Aunt Erika

I'm an aunt!

...again...kinda.

At 9:22 a.m. today, my husband's brother's wife gave birth to a 6 lb. 15 oz. baby boy. This is a very exciting time for the whole family, of course, but for me, it has a very different significance.

Today is the day I really became an aunt. At least in my mind.

This is the couple's third child, so technically, as soon as I got married, I had a niece and nephew. But I didn't really feel like an aunt. The other two were born way before I came along; they were established members of the family when I became a part of it. And frankly, it's been weird enough getting used to calling myself someone's wife; I couldn't even think about the other corresponding titles that carried.

Until now. Now that I've settled into married life, I am firmly cemented in my husband's family. This new little baby has firmly cemented me in aunthood as well.

I hope to be a good aunt. I don't really know much about aunting, although I crocheted him a blanket, which seemed to me an aunt-like thing to do. I hope he likes it, and I hope he likes me.

But I have a hunch we'll get along just fine.

I Want To Ride My Bicycle, Bicycle, Bicycle

When faced with a task one hasn't done in some time, the comforting phrase often uttered is, "it's like riding a bicycle."

The meaning, of course, is that once you've learned how to do certain things, you never forget how to do them, no matter how long it has been since you've last done them.

Yesterday, I learned that, despite the expression, riding a bicycle is not one of those things for me.

Granted, I don't have that much experience. Growing up, I lived on a hilly road with no berm, hence no good place to ride a bicycle. The only time I ever did much riding was around the state park my family visited for a week each summer, because it was the only time bicycling was a viable transportation option for me. I've never even had my own bike, always having used my sister's hand-me-downs.

Since I reached adulthood and moved to the Prairie State, where hills are never a problem, I have thought a few times about buying a bicycle, but having no urgent need for one, I always pushed the idea aside.

Then, on our honeymoon last month, my new husband announced his plan to buy me a bicycle as a wedding gift. He has one, he knew I'd been wanting one, and he thought it would be fun for us to ride together. I thought that was a great idea, especially now as summer approaches. There are all sorts of trails in our area, and even just riding around the neighborhood together would be a nice summer pastime.

Yesterday, we finally got around to looking for a bike for me. I sat on a few, and my husband urged me to take one for a spin inside the store. The bicycle area wasn't very big, but I gave it a whirl.

It didn't work out so well. I couldn't get my feet on the pedals before I reached the end of the aisle, and I couldn't go very fast, because the aisle was short. Each time I tried, I wobbled back and forth before putting my foot to the ground to stop.

"I can't ride a bicycle!" I exclaimed in awe. "I can't believe I can't ride a bicycle!" Suddenly, my hubby was rethinking his gift idea, worrying I'd end up with bloodied limbs and a cracked skull.

I insisted it was just because the aisle was so short (you can't really go fast enough to stay balanced when your "course" is only 15 feet long), but deep down, I wondered if I really had forgotten how to ride. By my best guess, it's been about 14 years since I've taken a spin on a bicycle, and considering that I didn't even learn to ride until I was eight, that's saying something.

But I'm not ready to give up just yet. I'm excited about the prospect of riding around the neighborhood this summer, and I certainly wouldn't mind having a way to get around that does not require the purchase of gasoline, although I think it will be a good long while before I am ready or willing to take my bike on anything but the backest of back roads.

Besides, I think I'm due this. I didn't get to do the whole bike riding thing as a kid, and I always wanted to. My friends who lived "in town" rode their bikes together all the time, and I never got to do that. It's like I missed out on a part of childhood. And if I end up with some scraped knees and elbows, well, that's just part of the experience.

The Key To One-Eyed Willy

I don't know if I'm thrilled or horrified by the news that there may be a Goonies musical on the horizon.

I haven't really been all that eager to see musical versions of popular movies, a Broadway trend of late. I've heard good things about The Wedding Singer and Legally Blonde on the Great White Way, but I don't really have a desire to see them.

