This and That

- Beer and a brand spankin' new phone are the perfect recipe. For a long bath. Just ask Z-Boy.

- Today marks the passing of the last large group that will trample through my hotel this ski season. Which means that I am now officially allowing myself a bit of Short Timer's. April 27th can't come soon enough...

- I am ASHAMED of the degree to which I have had my head in the sand with political and newsy stuff these days. So much has been going on and I have a lot of catching up to do.

- Knowing that I'll be hitting myself in the ass with my office door soon has given me a newfound freedom. I've said some pretty brazen things. And spoken up for myself. And apparently? People respect that shit. Too bad I waited until now to start.

- I wrote a rather snarky work e-mail that referenced interpretive dancing to "Wind Beneath My Wings." I don't know how in the hell I managed that, it just sorta happened. It also just sorta happened that while the person I sent it to could have gotten pissed, she didn't. I secretly wonder if she couldn't help but smile at that particular sentence and perhaps it softened the blow. I'll never know.

- In my attempt to begin writing again, I've decided to loosen up on myself a bit. Gotta get things flowing again somehow. This and That helped back in the day so I'm revisiting the idea.

The Pressure Is On...

Self-inflicted, of course. I have started post after post after post today, only to click 'save now' in the hopes that something better, something more profound will come along. The truth is, nothing more profound is going to come along. Nothing I'm willing to publish, anyway. And those half-finished, ah, who am I kidding, one sentence posts will surely languish forever in my Blogger archives. The truth is, there are many, MANY profound things going on. But none of them are ready for you all (the three or four of you, I imagine) to consume.

I'd once bragged that my life was like a petri dish, ready for the unforgiving lens of a microscope. The truth is, that was a lie. And not even a truthy one. Just an outright lie. Don't get me wrong, my life is OBVIOUSLY a bit of a petri dish. I've overshared beyond reason. Many of those who've read Old School Zube know more about me than my therapist. Which is saying...a lot. But apparently the petri dish analogy only applies to 'Shit That I'm Okay with You Knowing About.' Censorship reigns 'round these parts. And that has fed the Monstrous Writer's Block I've been harboring here under my computer desk for the past three years.

I don't even know how to finish this post. And I don't really have time to ponder it much. Nearly three-year-olds and Sharpies do not a A Heavenly Match make so I've got to haul ass out to the kitchen in the hopes that blueberries and cottage cheese will sufficiently distract. Just know that if I don't keep this writing up? I'm only going to get more and more lost. And I've been lost. Not looking to go there again. Purposelessly anyway. Intentionally lost is cool. Fun even. Lost because I'm refusing to ask for directions? Even from me? Not so much.

Flaming Ass

I’ve recently had a fire lit under mine ass. Not a real fire. A proverbial fire. Proverbial fires are always preferable to real fires when we’re talking about my ass. I should know, having experienced both. It harkens back to an unfortunate incident in college. Not exactly a unique way to start a story, eh? Anywho, a floor-mate thought it would be amusing to flash a lighter right under my rear while I bent over to pick something up. He had no way of knowing that the lint on my fuzzy, flannel (might I add, notorious for all of their wear) Party Animal pajama pants would burst into a flaming trail from my coccyx to my ankles. Unaware that my bottom half was suddenly engulfed in flame and quite shocked that instantly three guys descended upon me to smack my flaming ass I unwittingly fought on the side of the fire and attempted to fend them off. That was a disconcerting experience. To say the least. Fortunately the fire was extinguished fairly quickly and I regained my composure within moments. And never again was there an occasion where I received a spanking from three of my male peers. Don’t believe the rumors…

Ahem, got a little sidetracked. Onto this proverbial fire. I’ve been inspired to write again. I bet you don’t believe me. I hardly do either. Time will tell.

If Ever a Burglar...

Dared to break into my house, and the baby (hereafter known as Bee) and I happened to be sleeping? I would totally kick his ass. I mean, unless he didn't wake us up. In which case, it'd all be cool. But if Bee and I happened to be frolicking about as is not unusual for us in the early, early AM (Bee is TOTALLY a Zube, that boy can party late night with the best of them), I would most likely hand Bee and his bottle over to the would-be burglar, grab his big black sack and fill it with the metric ton of SHIT that is bursting through the seams of my house. I'd even offer our garage up for his use to have himself a little garage sale bonanza. And I'd make lemonade. Spiked with vodka. So people would get drunk enough to buy our crap. He might want to leave his ninja suit at home and dress all civilian-like so as not to scare potential buyers away. He can put the suit on once everyone gets good and tipsy and things get really wild and people are whooping it up, swirling my incongruos collection of soup spoons through the air, though. I think once spoon in air swirling begins, all bets on attire are off. It's ninja time. I mean, if he happens to be into that sort of thing. Which, well, seeing as that's how we met...or would meet. If, you know, such a thing ever happened.

