American Airlines Blows Chunks!

I knew I didn't like American when they stopped cleaning their lavatories with any regularity, and I especially didn't like them when they dumped my platinum status after I didn't fly with them for a month, but cancelling thousands of flights because they failed to adhere to safety regulations is ridiculous and irresponsible! Do I care that they pointed out their own mistake? No, I do not! That was just a preemptive strike to hold at bay flak similar to that which Southwest received when their mechanical shortcomings were uncovered. Am I impressed with how AA I handling the situation? Of course I'm not. I am of the firm opinion that American had the rudest, surliest flight attendants so they have a pretty deep hole to dig themselves out of where customer service is concerned. Why I am especially upset is because they have RUINED our surprise trip to go see M2K2 and her family this weekend.

Unforgivable.

Happy Birthday, M2K2!

With all good intentions I was going to search all of Austin for the *best birthday card ever* to send to my dear friend, M2K2. The baby got in the way of all that when my energy took a nosedive this past weekend. In the place of a fabulous card and birthday gift arriving on her doorstep today, I opted instead to copy Melek and her sister Kay's fabulous idea of writing a tribute blog. So here it is.

I first met M2K2 many years ago when I was working for an international telecommunications company. I remembered wanting to scratch her eyes out the first time I saw her because she was tall, thin, blonde and *very pretty*. What really pissed me off was that she was incredibly smart as well. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer" I once read, and this is true. I decided right then and there that I would not, in fact, scratch her eyes out. Instead, I'd study her, figure out what made her so perfect, and vow to become just like her.

She foiled my plan when she ambled over to my cube one day to talk about something work-related. I was an ethical worker; she caught me shopping for furniture online. We got to talking, began trading stories and the next thing I knew, I was laughing so hard I couldn't catch my breath. Our relationship has been that way ever since. How could I be jealous of someone so fabulous?

M2K2 has had an illustrious career. She was a leader in the Air Force (yet can curse like a sailor). Some of the smartest people I know came out of the Air Force. She was appointed to manage a team of network engineers (almost all male) when she was in her mid twenties (and she ran circles around these guys, intellectually speakng). When we met, I was a service representative and yet she saw in me something that no one else did and launched my network engineering career. She is *the* reason why I worked in my dream career for so many years.

M2K2 coined a phrase that I still repeat regularly: "If you don't know, say you don't know!" In other words, don't make up an answer to something just to sound smart. People will catch onto you and you will lose credibility. This is especially important when working in the high-tech industry. M2K2 taught me many things, the most valuable of which is that it's okay to say, "I don't know. Let me find out."

M2K2 is kind. And funny. And smart. And sincere. You can tell her anything and you will have her full attention. She will not judge you. She's so beautiful on the outside but her heart is more beautiful than the sum of all her parts. And this tremendous heart created two tremendous little people. Of course it did. How could it be otherwise?



So, Happy Birthday, M2K2! You know I love you and am so happy and proud to call you my friend!

Conversations

So...as it turns out, drunken men of questionable address seem to like Le Pooch Grande. Lately when I take her for a walk it seems that one will materialize out of nowhere and strike up a conversation. The conversations usually go like this:

Drunken Man: Heyyyyy...I (mumble mumble slur) your dog. That's a very sweet (mumble mumble). What's her name? Is it Cocoa? My dad (mumble slur) a dog named Cocoa. Is that Cocoa? What's your dog's name?

Me: Er...Cocoa! (I never, ever give out real names to drunken strangers--not even my dogs'!)

Drunken Man: Wowwwwww....(mumble mumble) soooooo cooool. Cocoaaaaaaa (mumble slur slur).

Me: (Trying hard not to retch from the alcohol fumes wafting towards me during my first trimester pregnant state. I mean, I don't have morning sickness or anything but this could have set me off. Easily.)

Drunken Man: (Round two of the same conversation) Soooooo....I like your dog. Watsher name? Cocoa?

Me: Er...yes. (Desperately wishing the light would change so that I could enter the crosswalk and get away from this guy).

Drunken Man: Coooool! Thash coool!!! My dad had a dog named Cocoa! (Laughs maniacally). Hi Cocoaaaaaa!

The light changes. Le Pooch Grande and I get out of there. Fast.

I have a neighbor like this as well except he has a fixed address (I think) and his psychoactive altering substance of choice is pot. We call him "Santa". Whenever anything goes wrong in the 'hood (graffitti, littering, newspaper theft) Husband blames this poor schlep. I both love and despise this tendency of Husband's. I mostly love it because it gives me yet another opportunity to enter into a debate with Husband. The debates go like this:

Husband: Somebody stole our paper again. I think it was Santa.

Me: Why on earth do you think it was Santa?

Husband: Because he always cuts through our yard and besides, I saw him sitting at the bus stop reading a newspaper.

Me: Ummm...honey? The bus stop is right across from a convenience store. Don't you think it's possible that he got his paper there.

Husband:

Next Conversation:

Husband: Someone threw food into our backyard again and the dogs are eating it. I bet it's Santa. We should setup a camera and catch him.