But The Goonies might be different. That was my all-time favorite movie for years, until Waiting For Guffman came along. I vividly remember going to see it in the theatre with my parents when I was a kid, and spouting quote upon quote to anyone who would listen, which I still do on occasion. Even today, I could probably recite the entire script verbatim if pressed.

When the movie came out, it was the ultimate fantasy for me. I wanted to know the characters and be a part of their lives. I longed for a sequel that never materialized, wanting to know more of the story.

Now I might get what I've been wanting, in the form of a musical. It certainly has possibilities to be amazing -- even more amazing than that time Michael Jackson came over to my house to use the bathroom. The article I linked mentioned a "Truffle Shuffle" dance number, which I don't even need to say would be awesome. I would eat that up like a pint of Super Duper Chocolate Eruption.

I have a few song ideas, too.

- A Spanish duet by Mouth and housemaid Rosalita.
- A rousing musical listing of ice cream varities by Chunk. A reprise could include tales of pranks he'd played, culminating in the classic "fake puke in the movie theatre" gag.
- A song about inventions by Data, containing all sorts of mispronounced words.
- "Troy's Bucket," a heartfelt ballad by Mikey.
- And, of course, there would have to be a battle type song between the rich kids, lead by Troy Perkins, and the scrappy kids, lead by Mikey.

If it materializes, I think I'll have to check out the musical when it gets to Chicago. I just hope they don't ruin it. It's one of the few things from my childhood that still holds much of its original magic. But if it works, it will be the best invention since Slick Shoes.

Shouting Parlay In A Crowded Movie Theatre

I wouldn't want to break a promise.

Last July, I gave a lukewarm review of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest in this entry. At the time, I was disappointed at having seen a 2 1/2 hour movie with no resolution to the problem at hand and a cliffhanger advertising the next -- in short, I saw half of a movie. So I gave half of a review.

Last night, I saw the third movie in the Pirates franchise: At World's End. I wasn't expecting much, and that's exactly what I got.

First of all, the movie is three hours long. I am so annoyed by the trend of late to make movies as long as possible. I'm not sure if it's meant to make up for the fact that it costs so much to get in these days, or if today's filmmakers really think their stuff is so good that none of it can be left on the cutting room floor. It makes a good movie boring and my butt numb.

Secondly, it would have been so very easy -- with some much-needed-anyway editing -- to resolve the story at hand in Dead Man's Chest with the first part of the story in At World's End. And they would have had a fine cliffhanger opportunity there as well. The first hour or so was what should have been the end of the last movie, and I found myself annoyed about that all over again.

But my main complaint at this juncture is that they really don't seem to care anymore. They know people will come to see this movie, so they slap together as many swashbuckling special effects as they can, along with plenty of swaggering from Johnny Depp (who, beautiful as he is, loses some of his Jack Sparrow-ness as time goes on -- there were moments this time in which his character seemed downright serious). Taking the last installment into account, the plot of this one didn't even make sense. A couple of characters went through complete character changes, without any explanation whatsoever. It's like they said, well, we have to put these characters in these scenes, so let's give them something interesting to do, even if it has nothing to do with anything they've done before.

Taking it for what it was, I found the movie entertaining; I enjoyed the swashbuckling, and the swaggering. But I don't know if I'll feel the need to return to the theatre for another Pirates experience, should there be one. It looks like there will be, because although this movie settled the plot from the last movie, it never really resolved the issues that began in this movie. So I suppose that means each installment to come will simply be an advertisement for the next one.

Well, they'll have to get their booty somewhere else, 'cause I don't think I'm buying.

Don't Masquerade With A Girl In Shades -- Oh No

Someone has put a sunglasses hex on me.

It all started about eight years ago. I'd been wearing a crappy pair of sunglasses I'd gotten for free when I signed up for a Discover card on campus my first semester at college. (I was smarter then and never actually used the card they sent me). But I wanted better ones, so right before I began my senior year, I bought a pair at Wal-Mart.

