This week my sister and her husband came to my house with their new baby for dinner. I was sitting on the couch with him after dinner trying to make him smile (I think he’s too young, yet, though. But, he did manage to make brief eye contant, which was new for him.) He leaned forward while I had him facing me and full-on slobbered my cheek. Ear to chin, all baby drool. It was great!

My grandmother came with me to try on poofy wedding gowns. The sales woman managed to make me look great in everything. I think, though, that when you’re draped in $3600 worth of satin, you better look damn good. I can’t see myself in a dress that expensive, but boy oh man was I pretty. Grandma cried almost the entire time, which was really cute, and we both decided on the same one as my “dream dress”.

When we get back from San Francisco, I’m taking a crew of women down to New York to try on bridesmaid dresses. As it stands, we’ve got: Jen, Stu, and Danielle who are my adult women bridesmaids, as well as my Aunt Jen and her two daughters who will be my two young lady bridesmaids. We also have my grandmother and my future mother-in-law who was delighted I asked her to go along. That’s nine women from ages 9 to 75 roaming Manhattan with me! Rob (wisely) declined to go.

At the theater we hired someone new to add to our roster of rotating crew members. He mentioned that he owned a 1976 blue and whiteVolkswagen bus. “So do I!” I crowed, and thus we bonded. It was serendipitous that I met him because I’ve been searching for a mechanic that would know what to do with my vintage beast, and he knew a couple of guys who would do a great job for me. It goes in Tuesday, and then I can register it and… then I leave for San Francisco, so I have to wait until I get back to drive it. Nuts!

I’m still nervous about flying, but I’m trying not to think about it. Martha Stewart came out with a new wedding magazine (only four a year! not nearly enough!), and I’m going to get it and save it for the plane ride so I have something distracting me. Rob has a new laptop, so we can play with that, too. (It also means I can post pictures!)

That’s it. I had a hell of a time logging into blogger all week, so I gave up. So it’s all the news in one day, and it’s almost 2 in the morning, so I’m tired. Also, the band that played tonight may or may not have had unfinished chapaigne and I may or may not have finished four glasses worth, right out of the bottle. So if I sound jumbly… that may or may not be why.

I went through Rosh Hashanna sick, and wrapped in an afgan. I think I’m allergic to mother-in-law. Or something.

Just kidding.

Acutally, my mother-in-law is ok, but she’s got a bug in her soup about us: we refuse to sleep at Rob’s parents, even though this means driving home really late at night when there are big family gatherings.

The big rule, the big, epic rule of the house is that you cannot sleep together, boys and girls, unless you are married. Engaged, we figured, would cut it.

Nope.

It’s kind of a weird rule for them to have considering they know we live together and have for over a year. His brother was telling me, too, that they gave him and his wife (before they were married) a trip to the Bahamas for 10 days. They slept there the night before their flight, and had to sleep in separate bedrooms. Very strange.

And, you know, we totally respect that rule, but in respecting it, we choose to drive home instead of staying there, because we refuse to sleep in separate rooms and split up our nightly slumber party of three (dog on floor, not bed. He sheds and wiggles too much. But he stays within arms reach of the bed).

She was pretty upset, though, which is too bad. I don’t like when folks are upset, and it’s frustrating when she talks to all of the other family members about it (Everyone kind of jokingly said, “Oh, so I hear you’re not staying because you can’t sleep together!”) but she won’t discuss it with us. We’d be happy to discuss it with her.

I hate having people talk behind my back.

It seems to be a bit of a theme for me, though. Someone I’ve known for a while is posting things on her blog about me that she won’t say to my face, and they aren’t even true. It’s the ugly side of inter-personal relationships and the internet.

And you thought drama was just on MySpace.

In a recent quote from Holly: My blog. My two cents, and I totally agree. Say whatever the hell you want on your blog. I love free speech! In fact, (I refuse to post a link here), I read a white supremicist blog daily.

But just because I think you’re ugly doesn’t make it a good idea for me to tell you to your face. I can. I have the ability, and I have the right.

“You. With the hairy mole. You’re ugly!” See? I can totally do that.

It’s just not a good idea, especially if you’re naming names. Know what I mean?

Anyway, I’m ranting because I’m frustrated. Sorry. Wait. No I’m not. My blog. My two cents.

My Volkswagon finally arrived! We retrived it around the corner because the truck driver’s huge truck with all the cars on it wouldn’t fit on our street. I tried to drive it, and managed to get it fifty feet down the road before I had to switch gears, and it stalled out. Oops. I need lessons. I asked my dad, and he pointed out that the first time he tried to teach me how to drive, it was a disaster. (That’s putting it mildly. We nearly killed each other.) To get it home, we had the driver drive it for us, and it rattled the entire way. SOMEthing needs to be replaced.

It’s super cute though. Sitting in the backseat is like sitting in the world’s smallest cozy living room. There’s even a carpet. I can’t wait to get it on the road. The face is really cute, too, like my parent’s bug-eyed Boston Terrier, beanie. So cute! Pictures as soon as I get a new camera.

