Conferencin'

So I'm down in Orlando for a lawyer conference thing and really enjoying it so far. I am staying in one of those Disney-run hotels right next to Disney World: awesome. Due to time constraints, I won't be able to actually go to Disney World: not awesome. My balcony overlooks the Magic Kingdom and it is magical. I hate that I can't go and ride some rides and get some pics taken with the Disney gang. It's like staying on the beach but not being able to romp in the surf. WTF. At least tonight I got to see the fireworks. They were exquisite.

My hotel is one of those futuristic-ish themed hotels where the decor is very contemporary and cutting edge and designed to look like the future. Nice place, but apparently in the future, they won't have microwaves or wireless internet or toilets that flush consistently.

Staying here is truly like peering into the future in other ways. Everywhere I go I am inundated by children and beleaguered parents. Today I was walking through the lobby and observed a stroller parking area with rows and rows of strollers. I observed them with interest, since Gavin and I have been researching these compelling apparati.

My inner monologue: "Now there's a nice Chicco travel system. Agile, utilitarian, and I enjoy the color." or "Ooh - that couple went with the MacLaren Technno XLR. They must be doctors."

The flight down was interesting. Seated right next to me was a little fluffy yellow lab service dog. Very Sugarbear-esque. I could not believe my luck. She is trained to alert her owner, who has Type I diabetes, whenever he needs blood sugar or insulin. She was soooo cute and drugged up on Valium for the flight. I was allowed to love all over her, which was great. The flight scared her, and me, and everyone else on board, because we encountered thunderstorms and nasty turbulence. Poor baby, and yes I mean me.

Finally, I have to comment on the recent pop culture trend toward skinny jeans. These jeans would be fine if only the fat population had not decided to embrace them so feverishly. As I walked through the Orlando airport I became aware of just how pervasive the problem has become. I don't touch these jeans. I don't even have to try them on to know they are bad news bears on this caboose. If only others were as considerate. Dear Orlando and the rest of the world: Skinny jeans are for skinny people, so unless you're a celebrity, a European, or completely indifferent to food, statistically speaking, you should just move along.

I like to end on a b*tch note. Later!

If you're like me, and uncomfortable situations make you laugh.....

So one of my favorite websites is this one where folks submit various passive-aggressive notes that they have received for everyone’s enjoyment.

It is pretty hilarious, because who hasn’t received one of these in their lifetimes? It's only human nature to communicate this way: I want to confront you, but I don't want to do it in person, because I'll look like an asshole, even though I have to be aware that I end up looking like an asshole ultimately anyway, but I'm still going to do this. Facebook has added an exciting new dimension to this communication genre, because it's leaving a PA note for someone that everyone else gets to read. Delicious.

I don't recall ever leaving anybody one of these. I'm more of a "suffer in silence and avoid confrontation at any cost" type person when it comes to my interpersonal relationships, but I have gotten a few. There was that time in law school circa 2003 when my Russian PhD student neighbors upstairs left me about a two-page note about how Maddie barks when I’m not there. It was a great note, complete with lots of incorrect English. I hope they were studying physics or something. You could tell they were really trying to be polite before calling management and having me kicked out or my new skinny scruffy separation-anxiety suffering shelter dog hauled to a Gulag pound.

Then there was that one in Denver circa 2006 when my friends and I rented a white Expedition (or was it an Excursion) and didn’t quite know how to park its huge Expedition/Excursion ass. That elicited a hastily scrawled “Nice park job, asshole” on an index card attached to the windshield wiper. We laughed for days at that one.

Anyway, the site is funny – make sure you read the brief blurbs accompanying the notes so you get the contexts – it makes it even more hilarious. Enjoy.

Random thoughts and life updates.

So I was at the gym the other day and of course my gym-esis Stinky was there because she’s always there when I’m there. (For more information about Stinks, please see here or here). But here’s the big news. As I was about to leave, I spotted her emerging from the locker room having obviously just taken a shower. I was frightened and confused by this sudden paradigm shift. I totally thought she didn’t do that. Ok, so this means we can rule out non-bathing as the problem and focus on the incorrect use or outright abhorrence of traditional deodorant. A breakthrough.

Also, thanks everyone for all the sweet comments about the Burglet and the expanding fam-damily. I think it’s going to be hilarious. Gavin and I are both the youngest in our families and haven’t spent much time around babies AT ALL so it is like the blind leading the blind over here. We are both completely clueless. Yesterday we decided we want one of those baby carrier things that you put the baby in and strap to the front of your torso, so we were looking online and found a few. The ones we found were good up to 25 lbs. We kind of looked at each other like, when does a baby typically hit 25 lbs? 3 months? a year? 2 years? We really had no idea. We’re def taking classes.

