In front of me on the highway this afternoon:

FUNLCLD

Whoo! I barely survived my holiday.

The flight, she was hard. I made the mistake of not really knowing how to fold up the stroller until the moment I was supposed to fold it up and cram it through the security detector thingie while holding a 25-pound child. Fortunately a nice bald man figured it out for me and also helped me off with my jacket as I sweated profusely under the stress of holding up the line. The security folk at the airport employ this technique when telling people what to do: tell them each step separately so when they get all settled they can start shuffling around again and panicking. Case in point: the unpleasant security dude said, “You need to take off your jacket.” Ok, after much wriggling and shifting of child, I got that done. “And the baby’s jacket.” Dammit! “And your scarf.” KILL ME. WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE SAID PLEASE REMOVE YOUR JACKET AND SCARF AND YOUR BABY’S JACKET IT’S THE SAME NUMBER OF WORDS.

Besides the elevator being broken and me having to maneuver a stroller down roughly two thousand stairs at the Dallas airport, the only noteworthy thing that happened was that I sat in front of a talkative liar who, naturally, ran his mouth the entire flight. If I had been alone, I would’ve taken notes, but I was trying to entertain someone who had just peed up his pants and so I was just trapped listening to the dude talk.

His lying patterns were these:
a. Original story.
b. Pause.
c. Filler words.
d. Revised story.
e. Repeat of revised story.
f. Saying, “Yeah, I liked it when [revised story] happened.”

He was telling his seatmate about his high school football career (he played every position! offense and defense! he was always on the field! he was awesome! he won awards! he liked it when he won awards!), how he has a rare eye disease (if he mates with a lady without 20/20 vision, his children will be blind*), how his little sister cried and cried because he was going to go spend Christmas with his dad and wouldn’t be with her and so he had to let her sleep in his bed with him last night (his seatmate asked, “Aww, how old is she?” Answer: 19.). People three rows ahead of me kept turning around to look at him. Now look, you gotta talk pretty damn loud to drown out an airplane engine. But I guess rare eye diseased football stars with unhealthy relationships with their sisters are special in more ways than I was originally aware of.

The trip home was good, but it was waaaay too long. I got there on Sunday, Larry came on Wednesday, we went to my dad’s on Friday, and we left on Saturday. People. There is a reason I go home once a year. Please help me remember not to do this again.

*I am mean and just looked up his disease. Ok, fine, yes, it’s hereditary, but his children will only inherit said eye disease if his mater also carries a gene for it.

Spike and I are flying to Dallas today for a few days before Larry joins us mid-week (oh, it’s too bad I don’t have time to tell you about the anxiety I have about traveling solo with the baby). My mom has dial-up, so it’s fair to say you will hear from me again this time next week. Have a merry Christmas and if you hear wailing in the sky this afternoon, just know that it’s Spike expressing his discontent over Louisiana.

1. Spike had tubes put in his ears yesterday! He has had many ear infections in his short life and his pediatrician (note: his dreamy pediatrician) recommended we head to Tubeville. It went really smoothly, although Spike slept shittily last night. I am hoping this is a side effect of the anesthesia and not the tubes.

2. Thanks for the book and music recommendations! I still haven’t bought/stolen any new music, but I did start reading An Arsonist’s Guide to Writers’ Homes in New England (uh, from no one’s recommendation) because I already had it, and so far here is what happens: I read a few sentences and start to get bored, and then a funny sentence will appear and I keep reading. I guess that is a fairly successful way to write a book. BORING BORING BORING FUNNY BORING BORING.

3. I returned someone’s call today and had this encounter:
Whoever: So and So Workplace.
Me: Hi, may I speak to Jennifer?
Whoever: This is Jennif–hold on, please.
(pause while on hold)
Totally Different Person: This is Jennifer, may I help you?

4. I am now Facebook friends with 50% of the little girls who were at my 6th birthday party.

5. I was trying to explain the concept of shared items on the Google Reader to my mother-in-law for the express purpose of telling her that I could see the things that my brother-in-law (her son) shared. So I said, “Yeah, so when Zippy reads something he really likes, he can share it and then I can read it, too.” Mother-in-law looked very worried, then asked if that was an invasion of his privacy.

6. Today I used my gmail archives not only to find out what I thought of a job applicant who I interviewed about a year ago (answer found in a chat: “instead of shaking my hand she waved at me like a contestant on the Tyra Banks show”) but also to establish when a former employee took time off (answer found in a chat: “omg rebecca just came in here and her tooth is dangling out of her head”). Gmail archives as a human resources tool!

1. It’s snowing! And weirdly enough, it seems to be sticking to the ground a little.

2. LIZSBFT
(Note: this was seen on a truck…a big fucking truck.)

3. I am in need of several things: something to read and something to listen to. Requirements for a book: fiction, non-stupid, will consume my thoughts. Requirements for music: jangly with mopey lyrics. Recommend, why don’t you.

