also...

In the same Not Me - You! vein as the last post, go check out Lesbian Dad's series of the week about Being a Baba And How She Got There. Excellent as usual.

Do yourself a favor and start with Monday's, then move on to Tuesday's, then do today's and go back for more for the whole rest of the week. You won't be sorry.

do unto others

For Cali:


moar funny pictures


And for Chicory:

Check out this and this and then send in your cutest pictures of your kids. What's not to love about this deal? Show off your kid anonymously, help change stupid, stupid laws. Ideal.
(You can send pics to me - starrhillgirl@gmail.com - if you'd rather.)

the long goodbye

It was goodbye to the Saab today, my dearly beloved car. You'll remember my love/hate relationship with cars - hate car culture, love my car, love going for a drive - or maybe you won't. Either way, today was the end; today I sent my car away.

Some time ago, back when I was even smaller than I am now, we lived with some friends for a month or so while our house was being finished (actually, while we waited and waited for there to be a working well, but that's another story). These friends had a Saab each and I loved them (the friends and the Saabs). My 11th birthday, they gave me a model Saab, which I loved and wrote an ode to in my English class. It went something like this:

You are red and you are black
With a gold interior
**blah, blah, can't remember the middle part**
**blah, some other stuff I can't remember**
My Saab 900 Turbo.

Literary gold, y'all - at age 11! Anyway, Saabs - I've loved them since childhood. I learned to drive on a Saab, and have had no other car to my name since. And this last one, it's been Teh Best. 16 valve, so I can really kick some Other Car Ass; smooth, cool "rose quartz" paint job; rear hatch that, when the back seat was down made it almost like a truck; sunroof for extra breezes; the mileage could make a hybrid stand up and take notice. It made it through me helping a couple people into the wide and wonderful world of standard transmissions and never needed a clutch job. There were more Sunday afternoon drives through rural Virginia with LB and mixed tapes (mixed tapes?!) than there are stars in the sky and still there were less than 200k miles on it.

And it was mine, in that way things are when you really, really love them. I'd been driving it for so long, it felt like an extension of my being. I knew the sweet spot on the clutch like I know my name. The steering wheel must have had imprints from my hands on it. I could pop-start the motherfucker on a flat stretch of gravel with my foot out the door.

Good old car. It was 21 this year. I patted it fondly as I took all my shit out of the trunk.

But today was the end. I posted it for parts on Craigslist (I thought about posting last week's unused sperm there, too - or maybe on Freecycle....) and got an email from some guy in the Valley saying he'd take it. So he came today and turned out be this scrappy little indy kid (or, rather, the kind of boy the indy kids *want* to look like) with a hat that said "ugly stick" on it and grease covered jeans. Totally adorable. So I was less sad, just because he was cute. He let me drive it up the ramps onto the trailer (woo! new skill!) and mentioned he runs demolition derby. He says my car runs so well he might use it for that! A far more glamorous end than rusting in a junk yard.

Oh, farewell, my dearly beloved car. Farewell.

oh, the agony....

My L-word dealer is out of town. No fix for me this week. Ack. I've been distracting myself with this. Warning - spoilers and sooooo NSW (nudity *and* guns).

Did anybody make dinner this week? I forgot. But next Sunday, I'm all over it. Tell me what you're bringing so I can menu plan.


Oh, god. You're all watching it right now! I'm dying.....

coming soon to a diner near you...

Well, the diner near me, that is. Yes, it's CLAW. C***** Lady's Arm Wrestling. Here's a sneak preview with Down Low Cho and Lefty Red.

the dice, there are none

Despite the fact that Fed Ex managed to make a timely delivery of sperm, there will be no insemination this weekend. My u/s today showed what the RE thinks might be a polyp in my uterus - not a big deal and easy to get rid of if that is indeed what it is, but it is not desirable to try to grow a baby in an already occupied uterus. So no dice.

