who does this sh*t?

Day 2 of single parenthood wasn't tough, exactly, but it did end on a kind of rough note.

So I was really looking forward to a bowl of ice cream. Sadly, I ate all of the Creme Brulee, but I remembered that we still had another container in the freezer.


Yeah. We had some. About three spoonfuls.

This is clearly Kevin's doing. If I saw this little ice cream left in the container, I'd finish it off.

Did I mention it's time to start the diet?

Sicko made me feel oh-so-sick

Last night Kevin and I took advantage of yet more free babysitting and saw Sicko. A few comments:

(1) Kevin now is fully on the moving to Toronto boat. Now, we just have to pray for a job opening.
(2) The birthing rooms at the NHS hospitals in Britain are really pretty sweet. I saw a ball and a hammock, and who knows what other devices were tucked away.
(3) Just when you think postpartum emotions have stabilized, you find yourself with tears dripping down your faces. I hope this will end, soon, because it's getting a little old.
(4) Did I mention Kevin's down with moving to Toronto? Just checking.
(5) See, the good thing about moving to Toronto is that we can ensure our children will have very little chance of thinking that dropping off uninsured sick people at a homeless shelter is okay. I'm not really sure how we, as a country, have sanctioned such heartlessness as perfectly fine.
(6) And we say we live in a "Christian country" with "family values."
(7) Kevin adds, "the thing about the taxes that I told you." Which is: Michael Moore should have taken a cue from political science professor and not-so-secret socialist John Stephens and shown that there is very little difference in disposable income between a country like Sweden, which provides a TON of social benefits via taxes and redistribution, and the United States. (Sure, the United States does provide some social benefits - Social Security Administration, anyone? - but who really relies on these benefits? Would you say, "well, I'm unemployed, but at least I get Medicaid!")
(8) Kevin also adds, "we'll move to Toronto."
(9) And, a bit of irony:

a good reason to declare bankruptcy

As related by Kevin's officemate:

Apparently, there once was a student from "one of those European countries" who, upon coming to Stanford, decided not to get the employee insurance. Why would he need to? He's getting it from his country, right?

And his wife became pregnant.

And they delivered.

And they got the bill.

And they realized, with what I can only imagine is bone-chilling terror, that their national health insurance didn't cover babies.

So, they did what any good American would do: declare bankruptcy and return to the Motherland.

Again: how does one possibly give birth in this country without health insurance?

err...try the $63,000 baby

Our lack of national health care makes our little socialist go cross-eyed.

So it turns out that it was just $17,000 to bring Chompy McChomps into the world, and then another $46,000 to sustain him for three days.

Yowza!

Kevin's concern, once opening our most recent insurance statement, was whether or not we'd have to pay $500 instead of the $250 we'd anticipated, hinting that it might be a "rip-off" should we have to pay the extra $250. He may be kidding. He probably isn't.

I only mention this because it seems that, really, if we didn't have health insurance we probably wouldn't have had a baby. Or, we would follow the increasingly attractive option of moving to Canada.

worst. endings. ever.

Part 1: 24

Please point that somewhere else, I'm too busy yawning.

Look, people who make 24, I suffered through your barely palatable season with very few complaints, but I cannot abide by your season finale. Lame, lame, lame. Who cares? Unless you:
(1) Told me that Josh Bauer was indeed Jack Bauer's son, as we all know his is;
(2) Killed Audrey Raines, because she is bor-ing;
(3) Finally resolved Agent Doyle's vaguely evil status.
(4) Is Wayne Palmer dead? Seriously. He might be. Why not a check-in with the President?

Although, some credit:
(1) Chloe as a mother could be entertaining. Certainly pregnant Chloe could be hilarous.
(2) Ricky Schroder's amazing acting chops. (And if you want to know way more than anyone ought to about why he's Ricky again, check this out.)

Part 2: Heroes

Hiro the Hero

So I'll avoid highlighting some of the more obvious plot holes (like, why were people so concerned with keeping the invincible cheerleader safe? and why did Nathan have to escort Peter Petrelli to his atomic explosion - why couldn't Peter fly himself? and why could a well-positioned bullet kill Peter Petrelli but not his atomic explosion?) What makes Heroes finale so dumb is that the whole season was building to this episode and it turned out to be so lame. "OK, I'm Peter Petrelli with lots of cool superpowers at my disposal. I'm facing my archenemy in a fight to save millions of people. What should I do? Oh yeah, I'll just punch Sylar in the stomach a few times. That should do it." This supposedly epic showdown was just so dull. And the "connections"? What was Mica's job - to make sure they could use the elevator? So that Nikki could hit Sylar with a parking meter? And why isn't Mohinder - i.e. the worst character & actor on TV - dead yet? Lame.

Lost better be good.

digital cable...dead

Dear Comcast,

I understand that you're a really big company with a lot to do.

But, you see, my cable has been nonfunctioning since Wednesday night.

And while I don't really care so much, I do kind of pay a lot for this service.

Plus, I have to keep my cable box like THIS until you figure out what's wrong.