I've come to the conclusion that having teeny kids is not conducive to writing. Yeah. What can I say? I'm a little slower than you all who've had that shit figured out for, oh, I don't know, two and a half years now? I've decided to be okay with it. I mean, the fact that I don't have the kind of time I need to write doesn't change the fact that I like to write. There is so much manual labor involved with Zee and Bee right now that I'll merely have to take out my penchant for writing by making interesting grocery lists. And badgering innocent bystanders. "Um, excuse me grocery store man, but would you kindly tell me where I can find pacifier screws? Oh yes, you know, the ones that fit in the little holes of the pacifier so you can screw them to the baby's mouth? I can't seem to find them. And also, do you happen to know any pediatric surgeons? I still can't seem to locate the screw holes on the baby. It's entirely possible that I've missed them as I'm usually looking whilst in a sleep-deprived state at 2AM, but..."

Anyway, you can rest assured that while I'm decidedly NOT busy letting you know about every tiny hair that grows out of my chin here, I will be screwing around somewhere in the world.

Good LORD ZUBE!!!

HEY ZUBE!! I'm HIJACKING YOUR BLOG!!

I told you I'd do it if you didn't.

PaintingChef here.

Not that she's told you but Zube had a PRECIOUS little boy on July 30th.

Please welcome the newest member of the Zube Family...

IT'S A BOY!!!

I've tried to find the relevant details on Zube's Facebook page for his weight, height, head size, etc. but I have failed. What we do know is that he is absolutely perfect and he'd really like those damn kids to get of his effing lawn.

Congratulations Zube Family!!

***Update by Zube***

Have I ever mentioned just how much I lurve P-Chef? Anywho, yes, Keenan Michael was born on July 30th at 8:18 AM weighing 5lb 15 oz. Sounds like a bit of a squirt, but he's a good size considering the altitude and lack of oxygen in the air round these parts. We're all smitten, Zee is thrilled with her little brother (and was particularly thrilled with the Lincoln Logs he brought her from within mah belly). Things around here are sleepless and wonderful. I can't believe I did it again. Thanks to all who are still paying attention.

People Are Strange...

When you're a stranger.

Well folks, let me just take off my imaginary bobo and put on this blue sweater and say, "Hi Stranger! Er, I mean, neighbor!"

Firstly things first. If you are interested in keeping tabs on me and the second kid I'm cooking up in there, might I suggest that you can find me, FAR MORE OFTEN, here. Feel free to friend me, just give me a clue that you know me from this here blog because believe it or not, I can be a little discerning about who I befriend on Facebook.

Ahem, now that that is out of the way. Things are progressing fantastically in mah belly. I'm almost 32 weeks along and the repeat c-section has been scheduled for August 7. We'll have to see if this one makes it that far or if s/he will decide to come earlier like her/his sister! I've had such a normal pregnancy that I've even ceased to anticipate the other shoe dropping. It's fucking nuts, yo.

Anyway, I've received a few e-mails asking after me and wanted to update those of you who kindly still care. :-) Things are fan-friggin-tastic. I'm just mostly wiped-out.

Things Like This...

Are what really throw me for a loop.

I'll be idly sitting on the pot, minding my own business, checking out the view, when, BAM! It'll hit me like a freight train. A happy freight train, mind you, carrying puppies and clowns and oodles of bubbles. Wait, nevermind the clowns. They're scary. Just imagine Amtrak on a deliriously happy acid trip. I have a baby. A real live baby. And she's more wonderful than I could ever imagine. Sometimes when I'm smack in the middle of parenting and tying shoes and picking up strewn crumbs I don't have the headspace to remember. But when I'm doing my business on the throne, well, I really can't thinking of anything else.

And it might just be happening all over again.

All's clear in the baby #2 department. Not near the drama I'd experienced up until now with Zee. It's a little eerie. I'm just knocked up. All normal-style. No bleeding or funkiness. I have to admit I miss the twelve thousand ultrasounds a little bit, but I'll settle for hearing a thumpa-thumping heartbeat now and again if it means I don't have to worry about the welfare of the little frog.

I'm also dealing with the mother of all writing blocks. I'm working on it. In an active way, which feels good. I'm writing my ass off, just not here. I have so much cluttering my brain that I'm just not ready to share with god and everybody. I need to quiet my inner critic before I'm ready for the spotlight again. Sorry 'bout that. Really, I'm sorrier for me 'bout that. I miss it here. But I'll be back.