On the brighter side, I had one perfect 17mm follicle on the left and a nice 11 mm lining, which seems good for CD 13. I've got my operating instructions for when to call for luteal phase blood work and my appointment for next cycles HSG (which will clarify the polyp issue) and free reign to drink whiskey all weekend.

oh, dr. acu i heart you

I love my acu doctor as much as I hate Fed Ex. More, in fact. Today was my first appointment in nearly a month; the holidays got in the way last time. Oh, it was good. It's so warm there and he's so kind and interested in how I am and the needles fascinate me and then there's the mini massage with lineament and the heat lamp on my feet (!). Then the whole rest of the day is blissfull and cloud-like. I swear. This time I got some moxibustion (a term I know from a hysterical Chinese studies class I took in high school). "I'm just going to warm this one up a little" he said, referring to the needle in my belly. He thinks cold is one of my biggest problems. I've been cold since my period started - no lie. It sucks.

The minor annoyance today, ttc-wise - was good old Clear Blue. Poor thing. I ran out of her sticks. Some bff I am. So I have no hormonal data for today so far, other than that I can gather without the help of a machine. But tomorrow! It will be all pee all the time. Just you wait.

Tomorrow is wanding #2 - also known as "cheap lube saturated wang cam scan" which is my new favorite term I stole from my newest favorite mama bloggers. They are fab. And they use terms like wang, which I will be working into everyday conversation more often.

Anyway, Dr. Acu has massaged away all my angst over Fed Ex and I'm drinking my ovulation tea (And liking it - usually this is the herb mix that I like the least. This Means Some Thing.) and getting ready to do an opk before bed. Regardless of what it says, there's sperm on it's was eastward - should get to school sometime tomorrow morning. Last Ditch Hail Mary DIY insem, here we go!

Now I have to go give the cat her anti-diarrhea medicine. Don't you wish you lived chez Starrhill?

oh, fed ex, how i do hate you

There really is no need for the boring details. I mean, it's Fed Ex - I should expect them to fuck up at this point, right? They've done it before.

Anyway. I though the delivery of this cycle's bio-tranz kit to my donors was totally fucked, but thanks to my donors' willingness to drive way the fuck out to the central Fed Ex lair, we should be in business. Let me reiterate how much I hate Fed Ex. One of the many, many reasons I will be glad to be done with this, baby in hand, is that I can then never. ever. ever. use fucking Fed Ex again. Never again.

Yes, it's my Really Truly Last Chance DIY Insem. My Hail Mary insem, as some would call it. There'll be no prometrium to work it's magic with my luteal phase this time, as I'm being monitored by the RE to get a nice baseline for his future work. So it will just be me and Teh Spermz and whatever help old Mary's willing to give. And, yes, my atheist ass will be counting off the Hail Mary on my fingers (no rosary to be had) because what is prayer but ritual set up to bring on comfort and hope. I'll also have my voodoo charm from de-cryptic stashed under the bed, just in case you thought I was slipping.

*sigh* Stupid Fed Ex.

as promised

Virtual Sunday dinner.


What? Did you think I'd start before you got here? Nah. Go sit by the fire and entertain me while I cut up this chicken.

Could you please distract the cats? I might loose a limb.

Shh... this is the part where I kind of need to concentrate. Note my new pan.

You like gravy, right? Everything in this is local, mostly stuff I froze from summer. Except the peas. Oh, and the potatoes. Those are from the store. You can't have everything.

Ok, let me get this in the oven and then you can refill my wine glass. You did bring wine, didn't you?

Wash your hands, now. It's time to eat.

I sure hope one of you brought salad, because I don't have any. There's lots, so whoever wants some pot pie - come on down.

more memes more of the time

Oh, boy! Tagged! By Chips! Woo! And Hoo! And more exclamation points!