Inexpensive but of fine Wal-Mart quality, they were perfect. They were stylish (but not too stylish, lest they go out of fashion and leave me stuck with stupid looking sunglasses), and they looked great on me.

As I began the semester, the future was bright. I was doing alright, getting good grades (you know the deal). Mid-September, however, something happened. My sunglasses disappeared. I don't know if they fell out of my backpack or I left them somewhere or what, but suddenly, they were gone. I went back to wearing my Discover card sunglasses for a good two years.

One night, I was having dinner at TGIFriday's, when I noticed something under the table. It was a pair of sunglasses. Cheap, certainly, but for some reason, I picked them up.

At some point, the Discover card glasses wore out, and I had to throw them away. (Or I lost them, I can't remember). I might have bought another pair to replace them, but if I did, I lost it too. So I started wearing the TGIFriday's sunglasses. Yeah, it's kind of gross to wear something I found on the floor at TGIFriday's, but they were just sunglasses, and I cleaned them and everything. I kept them in the car and pretty much only wore them when I drove anyway.

But I always wanted a nicer pair. I saw people with their stylish sunglasses that they'd bought brand new and got jealous. I wanted nice sunglasses, too. I looked sometimes, but I couldn't find anything that looked all that great or was of better quality than the TGIFriday's pair.

A month ago, I found them. I was determined to find them, because I was leaving for Hawaii the next day and wanted a better pair than the ones I'd found on the floor. It took a good long time to find them on the walls of sunglasses at Target, but I found them. They looked good, they went far enough back on my face that no sun would sneak in the side. They were perfect. So I bought them.

I was nervous; I hadn't had good luck with purchased sunglasses. But I managed to get through my trip without losing my perfect new shades. I rejoiced, believing at last that the curse was broken.

Well, the curse wasn't broken, but my sunglasses now are.

About a week ago, I was putting them in my purse and part of one of the stems broke off. I tried to superglue it, but it didn't work. I wore them for a few days with the broken stem (it was pretty much only the behind-the-ear part that was broken off, and when I had my hair down, you couldn't tell). But then yesterday, I went to put them on and the other stem broke off. Almost the entire thing. I had no choice but to throw them away and go back to the TGIFriday's pair.

I've got to break the curse. I've got to be free to wear nice sunglasses and not ones I got for free, either by bribery or eating at sit-down fast-food restaurants. So here's my plan.

I'm going to buy a new pair, a good pair, another perfect, perfect pair. Then I'm going to throw them on the ground in the parking lot of the store and walk away for five minutes. If they're there when I return, they're mine for good, or at least a reasonable amount of time that is more than a month.

If they're not, well...I guess it's back to TGIFriday's, unless Discover card has something better to offer.

The Huggy Huggy Dilemma

I never write about my job on this blog, mostly because nothing ever happens that is interesting enough to write about, but something happened today that gave me pause.

My boss and I went downtown to have lunch with two people from an organization we work with. I don't meet in person with clients very often, because they're all over the country, and there's no reason for me to meet them, although my bosses do occasionally. It's fine with me; I don't really like these meetings all that much, because I don't have a whole lot to contribute. These people already know what my part of the process is and what I need from them and what they'll get from me. And the questions they have are all better answered by my boss. I'm left trying to find any relevant comment to throw in just so it won't seem like I'm unfriendly.

Today's meeting wasn't bad, but at the end, something happened. When we were saying goodbye, my boss hugged the clients. She's very outgoing and very huggy, and like I said, she's used to meeting clients and befriending them, so it's totally natural to her. But I am not a hug initiator. I'll return a hug, but I'll rarely start one, especially with someone I just met. So when I saw my boss hug these people, my first thought was, am I supposed to hug them too? It didn't feel natural to me; these are business associates that I'd just met, and I'm not a huggy person. So I shook their hands.

But I am left wondering, how might I have better handled this awkward social situation? Should I have just hugged these people? Would that have been weird? Or was it weird that I just shook their hands after my boss hugged them? I wish there were a rule book for these things.

