Beth

Ya know those people in your life that you were never really tight with, but you enjoyed what small relations you had? I mean, like, the guy who works at 7-11 (I actually do NOT miss the guy at 7-11 at one of my old universities- his name was Gary and he started to take our friendly casual relationship to the next level by asking if I wanted to grab a beer. NOPE. You’re just the 7-11 guy to me and that is all. No offense).

Of course, I miss actually living close to and seeing my real friends.

But the fake ones, you never even end up keeping in touch with. They are gone.

One that I really liked was my old roommate Beth. We never had enough material to really take our friendship prime time, but I enjoyed the 5 brief months we spent as roommates. She definitely had friends, but she marched to the beat of a different drummer. She was not lazy. I was taking post-bacc courses after graduating and she was in her senior year of college. In MY senior year of college, I spent a great deal of time smoking the good stuff with my friends on a couch in a semi-comatose state watching Family Guy reruns and waiting for our food to be delivered. I also went out all the time and studied a lot. The only real “me” time I allotted myself was at the gym upstairs in the building and late night (during the week sometimes), I would sit in front of my laptop and smoke cigarettes while surfing the net. But my internet addiction was not nearly as refined as it has become. Beth didn’t do this stuff. Beth baked cakes. Once she baked a lemon cake with lemon icing. A few weeks later she made rice krispie treats. I barely went to the grocery store, let alone bake stuff. Occasionally I’d try out a new recipe for dinner, but…. I mostly just ordered out. I love how I was “so broke” in college, yet I had full cable & HBO, smoked $8/packs of cigarettes and partied whenever I deemed necessary. At the time, I genuinely felt broke because, well, simply not going out wasn’t an option. Nor was not paying for cable. Or not smoking to save money. I think you get to a point when you have no money and there’s simply no hope that you will ever have money that you just spend whatever you have. If I found a few bucks, I’d walk into the nearest bodega and pick me up a red bull. WHY NOT, eh?

Anyway, back to Beth. She was in ROTC, taught English as a second language in Spain after college for awhile, etc… She would go out sometimes for sure, but it wasn’t a given. She might spend a Fri or Sat night in watching a movie alone. In college I went out every single weekend night without fail. Every one of ‘em. It wasn’t until this period of my life- the “semester” after I graduated, that I realized that staying inside and not getting wasted out of your mind might actually feel relaxing. She also didn’t have a go-to friend like I always had. I always had a group of friends that were up to something (usually no good) or a go-to friend I could call if I wanted to go out (which I did). She was more of a loner. That’s how she ended up with random old me as a roommate during her senior year of college.

We hung out more and more as the semester drew on, and we kept in touch loosely after she moved away. We now haven’t spoken in like 4 years, which is fine because we really wouldn’t have much to say.

But I like her. And I wish she worked down the hall from me or something and we could see each other regularly and have small talk and stuff.

Sometimes this blog feels really self-indulgent. I feel like I should apologize for yammering on about myself so much on here.

I’m going to write my speech RIGHT NOW. I keep forgetting that I have to give it in 2 days.

Speeches, Memories, Babies

This weekend is my best friend's wedding.
I've been thinking about this weekend for a long time- not only because my dear friend is tying the knot, but also because I knew I would have to leave Monkey for it.
I KNOW, I KNOW- I am a broken record.
But I always thought, "Monkey will be 8.5 months when N gets married. I can't imagine having an 8 month old! Maybe it will be easier to leave an 8 month old than I think."
Well, children, not when you suffer from post-partum anxiety disorder.
The bride must've read ma crazy mind bc she called me this morning to let me know Monkey & my mama were invited. But I figured that my mom traveling around the city with my baby was more stressful than my mom remaining in my home with my baby.
Okay, I'm done being dramatic and post-partum-y. For now.

I dreamt about the speech I was going to give last night. Naturally, it was a nightmare. I have no idea what I'm going to say.
I'm going to rack my brain for more memories of our friendship:

1. The first "sleepover" we had, I ate dinner with her parents. We had buckwheat & hungarian goulash. When I was 10, my mom served me things like Hamburger Helper. I had never heard of either buckwheat or hungarian goulash. But I ate 'em. Cuz mama taught me to be polite, if not how to eat healthy.

2. At sleepovers we used to cook things- we made up recipes and stuff. Once I tried to cook something that involved the oven (duh). I think chocolate croissants (from scratch). I think we were 11. Her dad came down to say 'hi' (it was around midnight). While his back was turned, I opened the oven to check on my creation. Black smoke burst forth from the open oven door. I slammed the oven door and waited for him to go back upstairs, beads of sweat forming on my brow. I have no recollection on how this story ended.