Everything You Wanted to Know About Me But Were Afraid To Ask:

(ok, not everything, just 6 things)

1. I have wanted for the past decade or so, to change jobs to be something like a mail carrier. Or a taxi driver.

2. I love cheetos. Love. Them.

3. Also, I love chickens. I'd get a few to have here at my house but one of my cats is a menace and I can't in good conscience bring small fuzzy chicks into my home. They would quickly become a tasty meal for Fifi. This is unacceptable as it would not allow them to lay eggs to be a tasty meal for me.

4. I have not had my hair cut in a salon/barber/beauty shop in something like 6 or 7 years. It's all been done like this every 3rd or 4th summer, then it grows out long and I do it again.

5. It is harder for me to think of 6 things about myself than I thought it would be.

6. My earlobes are not the same. One looks regular and the other has a little extra bit of lobe. My grandma and my cousin are the same. Some people notice it right away, some people take years to notice.

Bonus Extra Credit Thing You Wanted To Know Because #5 Didn't Really Count - I love trashy novel. All sorts - from the cheesey ones in the supermarket to the old school Naiad romances.



My Mother Said To Pick The Very Best Ones And You Are It:
The Injector - who will likely not play, but still
Vee & Jay -to occupy them during the 2ww (yes, that's both, so 2 posts, please )
Gold Star - to return the favor
Gypsygrrl - so I will remember to add her to my blogroll

Teh Rules:
1) Link to the person that tagged you. (that would be me)
2) Post the rules on your blog. (rules!)
3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. (hmmm....)
4) Tag at least three people at the end of your post and link to their blogs. (yikes - who to tag?)
5) Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog. (this is the part I might forget)
6) Let the fun begin! (memes - cheesey but so fun!)

in other words

Yes. Yes, there will be sperming up this cycle. Yes. Why? Because.

Because I refuse to give up hope. Much as hope likes to bite me in the ass, it is still my constant companion and bff. As the AddProb kids, say, "... hope is like a damn jack-in-the-box, popping up again and again, whether or not you're sick and tired of the plinkety-plink little tune." Sometimes I am sick of it, but I don't think I'd ever want to be too deaf to hear it.

And as Vee said, "...here’s to the light at the end of the tunnel folks; here’s to the journey’s end. For all of us. Soon."

friday it is

So my full snow day did not materialize today, but it was a good day none the less. We started late and there were only 6 children and, although the post-nap period sucked, I did get a new hat from one of my kids, which he was very, very excited about. Pictures and lengthy prose about my lost hats to come.

Anyway - how about a list? You know you want it.
Teh Nice, in no particular order:

• new hat, see above
• at least half an hour in the card aisle at CVS with Sophie, buying cards for her mama, who does not want gifts for her birthday this year. The child's sense of humor is coming along nicely, thank you.
  
• guess who I just had drinks with? The currently most famous blogger near Starr Hill and my very, very dear old friend. Yes, you wish you'd been there. Yes, there was Maker's Mark.
  
• roasted chicken. Fuck me. I get chickens from my neighbor, who runs a restaurant and gets his meat from Polyface. The meat was falling off the bone, despite the over cooking and lack of brining. I rinsed it, salted and peppered it, stuck half an onion in it, stuck it in the oven and called it done. Amazing. All local all the time, y'all. Come over for chicken pot pie on Sunday.
  
• good news, or, rather, no news, about my lower GI challenged cat. All her blood work came back normal - no thyroid, kidney or liver issues. Whew. Now I get to dose her with anti-diarrheals and home made yogurt.
• sadly short but delightful phone chat with Hard Girl
• going to bed with a good but kind of scary book
• possible coffee with cho-girl tomorrow
  

who's your daddy

Or, Tell Me What a Feminist Looks Like

As per usual, I am late to the game. There's been a lot of discussion going on in the world of blogs about parenting, gender roles, and such. I won't try to frame the conversations at all, but you can go here and here and here to see what angles other folks are coming from, but Bri called for a term paper and I'd better hand mine in before I drop yet another letter grade.