What's Your Name, What's Your Number?

"It's official!" my husband cried as he walked in the door, waving the mail in his hand.

I knew what he was talking about when I saw the return address on the envelope he was holding: Social Security Administration. I opened it up, and there it was. My new social security card, complete with my new last name. Official, indeed.

I've had bank cards with my new name for a week or so now, and I got new checks the other day. I've been using the new name at work since I got married. But social security really has the final say in what one's name is, so seeing it in print on this new card made me feel...well, official.

I'm pretty much used my new last name, although it doesn't really roll off the tongue -- not that my old one did, either, but I'd lived with it for almost 30 years, so it didn't sound strange to me. But with the new one, there are times I still don't recognize it as my name.

Right before the wedding, I had a bit of an identity crisis about my name. Don't get me wrong -- I am proud to take my husband's name, and other than not wanting to go to the trouble of having all of my records changed over, I didn't see any point in not changing it. But it was still a little jarring to think that the person I'd been all my life would suddenly not exist anymore.

But then I started thinking, maybe this is a good thing. After all, I was preparing to enter a whole new phase of my life, so why not just consider it a whole new me? For example, the old me was afraid to fly. The new me would not be afraid to fly. (And, in fact, we flew to Hawaii on our honeymoon and I did not get nervous at all, so it must have worked).

And unlike the old me, the new me would be good with money. Like many who leave home seeking their fortune and finding low-paying jobs, I'd found myself in my early 20s relying on credit cards. I knew they could mean trouble, but at the time, I didn't have much of a choice. Considering that some people find themselves owing tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, my debt of just a few thousand was a drop in the bucket, but then again, I wasn't making enough money to even cover my normal expenses, let alone pay down a debt, so it was tough.

Nonetheless, it was my debt, and I had to pay it off. So I lowered my expenses and eventually got a new, better paying job, so I was able to put enough money toward my debt every month to actually see the balance going down.

One of my two credit cards was paid off in a matter of months. No drama, I just paid and was eventually done. The other credit card company, however, made things difficult. They just couldn't seem to get enough of my money. (I just know that someday that will be in a book of quotes, because it is such a brilliant and keen observation that no one else would make). Even after I'd paid off the balance, they socked me with interest charges from the month before, then interest on the interest, until eventually, they were actually sending me a notice that I owed two dollars. Two days before my wedding, I paid the last little bit, hoping (but not at all sure) that this would be it.

I gave them four weeks, fully expecting them to charge me interest on that two dollars, but I heard nothing. Today, I called them, and they told me the words I'd been longing to hear for a long time -- "your balance is zero." I've met my goal -- I might not have learned it till today, but I was debt free before I got married, just as I wanted to be.

I'm pretty disappointed in myself to have gotten into this mess, but I'm hardly the first person to have trouble managing money. Anyway, that was the old me. I'm a whole new person now.

And I've got the documentation to prove it.

Haunted By A German Ghost

For some reason, the month headings on the archives of this blog went from English to German for about two minutes today.

I happened to notice while reading some of my old entries, but as soon as I posted about the German titles, they went back to English.

I wonder if this is the work of a ghost of a German ancestor of mine who is upset that I now have an Italian last name.

The Truth Hurts

On Saturday, I got my hair cut.

Chopped, actually. Hacked off. It used to be shoulder length, and now it's at my chin. I do this about once every year or so, whenever I get bored with long hair, although this is the shortest I've had it cut in quite some time.

I wasn't expecting my husband to swoon when he saw me, but I was hoping he'd like my new style. At first, he seemed to, but the truth slowly came out.

His first comment was, "it's cute." Then, "well, you know I really like you with long hair, but it's still cute." Then, "maybe it won't get in my face anymore when we're sleeping, so at least there's a bright side." Then the inevitable, "you're the one who has to like it, so it's really your opinion that matters."

