If you're gonna spew, spew into this

Lately I've found myself wearing a wife beater around the house at all hours. This has less to do with us becoming a white trash family (hell, just today I got mad when NASCAR ran late and caused The Simpsons to not record), and more to do with Molly's astounding proclivity to spit up at any and all available opportunities. The only real rule she abides by when determining when to let loose with a torrent of vomit is that it must always be when you have just gotten her into a new outfit literally ten seconds ago, and when you yourself are also fully dressed. I believe she also awards herself bonus points if she manages to get some on the carpet as well (double for the couch), and she has a special addendum to the rule that when visiting grandparents or other relations, she absolutely, positively cannot show up there wearing an outfit they have bought her, no matter how many clothes she has to spit up on within five minutes of when you need to leave to run through them all. I swear to you, this child is gifted, and that's not a compliment. As the son of a health teacher, I'm well aware of the dangers of bulimia, but I foolishly assumed that wasn't anything I'd need to be on the lookout for for at least another decade. Nope. If she could fly, it would be exactly like living in an aviary, and I think you know what I mean.

The worst part is that I can't even complain too much because everything else is great: she's incredibly cute (unbiased opinion, of course), generally good-tempered, loves to smile and laugh, has recently taken to sleeping through the night again, and is in general quite healthy. On the list of things that could go wrong it's small potatoes... but dammit, I really didn't want to get that steam cleaner back out again.

Who Am I?

I'm having a bit of an identity crisis over something that happened to me earlier today. As it stands, I'm just going to explain what went down and you all can judge for yourselves.

The Circuit City near work is going out of business. Well, all Circuit City's are going out of business, obviously, but the one on the way to work is the only one I notice on a day-to-day basis. Over the last couple of weeks I've watched as the numbers on the signs visible from the highway showing "up to XX% off!" have gradually risen. I was vaguely offended by 30 -- you're going out of business, and the best you can offer me is 30% off? Seriously? -- gained some interest when it changed to 50, and as I drove by today and saw it was now 60, decided to stop in just to see if there were any deals. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but as you're probably aware if you're reading this blog, I'm a man who likes his DVDs and video games, so why not take a look, right? So at lunchtime I headed over, anticipating that by now, most of the store would already have been picked over. And it was, but still, there were a few lonely video games, a pretty random smattering of CDs, and a whole bunch of DVDs left, including quite a few TV season sets, all of them at 50% off the normal price.

And here's where it gets weird, because as I browsed among the shelves, it gradually dawned on me that I didn't want anything. You have to understand, TV box sets have traditionally been my crack. I need them. When I get into a show, I have to watch ALL of that show, not whatever haphazard smattering of episodes the networks care to show in syndication that week. So you can imagine my surprise, almost bordering on horror, that I simply couldn't be bothered to bring any of them up to the register and shell out. Granted, the economy sucks, but I wasn't thinking (at least not consciously) of the unnecessary expense factor. Nor is it that there weren't any good ones... I like Seinfeld quite a bit, and they had both seasons 1+2 and 4. And I loved Ren & Stimpy as a kid, but even when confronted with the chance to own seasons 1 and 2 for $15, I just couldn't get worked up. This is a DVD that, four years ago, I had been absolutely positive I would need to own someday. Who could resist all that Powdered Toast Man goodness? And surely when Molly gets older, I'll want a visual aid to warn her against the dangers of whizzing on the electric fence. And yet, when confronted with a prime opportunity to own the set at half price, my mind just could not have been less interested. I know there are still some things that, if they'd had them, I would have snatched up... if there'd been any copies left of Guitar Hero World Tour for 40% off, that bad boy would be sitting in my family room right now. But honestly, at present I'm focused more on the things I know I should have wanted, but just... didn't.

So there's my story, gentle readers. I don't know if it was a subconscious acknowledgement of the shitty financial situation in this country that triggered my apathy, or just the gloomy weather reflected in my mood, but I'm still having a hard time believing I didn't buy a single thing. I mean, good on me, I guess, but it's so out of character. And before you hasten to reply with, "Well, Drew, perhaps you're just maturing"... no, that's not it. Remember, I'm the guy who couldn't help snickering recently when one of his clients' middle and last names were "Gaye Gay." Your witness.

"Leapfrog"

This one's a little different than the norm, but it's too weird not to share. Ann and I worked from home today, and she finished her work before I was done with mine, so she started watching TV. When I finally wrapped things up, I wandered into the living room and found the TV tuned to the ABC Family channel while Ann surfed the internet. I couldn't tell you what show it was, beyond that it had Amanda Bynes, but clearly a teen sitcom type of deal. Anyway, at the time I walked in there were two adult characters lamenting the fact that the woman had had to cancel their planned date from the night before, no doubt due to the shenanigans of those wacky kids. But she planned to make it up to the dude tonight, and had even created a little handmade invitation requesting his presence at a date tonight for just the two of them. At that point the guy looks at the invitation and says, "Is that drawing of us? Why are we playing leapfrog?" To which the woman replies, "Uh, that's not leapfrog."

As you might expect, my reaction was hilarity tempered with amazement. Don't get me wrong, it was pretty funny, and props to fictional dude for getting some, but that's the kind of joke I wouldn't have expected to air on regular ABC in primetime. This was ABC Family in the middle of the afternoon, for crying out loud. It doesn't bother me any, but I'll admit to being pretty damn surprised. Who knew family channels had it in 'em?