As I'm going about this Baby Search alone*, I don't have personal, immediate investment in the whole bio-mom/nonbio-mom discussion. But. I have some very definite opinions about using sex to box people in (shut up, KP), and I think, as has been said, that the stereotype of "clueless dad" needs to go, whether you're parenting with a husband or a wife or a partner or nobody. There is no good service done to any of our children by trash talking, even as a joke, a parent of either gender. And I know, as a feminist, that there is no equality when anyone is considered lesser based purely on gender.

I was born to and raised by two very nice straight parents. I was raised a feminist, and yes, I identified myself that way at age 9**. My mama stayed home and breastfed me and my dad went to school. Until I was just under a year when, to hear my mama tell it, she was going crazy and needed to get a job. Which she did - at a group home for retarded adults. I went with her. By the time I was 5, both my parents worked (or were going to school? - really I can't remember that well) outside the house. I learned "feminine" and "masculine" things from my dad: how to cook, make hospital corners with a flat sheet, build a fire, hold the door open for people, take my hat off indoors (yes, only the one with brims). I learned un-gendered things from my mama: how to stand up and speak when I see injustice, to speak kindly whenever possible, to see my sex as a privilege, not a burden. Neither of my parents taught me the "boy" things - bike riding, ball throwing. (I hate sports. They might feel bad about this now. Poor them. I don't feel bad about it at all - I just hate sports.) There were not gendered roles in my house growing up - at least not that I noticed. The picture of "dad" in my mind is similar to that of "mom" - an adult who loves and cares for a child. There is no "secondary" involved in the parenting model I have.

Sometimes, a kid will come to school with mismatched hair clips, or a particularly messy hair-do or an inadequate jacket. Sometimes, somebody - another parent, or a teacher - will say something along the lines of "looks like daddy was in charge this morning" and laugh. No. No, no, no. This bullshit needs to stop. There is an assumption among many people that the "dad" is somehow a lesser partner in the parenting game. He can't quite get with it - forgets jackets and might dry the baby's butt with a hand dryer. Funny, yes? No. Maybe for a movie made in the 80's, but let's be done with that tired old crap, ok? It seems to me that it is very, very hard to step up to the plate if there's already somebody standing there. Some folks who've been part of this conversation have said how hard they are working to see their partners' ways of doing things as fine - the butt will likely get dry one way or another.

I came back from my trip to Seattle full of awe and pride in my friends out there and how they were coping together with those first initial post-partum days. Another friend was talking to me on the phone a few days later, looking back on her first days at home with her baby, who's now 2, and I swear I could see her shaking her head as she told me how hard it was (yes), how tired she was (yes) and how there really was nothing her husband could do with the baby because men just don't get it (ummm - wtf?). I jumped in quickly with what I'd seen in Seattle - the careful split of sleep time, the relationship that the dad and his daughter had begun to build from the moment she was born, how happy the mom was to see them creating special things they did together, how relieved that it was not all on her. They were parenting together - not just being a mom and a dad.

Now, you may be sitting there in front of your computer, shaking your head, because who am I to talk about all this shit when I won't be grappling with these issues in my own home. But I was, as I said, raised a feminist and I was reminded by Chicory that

"one of the crucial acts I could do on a daily basis was complicate the notion of “feminine”."

And I'll do that by holding doors and not carrying a purse and raising whatever child comes to me to see hirself as competent beyond gender. And I'll also tell you, more often than you'd like, when I see other people complicating any notions of gender. Especially when those notions come around parenting.

Because it's not enough that we shake up gender if we are still thinking of the roles in things like parenting as being so very different. (from Bri)

So I think I've wandered off from what was originally going on over at dosmamas, but what I really walked away from all these recent blog posts with was this - you can and should call yourself and your partner whatever name fits; you can and should raise your babies with the best part of yourself put forth; you should not let your sex or status as bio- or nonbio-parent stand in the way of being kind and tender and wise - with your children and with anyone else you're around. Your children will take little parts of you to make themselves - be you a mom or a mommy or mama or baba or dad or papa - that means you're important, no matter what, so be sure those parts they are taking are the best parts of you. I come away remembering that all this ttc shit I've been throwing at you isn't about getting pregnant, or having a baby girl or boy - it's about being a parent - not a mom or a dad but a parent. That is, an adult who loves and cares for a child the best way I can.