But he smacked me with his real feelings later, when I commented that with my new haircut, I look a little older.

My sweet, darling husband said he agreed, that I "look old."

Um...not quite the same thing.

But I guess that for as much grief as I've given him about his hair, I probably deserved that.

Fear The Reaper

As a man sows, so shall he reap.

I find that to be very true, not only in my own life but in the lives of others I know. I'm a big believer in karma, in the idea that what we put out into the world comes back to us. It's a good way to keep life in balance.

But right now, between my downstairs neighbor and my husband and me, I'm not sure who is sowing and who is reaping.

Last year, I posted about some of the troubles we'd had with the guy. The crux of this sordid tale is that he would use any excuse to come knocking on our door to complain about noise. The washing machine was too loud, our walking was too loud, our typing was too loud. Once he even threatened to call the police because some friends of ours had called "hello" up the stairs when they walked into the building.

Things had improved a bit, although my husband still won't stop referring to the guy as "McCrochetypants." He'd zeroed in on a new neighbor to pick on (not about noise, but about how the new guy's cable installation had messed up the reception he was getting with his rabbit ears), and he'd mostly left us alone. Once he even said hello to me in a friendly, neighborly way. I thought that probably meant we were BFF now.

But then something happened. Something incredible. Something unbelieveable. Something impossible.

McCrochetypants knocked on our door with a valid complaint.

I came home from a meeting last night to find my husband gone and was a little concerned. He'd said earlier that he might take his motorcycle out for a ride, but he'd left a bunch of lights on and a thank-you note from our wedding half done on his desk. He's not that spontaneous, and he never leaves lights on, so I wondered where he'd gone in such a hurry.

About 10 minutes later, he came in, annoyed. He'd been downstairs, at the McCrochetypants residence, checking out a leaky pipe. I don't understand plumbing, but it has something to do with our bathroom and kitchen being connected to theirs, and there's a crack in their pipe, so a tiny bit of whatever drains from our shower and kitchen sink comes out into their place. After checking it out, he had agreed that until the problem could be fixed, we would use the shower in our hall bathroom, because it's not connected to the faulty pipe.

But this morning when I went into the hall bathroom, I found the shower knob broken. It was spinning loosely; it couldn't be pulled or pushed, and when my husband took it apart, he realized a few pieces had broken off. We tried to replace the knob with the one from the other bathroom, but it didn't fit. Rather than trying to force it and risking having two broken showers, we reattached the knob in its original place, shrugged and decided that McCrochetypants would just have to deal with a little water this morning.

As soon as I turned on the water, I heard the knocking of McCrochetypants banging on his bathroom pipes. Ten minutes later, as I shampooed my hair, I heard banging in our hall bathroom, and the water suddenly turned scalding hot. I jumped out of the shower, adjusted the temperature and got back in. As I was rinsing my hair, the water turned ice cold. Again, I jumped out of the shower, and annoyed that my husband had been messing with the water while I'd been showering, I stepped out of the bathroom, where he was waiting to push me right back in.

McCrochetypants was there, he told me, having come up to complain that he was getting water again. My husband had explained the situation, so the guy barged in and started messing around in the hall bathroom to try and fix it with some bathroom knob he bought at a flea market, scalding and freezing me in the process by turning the water on and off.

I'll be very honest -- I didn't feel bad that McCrochetypants was getting water from our place. In fact, I even felt a little glad when I found out that our hall shower was broken and I'd have to use the one that leaked into his place. I was just sorry our toilet wasn't connected too. I guess getting scalded and frozen was that karma returning to me.

But that doesn't stop me wanting to make sure McCrochetypants gets his.

Spicing Up A Dreary Day

For some reason, the news that the Spice Girls might be planning a comeback really gave my day a lift.

I can only guess this has something to do with the fact that I haven't gotten much sleep lately, and have been eating a lot of fast food.

Either that or I've really gone off my rocker.

Creative Justice

"I am a thief. I stole from Wal-Mart."