3. Her mom took us to the beach. I may have mentioned this story on here before. We met these 2 dudes (1 cute, 1 not so cute). We got in their car with them (a la Natalee Holloway, except we were 14). We went to some complex. There was this community pool that was closed. We hopped the fence and swam in our skivvies. Hours later, we made our way back to the hotel. I told her to tell her mom we were hanging out on the beach. She insisted on telling her mom we were at the pool. I told her that her mom would definitely check the pool and it had been closed for hours. She would not listen to me. We went back to the room. Her mom was PIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEED. I was scared for my life. Needless to say, Nina wasn't allowed to take me to the beach with her the following year.
In retrospect, I think the complex we went to is the same one where the in-laws currently own a home. Don't you love it when life is circular? Sigh.

4. In 5th grade, we had this friend named Elizabeth. Her parents owned a fish store and her house smelled like fish. She was super super tall for our age (10-11). She had a few labs. Her parents *always* gave her lots of money to go to the mall. She bought CDs all the time. We used to have dance-offs to Michael Jackson songs. Thank GOD we did not videotape it.

Monkey spent the afternoon with MIL. MIL decided that she wanted to try to watch Monkey sometimes. We dropped her off at lunch. They went on a walk. She called J frantic, telling him that Monkey just doesn't like her. J explained to her that Monkey is 8 months old- she doesn't know HOW to dislike anyone. He then told her to just let her lay on a blanket on the floor and watch Sesame Street- if she cries, she cries, but she will fall asleep. They key is to RELAX. MIL called back again, frantic, claiming - again- that Monk just doesn't like her. J said, 'I cannot BELIEVE she raised 3 kids. I just cannot believe it.'
Amen.

Funerals

I’m feeling uninspired at the moment. But here’s what I’ve been up to:

Went to a funeral for J’s gma in NYC, stayed overnight at Good SIL’s house. Everyone was on their best behavior. Although to demonstrate how MIL has a tendency to forego using her brain, during the [sober] early evening, I noted my throat hurt and requested hot tea. I received it. MIL goes, ‘hot tea really makes your throat feel better? really?’ She was not being sarcastic.

Perhaps I am wrong and this isn’t common knowledge. If I am correct, though, the only way one does not know this is if they do not reside on planet earth.

To her credit, though (and also to Evil SIL’s credit) everyone was nice. I was nervous, as I thought I had until Thanksgiving to brave the in-laws.

In any event, I love that particular side of J’s extended family. His aunts are so much fun and his cousins couldn’t be cooler. J’s paternal gma was a good one: she raised 4 successful and very strong children in the Bronx with a no bull-sh*t style of mothering. Then returned to teaching once her youngest was in high school. Nothing was more important to her than her Catholicism and she gave everyone h*ell (J & myself included) for living in sin. How can you fault someone who is this concerned with your salvation (or eternal da*mnation) (Note: I am not this forgiving with political figures who are concerned with my salvation. They are just judging me because they think that they are better than me- and if “better” means that they drink less, then d*amnit, they are better). Anyway, she was 90, so she lived a nice, long life. She suffered for the last 2 years so her death was not a surprise. I know that she boiled chicken and was always dressed in her best (a quality which I do not have, but I do admire in others). She was married in St. Patrick's cathedral in NYC. She was 100% irish and she was straightforward, which is a breath of fresh air and very unlike MIL (this is MIL's MIL, in case you hadn't put that together- MIL didn't really like her bc they are so different. MIL is proper and thinks she's better than everyone and expects you to read between the lines of her facial expressions. Nanny was blunt and said what was on her mind.)

At her husband's (J's pop-pop) funeral a few years ago, we were all at this restaurant while they were digging the grave (long story- but basically we arrived for the burial and they dug his grave on the wrong plot, so we all got really drunk at a nearby restaurant). Nanny started to cry during a toast. Her oldest daughter (my favorite of J's aunts) stood up and said, 'Mom, when I went through all my stuff (she meant her divorce and breast cancer), I told you I did not think that I could handle all of the events in my life. And you reminded me that of course I would manage these events- I was a survivor. And that I would come out a stronger person at the end of these trials. And, mom, you taught me to survive because you are a survivor. And you will survive this too.' I will never forget this.

This same aunt gave the eulogy at her mother's funeral. Since I generally do not like displaying emotion in front of crowds, the presence of a special room in the back for people with babies was nice. Monkey and I were able to sit by ourselves in the back. Monkey was WAAY too happy to be sitting with everyone at a funeral. She was squealing and having a grand old time.