ETA - I think I strayed off topic enough that I can only hope for a D at best. D for effort? Please?


*Ok, so not alone - really SOOOOO not alone. I mean, really, here you all are. Yay. But isn't the image of me running around searching for a baby funny?
** Ugh - Sophie could not tell me what feminist meant when I asked her 2 days ago.

let sleeping cats lie

let sleeping cats lie
Originally uploaded by corey jo

Just testing the new to me Blog This feature on flickr.

finally!

It snowed! We are still ourselves, not Richmond!

None of the area schools had it together to close this morning, so we all trecked to work just as it was starting to come down and then closed by 9 am. Ok, actually, it was much more dramatic than that and involved me leaving my car at school and my assistant leaving her car at my house and my boss driving them both home, but the real point is: SNOW DAY! Hooray!

I will: nap, read, look at the snow, eat lunch (maybe at the diner if I can find a date), nap, look at the snow, watch the second disk of Gangs of New York (which I just read the book of), nap, look at the snow, and blog. I swear. There will be blogging.

the visit

Hmmmm.....now that I've set myself some sort of lame-ass goal, I'm stuck. And there's nobody available on skype or IM to distract me. Might as well tell you about the visit to the RE visit Wednesday.

My appointment was in the middle of the day - 11 am - so I had to find a sub for work. So I also got to be out and about at lunchtime! Woo! Cho-girl came to my subbing rescue and after I placated a crying child with promises of cupcakes at circle, I was on my way. Hey! There was a birthday to celebrate! It wasn't an empty promise! And she was crying because she loves me! Now she knows that a cupcake is better than me.

We'll skip the preliminaries - checking in, paying (you do that first at this place - weird), getting called back. And move on to the real deal: the dildo-cam was giving me the finger as I walked into the exam room. Luckily, this boded nothing for the exam - everything was good, all parts in place. But, of course, since this was a base-line exam, I didn't get any answers. But no news is good news, right. Except, the guys who do the HSG are all full for the day that works for me this cycle. So I'll be putting that treat off until February. Ugh. I wanted that done and out of the way, plus I wanted the info only an HSG can give me. Does it seem slightly ridiculous to any of y'all that the hospital only does these on Fridays and only has 2 spots per Friday and there is only a 4 or 5 day of one's cycle when one can get a dye-job? Yeah, me, too.

In what must be an attempt to reduce, reuse and recycle, my RE's office covers the dildo-cam with a regular old latex glove (yes, they did ask if I was allergic). There's a blob of lube (which they artfully call "gel") and the the thing gets a glove stuck on it, and then there's more lube - I mean "gel." The instrument itself is, as most if you know, long and skinny and had been put into the middle finger of the Glove Designated For Me, so that's what I saw when I first walked in the room. The nurse said it wasn't on purpose. Whew. It is a new latex glove, by the way - I think this falls under the reduce part of reduce, reuse, recycle.

Here's the real question for this cycle: to insem or not to insem? This is a monitoring cycle, so I won't be taking any meds. That means no prometrium, which I've been told I need. Hhmmm.... what to do?

more, more, more

Ok, so let's make a deal. I'll post more, you won't leave. Deal? Let's spit and shake on it. My grandpa used to actually spit on his hands before he lifted something heavy.

HD had a post recently about writing and doing it more and how she should. And how reading good things makes her

simultaneously like a brilliant writer and someone who attempts to describe magnificent events with words like “nice” and “um, nicer.”