Also, check out the picture below.

Yes, classic bear-havior. A few months back I did a post about black bear fun facts. Clearly I painted a far too rosy picture of the species and should add a #7 to the list to state “Black bears say they’re going outside to rake the leaves and then pass out on a hammock as soon as you turn around” to the list. You know, I’d like to swing on a nice comfortable hammock in a woodsy back yard but I have responsibilities, Black Bear. Unbelievable.

Coming soon through a birth canal near you....

So… here’s some news. Gavin and I are all set to spawn in mid- November! Get excited! We are just now into our second trimester (I like how I say “we” even though “we” won’t be popping the puppy out of “our” area. Not fair. Blog for another time…).

Anyway, we don’t know the sex yet, but there are a few things we are pretty sure we do know about the Burby.

First, this will probably be the whitest baby you have ever seen. Get your sunglasses ready. I hope the little guy/gal wasn’t hoping for a golden-tan complexion, because it's just not on the genetic menu.

Second, the Burglet is sure to be a smartass of epic proportions. I mean, look at the parents. And the grandparents. And the aunts and uncles and cousins. When Gav and I got together, it was basically a perfect storm of smartass, and looking back over several generations, it is evident that the assh’le doesn’t fall far from the tree. So everyone just get ready.

For example, at our 12 week ultrasound, as you can see below, the Burglet was moving around and waving at the camera, workin' it like s/he owns my uterus. Typical! Gavin and I also agree that the Burby looks a little like Strong Bad in this frontal shot.

Burglet.

Strong Bad.

As a side note, I feel a little weird posting these ultrasound pics on the web, because basically it’s like saying, hey everyone, check out my uterus. Normally that’s a private part, but then someone moves in and all of a sudden it’s acceptably on display for everyone. I’ll try not to think of it that way, because I’m pretty sure all my dignity will be gone at the end of this process anyway, and let's face it, after this experience, that ship may have already sailed.

So the preg and all the things that go along with it will prob be making an appearance in the blog from time to time, but I don’t intend to become one of those bloggers I looooathe and blog solely about pregnancy and mommyhood. I’m pretty sure most of the content will stay the same, so stick with me!

So that’s our news. Talk amongst yourselves….

I need a new blog picture.

I’ve only had this one up for about forever. I think we all four look pretty much the same as we do now, but some updating may be in order. I mean, really Bets? It’s not Christmas all year round. As much as I enjoyed the festivity of the 2007 yuletide season, it’s just not appropriate in May 2009. This is completely unsouthern of me… way worse than white after labor day or linen before Easter. I'm surprised my mom hasn't said something.

I’m going to poke around my jpeg jungle for some updated pics. The problem is, we don’t have that many pictures of all four of us together – we really only do that for the Christmas card because it’s such a production to get both dogs to look at the camera simultaneously. I’ll think of something. You deserve it.

Get the taser. I'm out of control.

So not too long ago, I blogged about Bea Arthur checking out, and reminisced about how much I loved the Golden Girls. Not long thereafter, I told Gav I wanted to start DVR-ing Golden Girls again. Fast forward a few weeks, and I have a problem. A Golden Girls problem. But it hurts so good. I always have at least 4 episodes on my DVR, and since GG comes on every single day, these epis are always being replenished as I watch them and delete them. That means, in the morning getting ready? Golden Girls. Lunchtime? Ahh, Golden Girls. After work? How 'bout some Golden Girls. It's awesome. Approaching problematic, but currently just awesome.

Hmm... what else. Things are good. I started Twittering, and that's fun. I am always looking for new opportunities to be a smartass on the internet, so bring it, Twitter. If anyone else is Tweeting these days, hook up with me - http://twitter.com/betsburgess. I have identified some celebs to follow. Diablo Cody is HILARIOUS. She wrote the screenplay for Juno, and I'm pretty sure she's my smartass hero. I'll never be as proficient as her, though. Snaps.

Social Notworking

So everyone pretty much knows I love Facebook. Really I just straight up love the internet, because how else would I be able to spew my vitriol to potentially infinite numbers of people without my blog and FB? Without the internet I’d be lost, a much more frustrated malcontent, instead of the temporarily sated one I am today. But enough about me.

I love FB because I have reconnected with a plethora of folks from my past that I thought I’d never hear from again, mostly from college and law school. It’s not that I didn’t want to keep in touch with these cats, but you see, and this may come as a surprise to you, I’ve always been a bit of a social butterfly. I made a lot of friends at old AU and FSU, and I always figured it would just be impossible to keep up with them all. Enter Facebook. What a magical invention, bringing people back together, like when Moses parted the red sea, but in reverse.