I have the world’s cutest nephew! My older half-sister, Monica, arrived to Connecticut late last night with her husband, Shawn, and their one month old son. They live in Ohio, too far if you ask me! They call the baby Jack.

We went out to dinner with them and my dad and my other half-sister Danielle and her fiance, Ray (Mr.
Tree Trimmer). My brother didn’t come because he’s a punk-ass. (My mom wasn’t there because my parents split and she moved out.) The eight of us were one big cozy family. I had a great time catching up with Monica and getting drooled on by Jack, who is absolutely fantastic. He smells like a baby should, he’s got cutie-pie neck wrinkles and all ten fingers and toes are there. I counted. Twice.

Now, of course, I want one; Rob says no. So I got to hear from Monica all about breast feeding and midnight diaper changes, and got all my baby kisses in. I’m excited because they’re coming over for dinner while they’re here! Baby-ness is excellent!

Last month, I landed a one-day gig working today as a dental assistant. Someone who works in an office about 40 minutes away from my house overheard me talking about my previous dental experience, and asked if I would like to cover for someone in her office, since they weren’t having any luck finding someone willing to accept a one-time only gig through temp agencies. I said, “Sure!” and sent my resume and a letter of introduction over to the dentist. He called me back and we made it official.

I spent a few days in the office working with the assistant who was going to be gone so I could get the feel for the job. It’s all basically the same office to office, but there’s the “we do things this way” bit that you have to get used to (and the “woe to you if you suggest something else” bit that I’ve already resigned myself to). Today I was flying solo.

I did ok; the dentist is super mellow (very unusual for a dentist!) and everyone else in the office was nice. I hate being the new girl though. I’m really shy and awkward when I’m in a new work setting, because I’m always trying to strike the right balance between professional and true “Amber”. If you meet me at a party, I can just be myself, but getting to know people at work is awkward (Don’t swear, don’t snort when you laugh, try not to sound like a know-it-all when they’re confused about “those iPod thingies” and ask if you know anything about them, don’t roll your eyes when they start voicing their strongly held opinions about celebrities, try not to feel left out when they talk about their fake nails).

I missed the freedom of being home, like going outside whenever I want. (The conversation went something like this: Me: “We don’t have a patient for another half hour, so I’m going to go outside for a few minutes and breathe in this gorgeous fall air!” Office Manager: “Here, file these charts instead.” Me: “Right.”) I missed the dog; we go outside for some running around several times a day, and I fling tennis balls around for him to play with, and if we see the crazy neighbors, we run inside and make fun of them. (Ok, I make fun of them, but he laughs, I swear!).

I missed cooking dinner! Being around all day means I can make whatever I want for dinner no matter how long or complicated the recipe. Since quitting Starbucks, I’ve moved from grilled cheese, scrambled eggs, and that old stand-by, chicken a la nothing (8″x8″ pan, 4 chicken breasts, olive oil, fling in oven, to jazz it up, add dry onion flakes), to slow-cooked meals and more complicated chicken dinners, which I’m very proud of.

Tonight I sank to a new low after my my nearly 12-hour day*: microwave popcorn; it was all I had energy to cook.

So go figure they offered me a full-time job. Apparently, the OTHER assistant in the office isn’t going to be able to make such a huge time commitment to it anymore, and they’ll be needing to replace her.

I totally flipped out. Where were you, oh wonderful full-time job, when I needed you, when I was stealing bagels from Starbucks for breakfast and rolling quarters to eat dinner? Where were you when I needed to scrape together rent while the 30th loomed ominously close? Where were you when I was ruining my credit with unpaid bills and feeling like a looser when no one would hire me? WHERE WERE YOU?

It’s a cruel world. The jury is still out on whether or not I’ll take it. Do I really want to turn to that bottle of dried onion flakes again? As always, I’ll keep you posted.

*12 hours including traffic. Which sucks around here in the mornings.

********

It took me a while, but I have Lucky Pink (The “other Amber”) up on my blog roll!

Like I said, I’m flying soon, and I’m concerned because the FAA has banned all “liquids, gels, lotions and other items of similar consistency” from the aircraft’s main cabin. This is due to a terror plot British authorities reported uncovering: some bad guys were planning to blow up airliners with liquid explosives mixed together on board from seemingly innocuous items. I don’t know how that works, but I know what it means for me: no lip gloss for the entire flight. Grrr!

The ban is lifted for small amounts of prescription medication and baby formula, and also “up to 4 oz. of essential, non-prescription liquid medication, including saline solution, eye care products and KY jelly.”

WHAT?

I can’t moisturize on the plane, but I can lube up? What, exactly, are you promoting you dirty, dirty FAA? (And since when is it “essential”?)

I am not a member of the mile-high club (come to think of it, I haven’t flown since I lost my virginity), but it’s good to know that if I want to join, I can do so without performance anxiety.

Rob…? *wink, wink!*

Just kidding; I’ll be sitting in my seat the entire time, gripping the arm rests to keep the plane in the air. I can do that, too; I have the ability. Please don’t tell me I can’t.