As an aside can we just give it up for her, because that is fucking brilliant. Funny and true. And yes. I read all the time, anything I can get my hands on - good, bad, trashy, fiction, non-fiction, newspapers, magazines, signs. There must be a job somewhere for a Reader. That would be my ideal job, reading all the time. And snacking. Perfect. That was a digression. Anyway, reading good things makes me want to write, but also makes me want to run screaming, because what could even come close to some of the beautiful things that have already been written.

Anyway. I want to write more. Here. Not for any reason (I've no book ambitions, like other folks, who *should* have books, because then I can stay up late reading something good) just because I like to. November was harder and more fun than I expected, and it seems my intrinsic motivation is not so good, so I'll impose some sort of guidelines and some punishments if I fail. Punishments like public humiliation.

So I resolve to write 3 posts a week - kind of like my own personal NoBloWooHa. LB and Cali are nominated to hold me to it, as one lives close enough to kick my ass and the other will hustle up here to take one of my kidneys if I fuck up (and I'll still probably give her dinner). I'll be counting on protection from the rest of y'all if they come after me together.

Anything y'all want to hear about? More food posts, I promise. Fabulous details of having non-sexual objects up my hooha, I promise. Cat pictures, anecdotes about Sophie's tweener angst and greatness, love letters to Virginia - everything you've come to expect. I promise.

Meanwhile, good things and bad things: Share the love - here and here. It's the IVP all call - look up and you'll see our version of the bat signal. Yes, that's a vulva in the sky. Jenny and Ezra have ridden a rough road and have their tiny girl home with them now and Kim miscarried her long-time-coming boy on Saturday. At 11 fucking weeks. Fine, good things and hard and shitty things. Seems like I've written this post before.

I'm off the the RE tomorrow. Woo. CD3 blood work and u/s. So, yes, that was a stupid waste of a last ditch DIY cycle. But on the bright side, I had a nice glass of scotch with my weekly dose of the L-word.

irony not lost

But, watch this anyway.

the naming of cats

I'm sure you've guessed by now that my name's not really Starr Hill Girl. Starr Hill's where I live. And I am a girl - by biology and by identity. But I do have a Real Name. Which I am not going to reveal to you, so don't get all excited.

I've got the usual three names on my birth certificate, first, middle and last. The first name is reasonably gender-neutral, which was annoying when I was a kid, but I'm damn happy with now. My middle name is from a Bob Dylan song. Yes. You can take it up with my mother. I'm also pretty happy with it, although it was a bitch to learn to spell. I'm generally called by my first name. With some divergent exceptions: my family, my very close friends, some old school theater people, and the internet often or always call me by a combination of my first and middle names.

Now when I say my family, I mean almost all of them: cousins, my maternal grandparents (salut, Grandpa), most all of my aunts and uncles and my parents. It must have started when I was too tiny to remember, this two-fer name of mine that makes me sound like a somewhat progressive southern stereotype. They don't all call me this consistently, but I think of it first and foremost as my family name.

When I was just out of high school, I had a great and long term babysitting job for a little boy we'll call David, because that was his name. He lived with his mama, who had become my good friend, in one of the dependencies of an estate south of town. The people who owned the estate sent their son to my high school and so he and I were friends, and they had some theater friends of mine living in another dependency (where the hell am I going with this?), so I was there a lot, as were the vast majority of what was then the downtown arts community of my town. Anyway. David's father did not live with him and the visitation situation was sketchy at best and the father had the same first name as me. Which lead to great disappointment and rock throwing one day when he'd been told that "C_____ is coming over today," and it was me and not his dad. He was young - 2 1/2 at the time and so his mom and I simply changed what he called me. To my family name. It was cute; he put the accent on the first name, not the second as most people do. And it stuck and there were no more rocks (although there were other tantrums - the kid was kind of a mess at that point). And everybody on the estate began to call me that, too - the kid had the run of the place, which was so great. And all the downtown art kids of yesteryear began to call me that, too (because I used to be out and about, doing things other than trying to knock myself up - ah, youth). Now do you see where I was going with all that?