YAY! And Stuff...

First things first. I am incubating a masterpiece. Duh, you might be thinking. Of course she is incubating a masterpiece. It's that Zube blood. But I bet you weren't thinking that I was LITERALLY carrying The Scream in my womb. Don't believe me? Check it out...



You might have to click and biggify the picture to see the resemblence. All joking aside, I really don't have a freakin' clue what is what. Not even my imagination is that vivid. What I did find out is that there is a little heartbeat in there flickering away and that's all I need to know. Well, that and the ultrasound tech calmed my fear that my Scream does NOT, in fact, have an arm growing out of her/his head. I'm relieved.

I am eleven weeks now and we have a heartbeat. Just a week shy of the second trimester, I've decided to be happy and maybe a little excited. Pass the O'Douls! It's time to celebrate.

And, just in case you didn't know, if you're a little fucked up in the head? And you have a kid? You're still going to be a little fucked up in the head. Apparently having a kid doesn't de-fuck up you. Who knew? Not me. I kinda thought once I had a kid everything would fall into place and I'd be all perfectly awesome in my headspace. Not so much. Deliriously happy? Most times. Scared and confused and self-conscious? Once in a while.

So, I'm in counseling again. And I feel a little stupid about it, to be honest. How many times am I going to have to go to counseling before I'm, you know, done? Fixed? Just a smidge outside of normal? That's all I'm aiming for. I don't know. I'm coming to realize that I'm one of those people who needs a little guidancenow and again when it comes to keeping my head straight. That seems reasonable. People visit the dentist twice a year, get a physical once a year, a pap smear once a year. I go to counseling once every two years. Keeps me healthily insane. And I feel better for it.

PS - Yesterday was the thirteen year anniversary. THIRTEEN YEARS! Wow. The day actually passed with nary a thought about its significance. I just realized it today.

Stupid, Malfunctioning...WIRELESS INTERNET!

Ha! Betcha thought I was going to say uterus, eh? Not a chance. Well, yet anyway. Sorry my update was delayed but our wireless internet is sucking it so right now I'm stealing a very distant and very slow connection to let you know...

We have a heartbeat. 120 beats per minute.

Party hats are unwarranted as of yet, but feel free to do a mini-Happy Dance.

Five more weeks and I'll be feeling a little more okay.

Blogging for Two

Zube: Dude, you're hogging all the blankets.

Z-Boy: You have plenty.

Zube: Honey, I'm sleeping for two now, you know.

Z-Boy: Yeah, and one of you is smaller than a grain of rice.

Zube: Whatever. Sleeping for two. Give me more blanket.

Z-Boy: Are you nagging for two, too?

Zube: *YANK* Good night.

This Friday I have an ultrasound. I'll hopefully be reporting the presence of a heartbeat shortly thereafter. I was telling an old high school friend that I was beginning to feel a bit more confident because all of my miscarriages had happened/started happening by now. She responded that she believed all would be fine because Zee Baby fixed my ute while she took up residence there. I think that's an awesome visual, little Zee hammering away, beautifying my innards. I like the sounds of that.

On the Up and Up

You know, it really astounds me just how much energy a tiny being, one smaller than a grain of rice, could sap from its host. It's pretty fucking incredible, if you ask me. That my 24 pound toddler doesn't wear me out as much as a 1mm zygote. Interesante.

Anywho, details...Sorry for the delay, but they were delayed in getting to me...

Quick Lesson Uno: Hcg should double every 48 hours.

Last Friday - hcg 175
Sunday - hcg 449

More than doubled. Excellent.

Quick Lesson Dos: Progesterone should be at least above 15, preferably above 20.

My progesterone - 14

I'm on supplements, but I'm not fretting about the low progesterone too much because with Zee Baby it was only 10.

Sometime between Christmas and New Year's, pending nothing catastrophic between now and then, we'll have a little looksee at the bugger. By then s/he should be thumpa-thumpa-thumping away. Wouldn't THAT just be about the best fucking Christmas present EVAH?!

Here We Go Again...

Cross yer fingers and toes, people. Because you all know how I do pregnancy.

I'm hoping with all my heart that somewhere roundabout the middle of August, Zee Baby has a baby sister or brother.

Man, I just don't know if I'm ready for this again. Another kid? Totally ready. Well, about as ready as one could be, I suppose. But drama? And fear of losing a pregnancy again? Not so much ready for that. I hope the worrying is for naught.

Blood draws scheduled for today and Sunday.

Will keep you posted.

Getting Stoned...

