three feet away and probably thought she was in the safe zone. Nope, apparently my daughter is like those dolphin shows at Sea World: first three rows may get wet.

Anyway, I've always been a night owl. As a kid I used to stay up past my bedtime reading books by flashlight (yes, I was a nerd); these days it more often takes the form of playing video games or working on reviews far past the time more sensible people have gone to bed. It's not at all uncommon for 1:00 AM to find me just getting changed and taking out my contacts for bed. This has taught me to be fairly silent over the years, to avoid waking up parents, roommates, and Ann with my nocturnal ways. But I tell you, now that there's a baby in the house, it's an entirely different level of stealth. Creaking floors, bumping into furniture, squeaky hinges... these are my sworn enemies, to be avoided at all costs. I was always quiet, but forget about it- in the old days, the worst that could happen would be I'd awaken Ann crawling into bed and have a slightly grumpy wife to contend with. Now there's a gently slumbering infant ready to awaken and cry her head off at the slightest noise, and unlike Ann, she doesn't roll over and go back to sleep after complaining to me for a minute. It's like living in a library filled with land mines. But I'm learning quickly, and soon I'll be confident in my ability to infiltrate high level government buildings and art galleries with nary a sound. So if you've been looking for someone to enter the home of your rival crime lord and leave him a message while he sleeps, hey... got you covered.

I'm... lovin' it?

You know how I can tell McDonalds' goal has finally shifted from "Maximize profits at all cost" to "Fuck it, just make everyone in America as fat as possible"? I was driving in to work today and heard an ad on the radio for their newest deal. The announcer could barely contain her glee as she spread the word about the latest promotion: two triple cheeseburgers for $3.

I'm going to repeat that just to make sure it sinks in: two triple cheeseburgers. For $3. Although at that point, it might as well be $2.50 for the first and 50 cents for each additional one, because who in their right mind is going to eat a fucking triple cheeseburger, burp, and immediately think, "Yeah, that was pretty filling, but you know what would really hit the spot? Another triple cheeseburger." Are you kidding me? Wouldn't it be quicker to grab a letter opener and repeatedly stab your heart while drinking a gallon of liposuctioned fat?

Look, I'm about the farthest thing in the world from a healthy eater. I like fast food, and I'm not going to begrudge anyone indulging in flame-broiled goodness every so often... hey, it tastes good. But this? This is literally McDonalds saying to your face, "Yeah, you're a fat pig, and you're never going to be thin again. Now open wide, porky, while we cram another Egg McMuffin down your throat- that'll be eight dollars and three months off your life. Ronald McDonald will be over there molesting your kids."

My daughter is losing pieces

Well, Molly's umbilical stump fell off yesterday. No big deal; I was running errands at the time, but apparently it happened during a diaper change and she didn't even notice. Still, it is kind of a milestone, albeit a minor and really pretty icky one. I guess now it's official, though- we can't return her. Once you cut off that tag or umbilical stump or what have you, man, it's yours.

Not-so-wee one

On Monday we took Molly to the doctor for her first check-up. All in all a pretty painless experience - with the exception of a brush with one of those annoying people who feel justified in coming up to your child and sticking her face right in the car seat without asking permission (and letting her grandson do same), the rest went remarkably well. The kiddo apparently checks out to the doctor's standards and Ann and I were not detained at the door while child services was called, so I guess we managed not to completely eff up the first week, anyway. It's a nice feeling.

We also learned that Molly is in the 50th percentile for weight, but only the 25th for head size. This doesn't worry me, as once she gains some self-awareness she'll realize what breeding stock she comes from, at which point her head will swell to massive proportions and never come back down. I was pretty shocked to hear that she's in the 90th percentile for length, however- I'm only 5'9" and Ann is 5'3" or thereabouts, so I don't know where this prodigious height is coming from. But hell, if she can be the first member of either of our families to crack the "above average" height barrier when she's fully grown, more power to her. The rest of us will be over here hanging out with the leprechauns.

I'm so proud

Today Ann decided to wake the baby up for her feeding by unzippering her sleeper, exposing Molly's bare chest to the open air, and yelling "Babies gone wild! Woooo!!!" to the world at large.

So wrong, yet so very, very hilarious. That's why I married her.

The baby has landed

Well, as you might have guessed, the reason I haven't updated in forever is that the little poop machine angel finally made her appearance. And... yeah. Wow. It's cliched and trite as anything, but still true- you can read all the books and watch all the movies you want, but nothing really prepares you for what it's like to actually have a child. As an example, the day after my wife gave birth, I downloaded "That's My Daughter" off of iTunes. You know the song, it's the one that played over the end credits of Knocked Up. Yeah, I'm that lame.

I know that every parent thinks their child is the cutest one who's ever existed, but let's be honest- more than once you've told a parent their baby was adorable, then on the car ride home made with the "Oh my God, did you see the kid on that nose?" We've all done it, no shame in that. I was worried that might happen with our baby, but fortunately the wee one is quantifiably cute, no questions asked. (Feel free to disagree, of course. It's just that you'll be wrong.) I am amused that both sets of new grandparents have commented on how she looks exactly like Ann and I respectively when we were babies. Only time will tell who she ends up taking after most in terms of looks and personality, but one thing's for sure- I can't wait to find out.