I began referring to myself with both names as it became more common to hear myself called that outside of family. But I didn't, and still don't, introduce myself as anything other than my first and last name. I go by my first name at work (don't get me started on why I want my kids to be on a first name basis with me) as well as most other non-home places, and I'm slightly surprised when somebody I don't know well calls me by my two-name name. In terms of the currency of intimacy, that shit's expensive, yo. I've got to know I love you before I expect to hear my family name come out of your mouth.

But. My family name, this two-fer pet name, is what I go by on the internets. Interesting, no? Almost all my on-line stuff is with that name - with the exception of sykpe, which is the old Starr Hill deal (so now you can skype me - yay!) for no real reason except that's how I started a bunch of accounts. So all these folks in the internet, my invisible friends, call me by the name that I have until recently used only with people I'm close to. It's like a sort of instant intimacy, which is appropriate since so many of you hear in great detail about my CM and amazing color-changing boobs.

I don't use any version , pet or other wise, of my real name on my blog because I don't want somebody to be able to easily search by my name and find me - the same reason I don't name my town, even though I'll link to things that will name it. I try not to use other folks' real names either, because I'm not sure I've got the right to do that. Plus acronym-able nicknames are fun! Sophie is clearly an exception to this, in part because the thought of going back and changing all those posts with her name makes me want to put an ice pick in my spleen, and also because there are a million girls her age with that name (really - I know of 5 just in my circles of people). I might change my tune about this at some point, however, and go edit all those posts, ice pick in hand.

Names and their variations are fascinating to me. Why do you call yourself what you do? Why were you called that, or something else, by the people who first named you? The people who named you after that?

The naming of cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm mad as a hatter
When I tell you a cat must have three
different names.

First of all, there's the name
that the family use daily,
Such as Victor, or Jonathan,
George or Bill Bailey--
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names
if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen,
some for the dames;
Such as Plato, Admetus,
Electra, Demeter--
But all of them sensible everyday names.

But I tell you,
a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that is peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he
keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers,
or cherish his pride?

Of names of this kind,
I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quazo or Coripat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellyrum--
Names that never belong
to more than one cat.

But above and beyond
there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you will never guess;
The name
that no human research can discover--
But The Cat Himself Knows,
and will never confess.

When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought,
of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

(We can give our thanks to Eliot here, of course, but you'll have to imagine my dad 's voice reading this to me, as that was the way I first heard it one night before bed when I was very small.)

coming out

Ummm.... apparently, it's national delurking day - or, rather, yesterday was. Who knew? Clearly not me. So delurk already! Tell me.... ah.... your favorite color(s) in the comments. Because yes, I do want to know you're there. And I don't want the terrorists to win.

(Badge stolen from papernapkin, although I saw it was time to delurk on redneck mommy)

where have i been?

Funny you should ask.....
I've been:
*at work
*in bed with the worst head ache of the year (for me, that is)
*in the car with Sophie (the kid's got a lot of shit going on)
*in Free Union, watching the L-word.

There's all sorts of things I might ought to fill you in on (heheh, 2 prepositions in a row is funny), like my deaf cat, my desire to be on vacation all the time, the recent warm weather and how it makes me want summer, my car situation, my views on the election, my lack of a roommate, but blah, blah, blah.

But what's really important? The L-word. Yes, it was everything it's cracked up to be: hot girls, outrageous plot lines and more hot girls. My friend who tivos it for me had us all set up: she'd recorded the last episode from the last season, too - as a refresher. We let her baby stay up to watch it with us (we covered her eyes during the sex, don't worry) and then put her to be and broke out the chocolate cookies and hunkered down with the premiere.

Oh, my program.... as my grandma would say - so good and yet, so, really, not good. And yes, I am about to sit down with my dinner sized bowl of popcorn and re-watch it. What's it to you?


ETA:
(Warning! Possible spoilers! Jay, Vee - beware!)

The "Our Chart" (what-the-fuck-ever) version on line is edited within an inch of its life. The hot scene with Tasha and Alice at the end was totally cut all to shit.