Of course, FB isn’t perfect, you have to be careful or it will steal your life. And sometimes, things get awkward. If you’ve been on FB long enough you know what I’m talking about. Here is a list of the top uncomfortable situations FB generates.

1) You accept a friend and then almost immediately regret it because of the inane status updates this person insists on punishing the FB world with. I have had to “call the drop” sorority-rush style on several FB friends because of this balderdash. Green to keep, red to drop. Red. It may be harsh, but I like to participate when Jeopardy comes on, and therefore I don’t have brain cells to waste reading status updates having to do with the regularity of your child’s bowel movements. Gross me out.

2) Someone posts something on a friend’s wall that clearly should have been sent as a private message, but since it’s on the wall, everyone can read the private/inappropriate thought. Awwwwkward. But sometimes awesome.

3) Someone tags you in a photo and you immediately have to untag yourself because you don’t look awesome.

4) Quizzes, applications, random requests for random stuff like roundhouse kicks and drinks and mafia names. WTF. I’m a purist. I’m just here to communicate.

5) Friends’ parents on FB. Inevitably, a grown-up will eventually want to friend you. When this happens, you will find yourself teetering precariously on the horns of a dilemma. Sure, you can restrict their access to your pics, but still. What about your hilarious and sarcastic status updates that let’s face it, they probably just won’t get? But if you don’t accept them, you will potentially hurt their feelings. Quandary. Chances are, though, that these folks will tire quickly of the newfangled invention. You just have to wait them out. Or decide to not care.

But overall, yay for Facebook.

Cute things.

I really love things that are cute. Sometimes I love them so much that I lash out at them. It's a reflex when I can't have the cute thing that I admire. I'm working on it. Anyway, I've thought about it, and I've distilled a list of characteristics that make animals cute to me. Here is a list of my favorite cutes.

1. Animals whose ears go straight back against their heads.


2. Animals who use their paws as hands (monkeys don't count because they are expected to use their hands. It has to be a situation where the use of forepaws as hands comes as a delightful surprise).

heyyyyy

oh hello there. salutations

arrrrr is for rodent.

"well, I met her on probation at McDonald's..."

3. Animals with prominent snouts, snouts with personality, or snouts with distinguishing features.


4. Animals who look like they're smiling.



5. Animals dressed as people. Clearly, I'm a big fan of anthropomorphism.

So clearly I don't have any particularly deep thoughts or big news to share with you today. I joined twitter, so that was fun. http://twitter.com/betsburgess. Other than that, I'm just hanging out and doing laundry. I hope everyone's enjoying the weekend!

The Wrestler.

So last night Gavin and I finally got around to watching The Wrestler. Hmm. Here are my thoughts about the movie:

1) Marisa Tomei is butt-ass naked in about 90% of her scenes. Ok, I knew she portrayed a stripper, but I did not expect this level of nakedness, as nonsensical as that may seem. I'm naive, I know. Like a cub in the woods. I thought maybe they'd put her in some lingerie or a bra and panties and call it a day, you know, for the kids. But no. No no no. I kept fighting the urge to cover Gavin's eyes with pillow or something, because girlfriend looks good. No wonder she got an Oscar nomination. Each of her boobs should have walked away with their own nominations for best supporting roles. They were convincing.

2) There is a lot more blood and nasty than I thought there would be. This movie is graphic. Gross me out. Like I'm just supposed to know that the world of bottom-rung professional wrestling is not pretty and clean and safe and glamorous. Whatever. I'm not a soothsayer, Fox Searchlight. How about a heads up next time.

3) This movie is depressing. I mean, sadder than a hundred dead Christmas trees depressing. I'm not exactly sure why, but for some reason I was expecting a movie about redemption, and I guess that's kind of what it was, in a way, if you like your redemption leaving you like you just stared at a basket of sick puppies for 2 hours. Rocky it ain't.

4) The movie is realistic. Ultimately, it is about the very essential truths of life: we make choices and then we have to live with them. In that respect, the movie is very good. There is extensive character development, and I found myself very much drawn into Mickey Rourke's character. The acting was excellent, particularly MR's acting.

At the end of the day, I'm glad we watched it. It was an affecting movie experience. It's one of those really good movies that I'm glad I saw, but probably won't watch again, like Million Dollar Baby. I can tell you one thing: I am really rooting for Mickey Rourke from here on out. I learned recently that he really really loves dogs, which made me go from being completely ambivalent about him to loving him.