As you can see, this is kind of lame. Please advise.

Signed,

Little Girl

dear writers of 24

Pretty please . . .

. . . more Jack Bauer.

(Also, not to be picky, but I'm pretty sure the National Security Advisor isn't a cabinet position. Sorry, Karen Hayes.)

baskeball: a family affair

It seems like every member of the Davis-Ross family was in a cranky mood last night during the Carolina-USC game.

Sure, the game left a lot to be cranky about, since Carolina seemed incapable of getting either a rebound or a basket in the first half. Kevin expressed his frustration by paying bills and looking at our taxes. BDR expressed her frustration by staging a sit-in in my ribcage. I expressed my frustrating by knitting yet another superfluous sweater for BDR.

Luckily, things turned around in the second half. Kevin rejoined us on the futon to watch the game, and BDR started furious, spasmodic cheering. I continued knitting the superfluous sweater for BDR.

An aside: Watching this series has been a bit of a labor of love for me. Kevin's been in rare form, easily ired by seemingly slight offenses. He really can't handle the Charles Schwab commercials (WHY DO THEY NEED TO BE ANIMATED? THIS IS STUPID! THIS DOESN'T MAKE ME WANT TO USE CHARLES SCHWAB ANY MORE THAN I DID BEFORE!) and the UPS commercials (THESE ARE THE WORST THINGS EVER! UGH! I HATE THESE COMMERCIALS! I HATE THIS GUY!).

And please don't get him started on that Roy Williams Coca-Cola commercial, in which his mother started taking in extra ironing and cleaning so he could have a dime to buy a bottle of soda with his friends. This just really pushes him over the edge.

All I can say is thank goodness Dick Enberg was not one of the commentators; Kevin might hate Dick Enberg as much as that other Dick. Kevin said, "for Dick Enberg, it's not a basketball game; it's a Norman Rockwell painting."

This was quickly followed up by, "$18.25? That's a year, not a pizza price," after ordering our dinner.

thanks a lot, Dick Vitale

a vision of evil

Both Kevin and I groaned when we heard Dick Vitale name Carolina his national champion, as it is common knowledge that DICK VITALE ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS is wrong.

In other NCAA news, why are the pundits' brackets so lame? Everyone's Final Four is three number 1 seeds and one number 2...and their number 2 is Georgetown.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I guess my Final Four is pretty top-seed heavy, too. I guess that's what happens when you have teams like Florida and Ohio State and Carolina.)

so, yeah, I have a problem with competition

Should I feel guilty for wanting to kick the little bottom of a punk 9-year-old who challenged me to a game of paddle ball?

My first instinct is "yes," but keep in mind that he chose me as his partner because the thought the 7-month-pregnant woman would be easy to beat.

Also, this kid IS a total punk.

So, no, I don't feel guilty when I play to win against someone who's almost two feet shorter and 20 years younger than I am. The kid's got to learn that life's not fair sooner or later, and I might as well be the one to teach him that tough lesson.

in case of emergency...

So, about 5 or so years ago I had a change in my attitude, which probably was the result of meeting Kevin and starting graduate school and just overall maturation. Anyway, I realized that it would just be easier to go through life making fun of it rather than being angry at it, which had been my modus operandi.

In other words, I'd let myself be amused rather than irritated by the ineptitude and differences of others. Like, for example, when I was (technically) hit by a car yesterday. Or all of those bad drivers, in general, except for when I'm kind of afraid I'll die.

Some exceptions do apply: I'm still kind of angry about Bush II. I'm also angry about intolerance. I get cranky when people don't recycle. I really don't like selfishness. And the mystery alarm has transitioned from curious to angry-up-the-blood status.

Anyway, here's an example of something that probably ought to irritate me, but that I find hilarious: the rules for plumbing repairs that our homeowner association mails out every month.

(If you're really curious - and who isn't?- click above to read the text)

What's truly hilarious about these rules aren't the rules themselves (which are pretty reasonable), but the protocol to be used "in an emergency situation," which is...exactly the same.

Because, really, don't you have 48 to 72 hours notice before your emergency plumbing problems arise?

yesterday, I was hit by a car (technically)

Lest you think that my repeated rants about the amazing lack of driving aptitude in the Palo Alto/Mountain View area was without merit...

So here I am, walking around "pedestrian friendly" downtown Palo Alto, on my way to meet Kevin for dinner ahead of our birth class.

I cross a street at the crosswalk with the right of way (two things I admit I don't always do).

A car comes speeding toward me from the right. I figure the driver is going to make a right-turn-on-red at the light, so I angle myself to the right side of the crosswalk, so as to walk behind the car.

The car does NOT turn right-on-red, but instead kicks it into reverse and starts to (poorly) parallel park in what I should add is NOT a parking space.

As I am directly behind this car at this time, I am forced to scream (my choice - "oh my GOD!") and jump back. And, to be clear, I am "jumping back" into the line of traffic, as the light has changed and cars now are driving past/around me. Neither my scream, nor my pounding on the side of the car, alerted the driver that she was indeed about to plow me down.