"Oh-nine-hundred-o'clock in the morning" = best line of the show.

The "you love me but you're not in love with me" conversation between Shane (*sigh*) and what's her name? I've had that exact conversation. Only I didn't run out and commit arson afterwards. This is why my life is not on Showtime. (I did hang on to a certain dutch oven and, more recently a very nice sweater - but I'll be returning them both! I swear! But, F your I, break my heart and leave your shit at my house then it becomes part of the landscape and then I wear it and cook with it. Until I mail it back.)

Who the hell takes care of that baby all the time? And the pre-school interview scene made me ill. Ill. Please tell me that shit doesn't really happen. Also, why was it weird for Angelica to sign something? Baby signs are painfully hip these days. (I mean in no way to bash baby signing - it's great - but still, totally the baby fad for the new millennium)

Helena's cell mate is hot.

x's and o's

friday night

I had a date last night! With my tiny bf, the smallest cho! He is soooo good looking.....*swoon*. As he is his mother's child, he came with gear: a big old bag o' tricks - movies and treats and feathers and who knows what else. Those cho's - they are happy to haul shit. And plans, he came with Teh Planz. For making ink out of charcoal and watching Planet Earth and making s'mores. And for not leaving the house. *sigh* My hero. There is always the Going Out Option when dining Chez Starrhill, because there are only a million restaurants within spitting distance, and my tiny bf first said he wanted to go to Mono Loco (he likes calamari), but then, seemingly out of the blue, he wondered aloud if I had ever ordered pizza at my house. So we stayed in.... ah....heaven. Also, he can correctly identify Giant Salamanders just by seeing their feet and he loves my cats. And we Shared. Emotions, I mean. He confessed to being "nervous" to come here without his brother, and that the last time he came over he was "weeping." I love a sensitive man. Especially one in a sweater.

And then we made s'mores. With a kit he'd been given for xmas. Note the kit above left. Also note that it appears to have been attacked by mice, but really it was just opened by an 8 year old. The marshmallows were slightly stale, but the s'mores were great all the same. Post s'mores, we sat on the couch to watch one of the Planet Earth DVDs. There was *almost* snuggling. Almost.

Here's an instructional video, just in case you don't know how to make your own s'mores.

f yer i

Oregon Trail on facebook is damn near as good as the old graphics-free original.

Buckwheat is from the rhubarb family. (thanks, Chips!)

I hate it when people call their vulvas vaginas.

what did you say?

You said you want to know what the hell is going on in the Land O' TTC? Well, fuck. I'd like to know, too.

I had 3 insems between noon on Saturday and 12:01 am Sunday (just so I could mark it as a Sunday insem on old FF) - about 6 hours apart.

Using the "Research" method of pinpointing ovulation, FF tells me I ovulated Saturday, which is what I thought all along. It so nice when we all agree, isn't it? But. My temps are for shit. Total shit. Low like in the old pre-acu days (which I didn't do this cycle - herbs but no needles), and a spike that looks clear to other folks, but not so much to me. And my once-so-pretty-and-sparkly was g.o.n.e. Saturday am, never to return (I think, it's so hard to tell once you've shot up).

So who's to say? Who's to fucking say.

all local all the time

My roommate gave me a copy of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle for xmas. Yes, I am late to the party, as usual; I know everybody's been talking about it for months now. But anyway, it's great. For my money, better than The Omnivore's Dilemma, which I did love. (Although, The Botany of Desire was better, I thought and it was Fast Food Nation and The Jungle that really made my shopping habits what they are today.) Now that my vacation is ending (cue sobbing), I'll have *so* much time to write about it. Because I am sure nobody else in the world of food blogs has talked about it yet.

Who else has read it? Chicory, A, this is right up y'all's alley. Not an euphemism. I swear.

Now, ask me why I do book links with Powell's.

Whoa, that's a lot of links, little lady.....