Important lessons

While I certainly won't claim to be an expert, I do feel like I'm starting to get slightly more of a handle on being a parent. A lot of that comes down to trial-and-error, of course, making your mistakes and learning from them. For instance, if I could do it over again, I would refrain from buying the model of car seat with the invisible knives and razor wire that apparently pop out at the passenger every time the car slows down or comes to a complete stop. Damn inconvenient, that, and Molly's not shy about sharing her distaste for it either. I also would have invested in a nice gas mask for when she entered day care, as well as a flamethrower to incinerate her clothes at the end of every day. As is, we neglected to take these precautions and she picked up a lovely cold that she managed to pass on to her mother and me, making our trip to Boston last weekend a sniffly, coughing experience for all three of us. Personally, I blame those chubby twins in the infant room. It's always the fat kid's fault. It also helps explain why I haven't updated recently, so apologies for the delay. And finally, I've learned that with my new work schedule and still occasionally having to get up before the alarm rings to feed the little monster, I'm just not able to fight off sleep and stay awake late at night the way I utdssdafffasdfasdasklasdjfasodfkaljfdslslakjnsdafjja.

New York, New York

Two friends and I took the train into New York today. We had lunch at Carnegie Deli (bacon & egg sandwich = mmmm!), got some drinks at the Ginger Man, and then took another train out to Long Island to see an Islanders/Devils game. I don't follow hockey at all, but as always I'll support New Jersey in any sport they care to field a team for, so naturally I was rooting for the Devils. That aside, I can say with complete neutrality that "Let's go, Is-lan-ders!" just doesn't sound right. Sorry, Long Islanders, but that'll never work no matter how much you want it to. Leave that cheer to the Devils and other teams with two syllables in their name and find a different one. They also had a squad of girls in miniskirts and belly shirts who would skate out onto the rink to mop the ice, give away t-shirts, and basically look hot during timeouts and between periods. I asked my friends, "Do you think these are the women who got turned down by Hooters?" They're apparently known as the Icebreakers, though I'd imagine their most-used actual icebreaker amounts to something along the lines of "No, sir, the fact that you are wearing an Islanders jersey does not mean that I will sleep with you."

I also saw some dude in a full Elmo costume on a street corner as our taxi drove by. Man, do I hate the fuzzy red bastard. (Elmo, not the guy.) Largely because he totally bogarted Grover's place on the Street. I read something recently that perfectly mirrors my own feelings on the subject, but phrased much better than I ever could. It referred to Elmo as "An extremely adorable and uncomplicated Sesame Street character who talks like a baby and is infinitely less interesting than old-school Sesame Streeters like manic Grover, filthy Oscar the Grouch, gay Bert and Ernie, or imaginary Mister Snuffleupagus." That about sums it up right there.

I don't want to get off on a rant here, but...

I was born and raised in New Jersey, and damn proud of it, but for the last 4 years I've made my home in Pennsylvania. In general I think PA is pretty groovy, even if nobody knows how to drive, but there's one thing I need to talk with my fellow residents about, because it's making them seem... well, a little dim. Sorry. It's these gas prices- what's the story? As in, why are they so much higher than in New Jersey? My friends, you are being taken. The basic message, as near as I can tell, is that you're willing to pay an extra 20-30 cents a gallon, minimum, for the privilege of getting out of your nice warm vehicle and pumping your own gas in the wind and the rain and the snow. If you're a postal worker in training, I guess I can understand that, but the rest of you? You know that scant miles to the east, literally just a drive down the road, lies a magical land where it's actually illegal to pump your own gas, right? There are people who do it for you (thus creating jobs, which let's face it, in this economy is a real boon), you aren't expected to tip them, and -- here's the part that'll blow your mind -- when it's all said and done you'll end up paying less money, not more. How, how have you not gotten on board with this? It boggles the mind. And I say this with great affection, because whether through Jersey osmosis or just being awesome in its own right, I truly believe that Pennsylvania is a great place to live... but man, you've gotta get on the ball. What, are we living in Russia? Don't let them turn you into chumps- demand cheaper gas and mandatory full service. It's what William Penn would have wanted.

Oh noes, r u kidding?!!!!!1!

Someone has taught my mother textspeak. I'm not sure who, though I suspect my sister. Whoever it was, I'm appropriately thrown off, as you might expect. A few weeks ago I got a text message reading "Hows ur lil angel 2 da y cant wait 2 c her again r u getting any sleep". Seriously, that's a direct transcription.

This is concerning for two reasons, the first being that my mother is a middle-aged woman of the Baby Boomer generation, and now a grandmother, not a leet haxx0r ready to show her mad FPS skillz in a game of Halo. I don't think Mom even knows what Halo is, and if she ever did play, I'm pretty sure she would immediately be pwned, as the kids say. And second, this woman was an English major, one who even taught English for a year after college before moving out here to marry my dad. This is the woman who taught me to write, for crying out loud, who proofread and edited all of my papers for middle school and high school, who helped me write my resume after graduation. And now she's asking how my lil angel is 2 da y. I mean, there's nothing technically wrong with it, it's just kind of weird, y'know? Like if your great-grandmother, who only ever watches Lawrence Welk on TV and plays euchre and gin rummy down at the rec room, suddenly asks if you read the most recent Harry Potter. It's like... yes, grandma, I did, but why did you?

So that's where we stand right now. My mother hasn't demonstrated any other anachronistic behavior lately that I'm aware of, so hopefully it's just limited to textspeak, but who knows? Maybe next time we talk she'll tell me about how those bitches down at the mall need to check theyselves, because who died and made them boss anyway? They ain't all that.