In the eulogy J's aunt detailed Nanny's life growing up in NY. And she added that her mother had always been her soundboard- the person she went to with her ups and her downs and for advice and for help. And that 2 days ago, she lost her person. And, as my mother is also my person, it got to me.

The priest naturally discussed that in the journey of life, death is just one of those things that we all must go through. I know this isn't a novel statement by any means, but how terrible is this fact?

At the gravesite, J's dad straight up farted. Nobody heard it but me and I called him out on it later when we were all drunk. He swore that it was so quiet that nobody would have been able to hear it. I was standing about 6 feet away from him. I heard it loud and clear.

Rest in peace, Nanny.

The weekend and yet another illness

This must be quick as I find myself mysteriously busy at work.
I came down with the flu.
Worked from home yesterday as a result.
J did good work taking care of the baby & the house.
But the house was still a mess.
So I took out the trash and cleaned the bathroom at around 330.
Locked myself out of the house.
Luckily I was showered & dressed.
I walked to pick Monkey up from daycare (still violently ill, mind you, but figured since I was home and billed 6 hours, I should pick up the baby- even if just to check off the "cared for baby while I was sick" box on life's nonexistent checklist).
Called J from daycare to tell him I was locked out and to come home.
He asked too many questions like, "HOW? You are going to WALK home?" "Yes." "How?" "With my feet?" Finally, babies were crying and inside I was crying and I said, "I just have to go. Come home asap."
I knew he'd overthink it. He had all these crazy ideas like, "Maybe she stayed at the daycare." Yeah. I hung out at the daycare for 1.5 hours waiting - even though I told you on the phone that I was walking home. He told me he concluded I locked my keys in my car AT the daycare. WTF? I told him I walked to the daycare and I was walking home. Sometimes I wonder if more schooling makes it more difficult to understand simple facts.
I tried (and mostly succeeded) to keep my cool and not get mad at him for something that was ultimately my fault. The paragraph above demonstrates my general mood since the flu (and vicious sore throat in particular) tore through my body.
But then he made me dinner and continued to wait on me. He really is great.
I went to a bachelorette party on Saturday, but went to bed literally 5.5 hours before everyone else. I was already feeling the flu something fierce. But even if I was healthy, I think I probably only would've made it til 3am or so.
The wedding is in 2 weeks. I had the speech in my wallet. I let the bride read it in a drunken moment. Now I have to write a whole new one. GAH.

Alone

I FINALLY saw the doctor for all this post-partum anxiety crap I've been experiencing.

The result: A prescription for a very low dosage of xanax. Like, a really low dosage. He said that he doesn't think I'll need it longer than a few more months until I become myself again.

He said that what I have is very common. It's the realization that you need to stay alive, not just for yourself, but for the old offspring too. While this is true, I also have selfish motives- I want to see her grow up. I tell J regularly that if something happens to me, I do not want him to remarry. Unless its Mother Theresa and they don't have s*x. Or "smush," as my friends on Jersey Shore call it (P.S. Can you believe Sammi wanted to smush Ronnie after he was doing all that creeping? Damn.) I told him I will haunt him. While I do want him to be happy, I don't want him banging other chicks. What can I say? :) I am a dream wife.

He, on the contrary told me that he would want me to remarry. He wants me to "be happy." I told him that just made me feel unloved.

I also got my flu shot.

Dr. Feel Good told me to take a "test" xanax to see if I was one of the un-lucky few who got sleepy from it.

Back in college, I had a depressing night. I cabbed it home from a party early, slightly buzzed, got myself a bagel from the bodega across the street, put on SATC, popped a xanax, and had a glass of wine. I've probably recounted this story before because, frankly, it was one of the most peaceful evenings of my life. That xanax was a hell of a lot stronger than the one I took today. And that is GOOD, as the last thing I need is to raise my baby all f*cked up on pills. Or a drug addiction. Isn't an addiction to my baby and 2 doggies enough for one woman?

The pill I took today didn't make me sleepy or even remotely relaxed. I just felt normal. This was probably because I wasn't anxious to start. Let's just hope that the next time I feel like a crazy woman, it helps.

I'm home alone tonight and the people who live connected to us are gone for the night. I AM ALL ALONE IN THIS BRICK STRUCTURE. I'm freaked out! I saw this show called Celebrity Ghost Stories or something the other night- where celebs tell supposedly true ghost stories from their pasts (duh)- and I've been a total spaz ever since. I'm tempted to watch it now so I get all freaked out and then when J gets home I can accuse him of abandoning me to the batch of ghosts that certainly lives in this creepy room in our basement. This is exactly why I like living in a twin. Their dog is home, though. I wish their enormous dog was with me right now. I keep hinting for them to let me babysit their dog, but they either aren't interested in my dog-sitting services or aren't picking up the hint.