The other day my coworker sauntered into my office to get something out of the filing cabinet adjacent to my desk. I happened to be playing with a small stone one of my other coworker's kids must have left on my desk and forgotten about. It was a cool little stone, too. All shiney and greenish. They prolly miss it. But you know what? It's mine now, bitches! Finders, keepers. Because deep down inside I really am twelve.

Anywho, as my coworker stood pilfering innocently through files, a brilliant idea did stir in mine mind. I saw the opportunity to make a funny.

I threw the stone at him. It hit him in the head.

He looked at me, a little surprised. Okay, maybe a lot surprised. Possibly the same look I'd have had if someone threw a stone, unwarranted, at my head.

Zube: "Dude, you just got stoned."

Maybe you had to be there...

Holy Shit, I Have a Blog!!!

I almost forgot!

You know what's awesome? Having a husband whose response to everything you say is, "Your what itches?" Good times, people.

Z-Boy finally got a work cell phone, which is nice for him because now he doesn't have to answer work calls, "Z-Boy's PERSONAL cell phone!" anymore. But it sucks for me because I had no idea just how often I assault him with text messages, which aren't covered by work's phone plan. I'm going through withdrawls, y'all.

Our last text exchange...

Zube: Honey? I just blew you some kisses, they should get there in a few minutes. Don't step on 'em by accident.

Z-Boy: Oops. The dog ate 'em. I'll wait and see if I can catch them when they come out the other end.

Zube: Ew. I don't know if I'd recommend that.

The end.

PS- Because I know I've been enormously slack in updating Zee Baby's blog, too, I wanted to share a photo with you:


Firstly, dude, I know I'm biased but she is one deliciously cute kiddo, thanks to all of you who cheered me on while I cooked her up 'til she was well done. That said, we were here when I took the picture and Zee was all decked out in rainbowy goodness. It was awesomely fun and I'm totally stoked that Hoot now lives in Colorado, too, so we can do activisty stuff together!

Fucking Suh. Weet.

One Week

I really can't take much more of the waiting...

A few videos that have been tiding me by. If you're so inclined.

#1.


#2. Do not be deterred...

#3.


I can't take the ugliness for another week:





Much less four more years.

Please, please, please...



You can help us, too...

It's a Pearly Something...

Last night, I endured a terrible case of Stinky Husband Syndrome. It was awful. I was able to curtail the toxic stench a bit by shutting the door to the computer room where said Stinky Husband was playing a computer game. But, you know, when you replace carpet with wood floors, and don't replace the doors, there is the ominous presence of a crack between the floor and the door that allows for the passage of small, yet gag-inducing, amounts of noxious fumes.

A while after his Flatulympic Performance, Z-Boy emerged from the computer room, grabbed himself a bowl of cereal and a PBR and proceeded to the bathroom to take a much needed soak in the tub.

I always find it amusing to pester my husband while he is lounging in the bath.

*Knock-Knock-Knock*

Z-Boy: WHAT?!

Zube: Honey?

Z-Boy: Yes?

Zube: Are you washing your hiney really good? 'Cause if you don't, you're gonna hafta sleep on the couch!

Z-Boy: I am, honey.

Zube: Good. You need to really get in there and scrub.

Z-Boy: I will.

Zube: Okay.

Z-Boy: Hey, is this your only toothbrush?

Zube: Yes, it is.

Z-Boy: Okay.

Suckfest - Party of One

At least that's what it feels like around this blog of mine these days. Anywho, I've got my tiara on and a wand in hand, so that should liven things up a bit for the moment.

I must apologize for my recent absence. I have been absolutely CONSUMED by this election. CON. SUMED. Like, this election is sitting fat and pretty crashed on a recliner somwhere with its hand down its pants snoring loudly to the Simpsons after eating a hefty, hearty meal of hot Zube. I haven't had much to say that isn't related to politics these days, so I've fallen a bit silent. One might say I'm so invested in the outcome of this election, I'm rendered speechless.

But, few things will have a girl crawling out of her political cave faster than the chance to share a little piece of her life that maybe, just maybe will help tip the scales, even a tiny bit. I'm scared of Palin for TONS of reason. But there is one that lends me the opportunity to speak out, and so I've written a piece for Colorado Women Against Palin, and it will be posted there sometime soonish (lots o' political goings on here in good old Colorado, being a swing state and all, so they don't want my story to get lost in the fray).

You can say you saw it here first.

(Zee would like to offer up her introduction to my story, too. She's insistent. One and a half year olds can be QUITE insistent, if you ask me.)

';;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;/p=o.=m,mmmm,,,

With that said, here 'tis...