Me: Why do you think Santa would chuck food over our fence? Perhaps a raccoon was raiding the dumpster next door and dropped it when he climbed the tree.

Husband: I've never seen a raccoon in a dumpster.

Me: I've never *not* seen a raccoon in a dumpster.

Husband: Well...I think it was Santa. Besides, he smokes pot.

How can I argue with that logic? More importantly, how could I *not* argue with that logic?!

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I'm selling stuff on Craigslist again. Most recently it was a king-size mattress for $200. Here's the first email I received on the subject:

From: r.a.d
Sent: Saturday, April 05, 2008 10:09 AM
To: Femme
Subject: King Mattress Set - Excellent Condition - $200

"give you 75.00 cash for this

let me know

this is not a joke"

Is it just me, or does this email sort of remind you of a ransom note? I didn't respond. I don't respond to people with creepy initials and poor grammar. It's just one of my many Craigslist rules.

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Today I went to my little cousin's school to help her during "Kite Day". Now, most of you probably don't know this about me, but I've got some mad kite flying skrillz. I made sure that my, I mean, my cousin's kite was flying the highest among all the other kindergartner's' kites. Amidst all the accolades she was receiving from her classmates, I noticed a woman twenty feet away frantically shooing us. Noting that she now held my attention, she shouted, "Get back! Get away from us! Get your kite away from ours!"

Okay, so let me paint the picture for you. There were roughly 25 kindergartners in a field surrounded by power lines. The field wasn't very large so we were all concentrated in the same general area. These are kindergartners so no one can fly, let alone steer a kite very well. This chick just didn't seem to get it as she continually yelled at everyone to "keep their kites away from hers!"

Finally, as she once again turned her wrath on me and my cousin, I'd had enough. "Lady," I yelled, "these are a bunch of kindergartners and it's a windy day! They can't help it if their kite gets too close to yours. You're not the only person on this field!"

She just glared at me. I, in turn, realized that I had caught most everyone's attention. Not wanting to ruin "Kite Day", I took my cousin's hand and led her to a spot away from this wench.

Meanwhile, some little boy with a Spiderman kite ran right by us and his kite became hopelessly entangled in ours, causing both to come crashing to the ground. Laughing, we all began trying to untangle the kites. Apparently this was enough to prove Kite Nazi's point. "You don't know how to fly a kite!" she sneered at me from across the field as she struggled to get her own kite airborn. "You don't know what you're doing."

What I thought was, "Says you whose kite is currently laying on the ground!"

What I said was nothing. I didn't want to be "that adult" who ruined kite day.

Did anybody read The Kite Runner? I *so wished* at that moment that I knew how to cut her kite string with mine!

Welcome to the World, Baby-Boo!

My niece was born yesterday. Here she is, kicking back under the heat lamp after her first bath:



Glad to see that she's already perfected her "laying out" pose.

Dreams, Dreams

I'm having those pregnancy dreams you hear about. Vivid, frequent and weird. In fact, I spend a great deal of time sleeping (14 hours yesterday!) which is probably why I'm having these dreams and definitely why I haven't been writing as much.

A few weeks ago I dreamt that I was in a CVS, writing on the mirrors behind the display shelves with black eyeliner. When store personnel caught me and threatened to call the police, my old boss materialized and threw a pair of shiny, silver scissors at my shins. They stuck as if my shins were made of tree bark. It only hurt a little.

Lately I keep dreaming about my son. I know, I know--all you naysayers out there are going to tell me that I'm having a girl but how about, for the sake of kindness, you humor a tired, pregnant woman?

Thank you.

Onto my son. I keep having dreams that I'm this irresponsible, negligent mother. In my dreams I ignore him in favor of, well, everything. For instance, in one dream it was far more important that I blow dry my hair than tend to his cries. In another, I forget all about him as I run out the door to a friend's backyard cookout. Mind you, these dreams don't freak me out; they're just unsettling. Kind of like that dream where you forget to wear pants to your Geometry class.

It's easy to climb aboard my soapbox and declare that I would never forget or neglect my child but watch--I'll be that crazy woman on the news who left the car seat, baby and all, on top of the car as she drove around town.

Sadly, it's 9 am, I've been up for an hour and already I'm worn out. Back to bed...

Riddle of the Day

Q: What's black and bejeweled in a sea of denim?

A: Me at the gala on Saturday night! I should have listened to my MIL when she called that morning to warn me off my new cocktail dress but noooooo, I just *had* to wear it! For a minute I thought about racing home to change but then convinced myself that it was I who was dressed correctly and all of those other schleps had the attire wrong. At least I felt better. Husband, in his infinite kindness, said nothing to exacerbate my unease.

Me:



Everyone Else:

Leaving Wreckage in My Wake

If you go to the baby stores at Barton Creek Mall and notice that the display strollers are in various states of mangle and collapse, that was me. I can collapse them just fine, but can't seem to get the hang of unfolding them back to their operational state. Any of them. So I'd just shove them back on their respective pedestals and leave.

Shopping for baby accessories is going to be *so much* fun (said with *so much* sarcasm).