All of this occurs after said car in question (a particularly hideous bright orange VW Bug) has grazed my hand going 3 MPH while parking.

Thus, the technical hit-by-car. Not to be confused with my actual hit-by-car, which occurred while I was in third grade, purchasing hot dogs for my mother at the local market, and running across a semi-busy road screaming "run for it."

calling all engineers!

Seriously, we need help. It's gone past "funny" and "amusing" to "really, truly annoying" and "inexplicably confusing."

If you have ANY suggestions for how to keep our oven buzzer from going off, please let us know. So far, we've been completely unable to figure it out.

If this keeps up, I'm going to fire bomb the kitchen.

they're back!

The squirrels are on the attack, again.

I can't decide what I like better about the city where I live: the fact our squirrels are crazy mean, or the fact that our Congresswoman wants to make spanking a federal crime.

Al Gore would be so disappointed in us

Al Gore is not afraid of you, and he will beat your ass

For some reason, our electric bill nearly doubled in the past month. This is particularly embarrassing, as I recently posted about our renewed interest in energy savings.

A few possible sources of the energy increase:

Inability to regulate our baseboard heaters. We've gone through a spell where no matter what level it's placed on, the baseboard heater in our bedroom has only two settings: Mohave and Sahara. This would be fine if we were, say, in Minnesota, but not so much when the low's only 30 or so.

Mystery buzzer. It still goes off. (When we returned home this weekend, the first thing we said was, "well, at least the buzzer's not going off.")

The DVR, a.k.a. Chief Culprit Numero Uno. I suspect we don't turn it off as much as we ought. Along with sucking our souls, it's sucking our natural resources as well.

The squirrels. Hmm. Could they be hacking into our electricity to service their own criminal needs? It's a very real possibility; these squirrels are relentless and very crafty. Then again, I always blame the squirrels.

man, I love Martha Stewart...

...but for all the wrong reasons.

I've been DVR-ing Martha every day, but I realized that I only really enjoy watching a few segments. I usually skip the cooking segments, unless what she's making looks particularly delicious. I usually skip the gardening segments, since I have no garden nor hope for garden for a few years at least.

But I love the "Ask Martha" segments, and the segments when she has random other "real" people on her show. These by far are my favorite pieces, and not because they're full of good information (as they usually are not), but because it shows what a spastic evil person Martha Stewart really is.

OK, that's harsh. Martha's not evil, per se. But she is completely warped. For example, I really liked it when she told the medical student that she ought to be shopping for fresh vegetables every two days. I also really enjoyed it when she told this 13 year old boy that she did a better job climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro than he did.

And it's really fun to watch Martha when Kevin's around, since his threshold for her persnickity-ness is much lower than mine. Kevin rarely curses, but often he can be heard spewing off a series of off-color phrases whenever Martha's pinched face comes on.

See! it pays to write

$400 in travel vouchers, hot damn!

Amy: Where should we go?
Kevin: Why can't we just use these for trips we already have planned.

My favorite part of the letter is the line, "Mr. Ross and Ms. Davis, we truly regret this disappointing experience."

I mean, we weren't disappointed. Slightly inconvenienced, maybe, but disappointed? The only time Kevin's disappointed is when the ACC games aren't on TV.

Lisa, drink the water

I have some issues with the translation on this sign.

In English, it advises that we're entering a "wetlands restoration (area) with reclaimed water," and further advises "people and pets (to) please stay out of the wetlands restoration area."

In Spanish, we learn that "the water is not drinkable" and "plants are not for human consumption."

So, why the discrepancy in the sign? Are we to assume that anyone who speaks English can intuit that "reclaimed water" might not be the best to drink? Or, are we to assume that Spanish speakers are disproportionally predisposed to drinking wetlands water and consuming wetlands plants?

What I really want to know now is what the Chinese translation says. "Drink up?"

an ill-advised parking-lot rant, part 2

Lest you think I might have been bragging about my "above average" driving skills here in the Bay Area. I offer you exhibit A:


I could barely squeeze my round bottom into my car.

It's really getting to the point where I might be unable to enter my vehicle.

I'm not vain, but...

I've been having what I'll politely call a "miscommunication" with the woman who's been cutting my hair since moving to California. I'd tolerated the situation for a while, because, really, the salon is down the block and the prices are crazy cheap for this area. But after my last experience, I decided "no more! be a woman, Amy, and stand up for yourself."

I'd made the mistake of telling Jeannie I'd like to grow out my hair; after that, she was unwilling to hear anything else I had to say, even if I were as clear as I could be. (For example: "Please cut the back of my hair so it is shorter than the front of my hair, as I am developing a fe-mullet, and it's not attractive.")

The last straw came when she made some incoherent excuse for why she couldn't exactly cut my hair evenly. Understand? Me either.

So, anyway, I'm going to see someone at a much more expensive place in Palo Alto. I was kind of looking forward to it...until I realized the stylist is named "Dre." Hmm. It could be interesting.