Anyway, the FAA also makes allowances for “gel-filled seat cushions” and “gel-filled bras”. Now I know they’re being dirty. You can only find gel-filled bras, as far as I know, at Fredrick’s of Hollywood.

Over lunch today, I mentioned to Rob how I thought this was bullshit that they’re allowing them. My reasoning was that you can put one explosive liquid in one cup, and another in the other, then slam your boobs together and BANG! there goes the airplane. (I hope I’m not giving any well-endowed female terrorists any ideas). I demonstrated by smushing my own boobs together a few times, and the lady behind him in the restaurant shot me a dirty look. Good for her! I frown on terror, too.

I despise living in a world where pudding is viewed as a potential weapon. There’s not much I can do about it, though, so I’m going to just keep my fingers crossed (and those arm rests gripped tight) and hope for the best.

Oh yeah, and I’m going to keep an eye out for any suspicious, big-boobed women, too.

CONGRATULATIONS!

(You know who you are and you know what you did, Rockstar!)

We went to the Big E yesterday, and I would have pictures like I did last year, but my camera keeled over and died in my hands. No amount of button pressing or swearing (I did lots of both) would revive it.

I’m too old now to eat anything I want, and I’ve learned this the hard way. I did get my delicious kettle corn, and a maple milk shake (Rob actually got it, and I drank half). I had a funnel cake, too, which? So horrendous for you! But yet? So wonderful to eat! Aaaaand… when I went back and asked if, maybe, they could put just a little more powdered sugar on it, please, the guy topped it with enough of the stuff to make me look like Scarface! I was happy.

Two highlights of the day.

1. Baby pigs! The mother laid down in a corner and trapped one of her pigglets in the triangle between the pen and her back. A really lanky guy who was about 20 leaned way over and scooped it up to free it. While the pigglet was in the air, it squealed really loudly in protest in cute little pig squeals.

2. The petting zoo. In the back of the tent was a pen with a kangaroo who was sleeping on its side away from the crowd. I said to Rob, loud enough for the little kid next to me to hear, “Hm. I guess the kangaroo is dead.” He looked up at me shocked, and I nodded solemly. He made a face at me, and I moved on before his mother kicked my ass. (For the record, he was being a brat.)

Today, I will spend the day recovering.

I was backstage tonight with the bassist talking about various things, including how I would be flying in less than a month, and I’m nervous with all the bomb threats and strict rules they’ve got now. He told me he had been on TWA flight 800 a month before it crashed in 1998, and how he thought the plane felt old when he was on it. We also agreed that, really, thousands of planes fly around and land and they’re fine, so it was still safe to fly.

We chatted about other things, too. During our chat, he moved his hand a bit, and I noticed his ring, or, rather, it noticed me. At least, it seemed to notice me. Set in silver and perched on his right hand was a gigantic eyeball staring at me. I gasped and backed up, pressed the palm of my hand to my chest and started to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“That!” I pointed at the one frozen eyeball staring up at me.

“Oh, that? That’s Arlene. My first love. She died, and I took her eyeball to remember her.” he looked at me sadly and said very seriously, “I loved her.”

“Nooooo…” I said, and peered at it again.

“Sure, look at it. You can even see blood vessels and everything. She’s been with me for forty years. Old Arlene.”

I looked carefully and, sure enough, there were tiny, very realistic blood vessels running through it, and the iris certainly looked like a genuine blue eye. I tapped it lightly and shuddered.

“It isn’t really an eyeball.” I said, but I didn’t say it firmly. My extreme gullibility mixed with (kind of) wanting to believe this was actually a real eyeball were getting to me. So I had to think about it for a moment.

“If it were a real eyeball, it would have dissolved after forty years!” I said triumphantly.

“Not if it’s under glass.” he said, still looking sad for poor, dead Arlene.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Then tell me: how did she die?”

He smirked at me, and went to go on stage again, laughing.

“She died in a plane crash!”

We have a ceiling fan! We had been talking about one all summer, and never got one while it was really hot, but now it’s nice to have it on moving the air around. The living room doesn’t get used that often (we have our TV upstairs), so it tends to get “stale” in there. The lighting in the living room was too modern for us, and the bulbs were the kind that are super bright and use a lot of energy, so I’m excited to see those go.

We got the ceiling fan from Lowes. The display was the only one left and they weren’t getting any more in, ever, so I asked if I could have it with a discount. We got 25% off! So we saved money AND it was already assembled, although that proved to be a drawback in trying to get it home safely with all the fan blades sticking out. It sat in our living room for a few days until my father was able to come and put it up for us. We’re much too un-handy to tackle it ourselves.

After it was up my dad pointed to the reverse switch. “Don’t reverse the fan while it’s moving.” he warned me. (Duh.)

“You mean like I did to yours when I was younger?”

He then threatened to do it to mine (payback!), but I wouldn’t let him, so he raided my fridge instead. I drew the line when went to jump on my couches though.