Luckily I rented Toy Story 2 (because I am secretly 8), which is not scary. I wish King of Queens was on right now. That is my favorite show on television.

Alright, I'm signing off. Off to brave this old dark house by myself. Wish me luck.

Crying It Out

J & I were supposed to see a concert this Friday night, but my mom works & his parents refused to watch Monkey. I don't feel bad for myself, as I want nothing more than to chill with Monk, but I do feel bad for J as (1) he realizes more and more how selfish and un-grandparent-like his parents are (particularly compared to my mom who is watching Monkey again tomorrow during the day on her day off) & (2) he really really wants to see this concert. I'm going to ask a girl at the daycare if she'd watch Monkey (she's offered to babysit many times), but I feel weird leaving Monk with her. First of all, we'll be like 30-40 minutes away from our house. We're not just going to dinner. Secondly, what if something goes wrong? I wonder how this situation will end.

In other news, the first night of crying it out (Sunday night) was terrible. She cried for 40 minutes and J & I hovered around the monitor feeling like the worst parents in the world. Her angry and desperate tear stained cheeks. Her sweaty head. Those eyes, pleading with the monitor. I'm having flashbacks. Then last night she fell asleep during her bottle after her bath, we put her in her crib & that was that. No crying. BUT the purpose of crying it out is for them to learn to train themselves to fall asleep. Oh well. Then she woke up at 330am and I brought her in our bed to sleep. Honestly, I don't care. J doesn't really either. She'll probably be 5 years old and sleeping in bed with us.

My mom told me that after my dad left, all 3 of us (ages 1, 3, 5) used to sleep in bed with her. Someone in her life at the time told her that this should really stop. So she locked her bedroom door one night. She said it was awful- the three of us were outside her door just screaming and crying to be let in. She didn't let us in. I teared up when she told me this story and asked her wtf her problem was. How sad! She said she doesn't know and the memory disturbs her to this day- she said she doesn't even know why it wouldn't be good to have us sleep with her. She said her asian friends all sleep with their kids and they end up fine, and she doesn't remember who encouraged her to lay down this sick law. She said the next morning she opened her bedroom door and the 3 of us were sleeping on the floor outside her door.

It sounds like we had some problems, right? To this day I still have a weird attachment to my mom and I miss her all the time. I always assumed it had to do with either my parents' divorce or our dysfunctional relationship. But now I'm thinking it was because she locked me out of her room prematurely (or too late)!

McD's

First and foremost, I cannot wait until it gets cold outside. I cannot deal with the insects. We must having standing water somewhere, but we can't find it. I suspects our gutters.

So last night Monkey decided she didn't want to sleep anywhere but in bed with us. Now, secretly, this is okay with me. But I realize that it is probably not the best thing in general, unless we officially become co-sleepers, which I totally "get" now, but I totally do not want to become.

I wish mosquitoes died after one bite. The mosquitoes that we have are AGGRESSIVE. This m-f'er comes directly at my face to attack. I killed one as it was sucking blood from J's NECK in the car yesterday. My heart filled with joy as I looked at my thumb and saw its guts smeared all over it.

Anyway, Monkey would cry. We'd say to each other, 'Let's let her cry it out... see what happens...' 3 minutes would pass and one of us would crack and dash into her room. Her cries were immediately replaced by smiles as one of us suckers toted her into our room. She'd roll over in our bed and peacefully fall asleep. UNTIL we tried to move her again. Rinse and repeat.

Tonight we're going to let her cry it out.

It is SO much harder than I thought it would be before I knew this little muffin. Before I knew her, I was very much like, 'Well, what does one expect??? You give a baby an inch, it will take a mile. It learns that you come when it cries!' But when it's Monkey in there, crying her heart out (even though she pauses in between screams to listen for the sounds of our footsteps) and I know that I can make all of her suffering go away in an instant- and get to cuddle with her on top of it- it is so freaking hard. J & I take turns being the harda$$. J will be like, 'Look. We have to show her who is boss.' And 2 minutes later he's like, 'We need to get her. This isn't working.' Then I step in and say, 'No. It's only been 2 minutes. We can do it.' And 3 minutes later I am staring at the monitor asking J what is the big deal if she sleeps with us.

Okay, enough of that.

I had McDonald's for breakfast this morning. Did you ever notice that when you want lunch it's still breakfast. But God forbid you plan your morning around an egg mcmuffin and you are rudely informed, 'Sorry, ma'am. We stop serving breakfast at 8am.'