September 2010


I will eventually get to my past weekend — one last getaway before we become parents — but I keep getting distracted by the crime stories that are e-mailed by the neighborhood association or posted on our neighborhood blog.  These events qualify as a wave.  People are being robbed by gunpoint walking from car to house.  Bikes and tools have been stolen from sheds.  Cars and houses have been broken into.  It’s enough to make me come up with a crazy plan of carrying a chef’s knife in my glove compartment, and run from the car screaming when I get home from work.  I have a (terrible) theory that the probability of me being murdered (by my husband, anyway) increases with pregnancy, so of course any sort of crime seems more devastating when it happens to a pregnant lady.  You know, like how it’s sadder when a dog is robbed than when a cat dies?  Richard (who will most likely NOT murder me) is under strict orders to not let that Jeff Rossen from NBC news report on me if I do die tragically in a knife-related accident while defending our bikes.  That guy sucks.

Now about our lovely weekend in Washington, D.C.

We:

-saw Superchunk.  They were really good, but we left after hearing them play for one hour because someone (busted, me) could no longer stand up comfortably after two opening bands.  The show was up on NPR, and we didn’t miss much of it.  It was another of those shows where the crowd was great, and most likely were dressed exactly the same way they were the last time they saw Superchunk play, except now they were able to capture the show on their cell phones (whereas eight years ago they just had to remember that they saw a concert). Also, I assumed that I would naturally be able to locate the 9:30 Club since I spent about seven years of my life driving there on a weekly-to-monthly basis.  Nope.  We got a little off course before finding it.  At least we remembered where to get on-street parking.

-went to the Spy Museum.  I had been before.  It was good the second time around.  The guard said “no food or drink” to everyone coming in.  I walked by him and he said “you can eat all you want.”  I then pulled out a six-foot sub from my tiny purse and got mayo all over Ethel Rosenberg documents.

-ate at Ben’s Chili Bowl.  It was crazy busy, and pretty good.  Richard wants to have all of his meals sent to him via DHL from there.  I think that will get pricey, but we’re going to try it out for a few months.

-stayed at a fancy hotel in Old Town Alexandria.  I’m not going to look up whether it’s called Olde Towne, because that’s stupid.  But it was a nice hotel.  I got to swim in the pool and I had a great night’s sleep.

Also: We met up with my father-in-law, ate ice cream (um, twice), ate a couple other good meals, and brainstormed more disaster-named restaurants like Thai Tanic, which we drove by in D.C.  I’ve only come up with Hindenburgers and a bakery called the Challa-n-ger Explosion.

I tried not to get emotional about how much things will soon change and how little energy I had to make the most of the weekend.  I enjoy our day/weekend trips very much.  It’s the foundation of our relationship in a way (I’m talking about my associate, not Superchunk).  But, try not to get emotional when you’re in your third trimester.  I get teary-eyed looking at American flags or listening to traffic reports.  We will have weekend trips again, just with a little nugget squirming around in a Baby Bjorn.

Ben's Chili Bowl

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There are very few movies that speak to what it’s like being in your late ’20s-early ’30s (other than “How I Met Your Mother,” which I have just been informed is not a movie).  Hollywood in general has hired me to come up with a few pitches with expected production ASAP, though the only catch is that I wasn’t able to start from any original ideas.  Here’s what I came up with:

Hackers 2010

All the old faves are here, but they’ve traded the puffy vinyl coats and house music for Subarus and Broken Social Scene albums downloaded to their iPhones.  When domestic boredom kicks in they reunite for one more caper: hacking into the Martin’s grocery database to inflate their fuel perks! balances.  Will they succeed?  Will Angelina reprise her role?  Did that guy from “Trainspotting” get any better at an American accent?  I don’t know, either!

Sisterhood of the Maternity Pants

This follows four friends as they pass on from one pregnancy to the next a pair of jeans bought on clearance at Target’s maternity section.  Don’t expect any exotic locales or Summers When Everything Changes, but there will be plenty of waddling, slipping while doing yoga, and sleepless nights as the pants see each woman through the most uncomfortable and overwhelming months of their lives.  Spoiler: all of them get pizza sauce on the pants.

Justin’s Song

A group of college pals reunite for a long weekend following a mutual friend’s funeral.  The wine flows, the late ’90s music bangs on, and the relationships get more complicated as they play board games and try to figure out who Justin Bieber is.

Singles II: Breaking Up 3-D

For consistency’s sake this is set ten years after the original movie, but only because Matt Dillon has held up pretty well.  Old and new characters band together for a Citizen Dick reunion show to benefit medical expenses for the drummer (Eddie Vedder!).  Everyone returns to Seattle and are either newly married, newly single, or still single and chasing those same dreams as before.  Expect cameos galore, including Bill Pullman as a career counselor instead of plastic surgeon who asks a young artist who isn’t meeting her potential, “Do you blog?” (phew, that was a big set up for a dumb joke made 5 years ago).  Will the men still go for 22-year-olds?  Will the women keep dating each other’s ex-boyfriends?  Will Eddie Vedder’s bills get paid?  In 3-D?

Oh my God!  All excellent choices.  I will add them to my Netflix queue immediately after they’re made.  This is not just a long-winded way of telling Christophile that I got pizza sauce all over the pants she lent me.

I have heard many times that it’s important that I talk to the baby.  People swear that the music they played or books they read play a part in what their child is into (because, you know, normally kids don’t like music or reading). I’m not sure that the baby knows the difference between when I’m talking to it and when I’m talking in general, but now that we’re in the home stretch I’ve been trying hard to address little thing baby directly (we call it Toast — which is  a long story)(actually, it’s a short story).

Here are some transcripts of recent conversations that will no doubt aid in the development of my son/daughter.

“Hi Toast, it’s Mom.  My name is Kelly.  I’m driving home from work.  Well, ‘Marketplace’ is on.  Catch you later.”

“It’s Mom.  We’re driving by a kid riding a bike on a busy street without a helmet while facing traffic and texting.  Please don’t do that.”

“I think Buffy’s been super bitchy this season.  Faith is one of the best developed characters on the show, and I’m glad she’s there to take Buffy down a peg.  I can’t remember if Buffy gets more likeable toward the end of the season.  I think I would like Buffy more if I could relate to her or not shudder in disgust whenever she and Spike talk.”

“Hi, it’s your mom, Kelly.  I don’t know if I want you to love Doritos because I love them, or if I want you to hate them because I don’t want to share them with you.”

“I’m sorry that I’ve spent more money on behavior-modifying products for the cats than I have on baby stuff.  It’s not because I don’t love you, it’s just that I’m trying to make the cats miserable and inactive before you arrive.”

“That was the dog.”

“Toast, it’s Mom.  I’m so excited to meet you.  Maybe after that I will have other things to say.”

Bunk and Toast.