Have I really never told you about my freakout dreams, the ones where I see things in my room, panic, then realize I’m only dreaming? I’ve just spent several precious minutes scouring the archives and can find no reference to this phenomenon. Anyway, quickly: they started when I was 22 and I saw a spider on the ceiling. It was spiders for awhile, then I graduated to mice (one mouse wore a tutu once). Then I think there was a larger rodent for a few years, and then, oh god, I graduated to humans. There is nothing scarier than waking up to find a conquistador or a dude in scuba gear hovering by the foot of your bed. I actually called 911 once before I realized that I was just insane.

I guess because a strange man is like, the worst possible thing to find uninvited in your room and I survived those, my brain reset, and now, when I have a freakout dream, it’s some weird, benign object.

Case in point: Last night a black pageboy wig floated through the bedroom and into the hall as if an invisible person were wearing it.

In the spirit of this, here are more things you can do on your lunch hour (+7 minute extra grace period) if you live in a town the size of Jackson:

1. Go to Sam’s and buy formula.
2. Eat at Chick-fil-a (sit down and eat and everything!).
3. Go to mall and pay department store bill.

Note: I love having a department store credit card. It’s the only credit card I actively use; somehow it makes me feel like a little old lady, but in a good way. Unlike my outfit today.

Thanks, small town masquerading as the capital city!

So I was doing a little internet stalking, you know, the usual, and I Googled my ex-husband, Ted. His Facebook profile came up, and I felt dumb that I never searched for him there. So I click on it, and while I can’t see his whole page, I can look at his friends, and that is when I see it:

Ted is friends with my college boyfriend.

This would not be so weird had I lived in the same place my whole life. But the era of the college boyfriend was in Denton, Texas, and the era of Ted was in St. Louis. WHY ARE THEY FRIENDS. WHY WHY WHY.

I first imagine a self-absorbed universe in which Ted and the college boyfriend met in the Sally Nordan Broke My Heart Club chatroom. Then I think, wait, college boyfriend has a really common name. Let’s make sure this is really him. I am scrolling through his friends, oh, there’s his brother, there’s his old roommate — and then I see another crazy thing: he is friends with Ted’s wife, too! And that would mean that chatroom would’ve been really awkward.

I immediately emailed college boyfriend to ask in all caps why the hell he was friends with Ted. And he wrote back, thank god, that he had no idea. It turns out that they met last summer — IN ENGLAND — during some medieval seminar thing. When I emailed Larry to tell him this exciting news, he wrote: What is it with you and renaissance fair guys? I told him I was hot for the costumes: College boyfriend. Ted. Um, Ted’s costume would be in plus size.

I love regifting. I just got back from a baby shower where I not only regifted the two items I gave (fuzzy lamb, baby blanket), but the gift bag as well. I am, admittedly, a cheapskate, but one could argue that I am also environmentally awesome.

OH DEAR GOD AREN’T YOU GLAD NABLOPOMO IS OVER.

NaBloPoMo blows.

So Larry calls me and says, “Get a piece of paper and a pen.” Ok. “Write this down.” Ok. “WKO” (pause) “FART.”

–WKO FART?
–Yep.
–What the hell does wko mean?
–Don’t know.

5 minutes later the phone rings again.

“Oh,” Larry says. “It’s ‘work of art’. Not WKO FART.”

Today I give thanks for Spike, whose presence has allowed me to have both my parents and my in laws over for Thanksgiving dinner without crying or having to eat a few xanax. This is unprecedented.

I often have weird thoughts before I go to sleep. Last night I was arguing with myself over which was worse: diarrhea or a backache. We did not come to a conclusion. Thoughts?

It’s not a bad day, just not a great one. Here is a list why.

1. Right eye was stuck shut this morning. Am wearing glasses and no eye makeup.
2. Due to blurred vision, chose unfortunate maroon pants that were washed with something linty and dried hanging up when the dryer was broken last week.
3. Paired unfortunately linty pants with a brown and white striped sweater. Not that cute together.
4. Because the shoes I wore yesterday ate a hole in my heel, am wearing mom-ish slip-on sneakers.
5. Was running late and forgot to look at hair while styling. (Yes. This is possible.)
6. Ate disappointing salad for lunch.
7. Only have boring projects to work on.
8. Took home the book I could totally sit here and read today under the guise of doing research.
9. Am jealous of those whose Thanksgiving holidays have already started.
10. Am mad that those whose Thanksgiving holidays have already started are not on their computers and therefore are not sharing things on Google Reader.

If I think of anything else I will let you know.

(I feel inclined to point out a few good things, just for balance: there is NO ONE here today, so I don’t have to pretend to look busy; the baby slept through the night last night; Larry changed his gmail status message to “Larry Ferrari is proudly married to Liz Lemon”; I got the brownies I won in the bet!)

Because I am writing this on Sunday, I don’t exactly know how I know that tonight I will have an anxiety dream about being in the worst laid-out Wal-Mart ever (the produce was on the same aisle as the measuring spoons). I guess I’m psychic!