It didn't take long after the announcement that Governor Sarah Palin had been selected to the number two spot of the Republican ticket for me to be appalled. Simply scratching the surface those first few days, I questioned her ethics, her experience, and her readiness. But what made my blood run cold was reading that she was opposed to abortion even in cases of rape and incest.

When I was in high school, some fifteen odd years ago, it was not unusual to find me in red-faced heated debate about abortion rights. In the locker room getting ready for cheerleading practice. Over pizza at the local hangout. During social studies class. I was young, opinionated and unbending in my views. I am quite familiar with Palin's stance, because it is one I espoused. I even opined on more than a few occasions that carrying a pregnancy, conceived of rape, to term would be 'healing' for the victim.

I cringe now imagining myself so pompously commanding to know what was best for all women. I was unaware at the time I so fervently argued against every woman's right to choose, including my own, that life had in store for me the unique opportunity to walk in the shoes I'd proclaimed to have so much insight into wearing.

In college I was raped and three weeks after the rape, a pregnancy test confirmed my worst fears. I had become pregnant as a result of the attack.

I found that, for me, rather than seeing the potential for 'healing' in continuing the pregnancy, I was debilitated by the mere thought of it. After much soul-searching and wrangling with my previous personal beliefs, I ultimately decided to terminate the pregnancy.

I no longer profess to know what is best for every woman in any case. Through the years I have shared my story many times in the hopes of protecting a right I so ardently fought to deny myself. It is the least I can do to thank those women and men before me who protected my right to choose, even as I railed against them.

I have not once abandoned the cause, even as I struggled through three miscarriages while trying to start a family with my husband. I shared my story at a State Senate Committee Hearing while 21 weeks pregnant with my daughter and facing the very real possibility that I might lose that pregnancy, too, due to pre-term labor. I cannot stress to you how important it is to me to keep abortion a safe and legal option for all women, but especially for those victims of rape and incest. Preserving choice has become my life's work.

Palin frightens me on numerous levels, but I am horrified by her position on this issue in particular. Palin has not walked in the shoes of a rape survivor. I hadn't either until, well, I did. I won't deny that I have an understanding of those who theorize about women and the shoes they wear. I have done that myself. But because I understand them does not mean that I won’t speak out against them. Women deserve better than the extreme Anti-Choice stance Palin represents.

Through the years, I have been touched by so many women who’ve shared their stories with me. They’ve approached me after rallies and sent me e-mails after reading my blog. I know that becoming pregnant after a rape is not so rare as we would like to think. A woman once e-mailed me and told me that she had been raped, became pregnant, and gave her son up for adoption. She went on to say how strong I am, how strong we all are, and she urged me to continue fighting the good fight. Rape survivors deserve a choice, she said. Whether it is the choice I made or you made or others have made. To this day I am encouraged by her. And I am simply compelled each time I look into my baby girl’s beautiful eyes and imagine her future.

Palin may have her lipstick. But I have my shoes. And in them, with my daughter on my hip, I will proudly continue to walk the path I’m on, preserving the rights of every daughter

And just to add...

McCain? I'm no fan. No anymore. I'll be a bad Democrat and say he was a pretty all right guy and I actually kinda liked him. In 2004. But he's different now. It's obvious to me that he's caving to the religous right and sacrificing the real, small government fiscal conservatives to win the election. And that pisses me off.

Though, Palin? I'm seriously considering taking my Bermuda born ass to a lawyer ASAP and asking about claiming my dual citezenship so The Zubes can move to another country if she has a shot at being President. And I'm only half joking. Maybe a quarter.

Later, taters.

Thinking of You, Del...

And lighting a candle in your honor...

Del Rose Forbes-Cheatham

If Hoot Only Knew

Z-Girl: Honey, Hoot wants to come up from Denver and spend the night tonight. She'll come up early and cook us dinner. Would that be cool?

Z-Boy: Does she still want to have my baby?

Z-Girl: She only offered to do that if I couldn't cook us up a baby properly. Which I did, so she's not going to have your baby.

Z-Boy: Oh.

Z-Girl: Sorry.

Z-Boy: Well, I guess it's okay if she's making us dinner.

Z-Girl: Thanks.

I Haven't Had the Last Laugh...

...in almost nine years.

Zube: GOD, I can't wait until tomorrow!

Z-Boy: Why?

Zube: Because I just get better looking every day!

Z-Boy: *eyeroll* Well, I can't wait until tomorrow either.

Zube: Why, do you get better-looking every day, too?

Z-Boy: No but maybe you'll be better looking.

Zube: Assmonkey.