So reads the sign a judge in Alabama ordered two convicted shoplifters to wear in exchange for letting them out of jail sentences.

According to this story, one of the shoplifters claims her innocence, saying she was merely taking the $7 item to the service desk because it wouldn't scan. Whether or not that is true, it must be pretty embarrassing to have to stand outside of Wal-Mart wearing a sandwich board. Especially if you were also stupid enough to actually be guilty of shoplifting a $7 item from Wal-Mart.

The manager of the store thinks the sandwich boards will be a good deterrent for shoplifters. I'll say! I'd be embarrassed admitting to even shopping at the Wal-Mart in my town. To me, the lesson couldn't be clearer: If you're going to shoplift, do it from somewhere good, like Tiffany.

That story got me thinking about other creative ways to punish folks who break the laws -- whether they be actual laws or simply laws of decorum and good taste. Here are a few of my ideas.

Crime: Parking one's Hummer or Escalade or other very big vehicle in more than one parking space (either because they don't know how to park something that big or because they are afraid of someone parking in the next space and dinging the side of their very expensive vehicles).

Punishment: We smash their taillights and slash their tires. It's really for the safety of others -- whether these drivers are inept at driving these vehicles or just jerks, they probably drive on the roads like that too, expecting others to jump out of the way.

Crime: Blasting loud, bad music out of one's car (yesterday, I heard -- no joke -- "Tootsee Roll" coming from a car next to me).

Punishment: A Celine Dion CD that they are required to play at top volume, with the windows down, so all of their friends can see them. For repeat offenders, Anne Murray.

Crime: Making known one's personal business by talking loudly on cell phones in public places.

Punishment: A blast from one of those air horns people use at sporting events. For those who talk on their cell phones in public bathrooms, some very loud bathroom noises (I don't think I need to elaborate on that) so that the person they're talking to knows they're in the bathroom, and thinks they had fish tacos for lunch.

Crime: Referencing Seinfeld. Alright, so maybe this one is selfish, but I never liked that show and get so sick of having a seemingly normal conversation with someone, who then interjects some stupid Seinfeld quote that I don't get because I didn't watch the show and then turns a perfectly decent conversation to crap, because then we have to talk about Seinfeld.

Punishment: A conversation with someone who thought Everybody Loves Raymond was funny. And a DVD set of all 487 seasons of it.

This Hurt

Touche, The Onion. Touche.

Cock-A-Doodle-Don't

I bought a new alarm clock yesterday that plays "sounds of nature." For some reason, I thought it would be fun to wake up this morning to the sound of a rooster crowing.

It really wasn't. Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll wake up to the sound of a seagull instead.

Though The Mountains Divide, and The Oceans Are Wide, It's A Small World After All

Of all the hotels in all the islands in all the world, they walked into ours.

My new husband (I'm still trying to get used to that word) and I spent last week honeymooning on beautiful Maui. In our own little private corner of paradise, we didn't turn on our cell phones much, check our e-mail at all or even think about our normal lives, which were thousands of miles away, along with everyone we know.

Well, almost everyone we know.

Our first morning there, we were in the hotel restaurant having breakfast, when I noticed a woman who looked familiar. In fact, she looked like the new wife of my friend Meghan's brother, Jeremy. The two had gotten married the day before my husband and I did, so I thought maybe they were just on my mind. Wouldn't it be funny if they'd come to Maui on their honeymoon too, I thought. I looked at the woman's companion, who I could only see from the back, and it looked like Jeremy.

I walked over to them, and yep, I was right. It was Jeremy and Megan (not to be confused with his sister Meghan -- his wife's name has no h). They'd not only come to Hawaii, but they'd come to Maui, and they'd come to our same hotel, not to mention coming to breakfast at the same time. We ran into them a few more times while we were there, mostly around the hotel, but also at a luau we attended. What would have been really strange is if they'd been at our table, too.

It was a little weird running into people we knew like that, but it was kind of cool. Sure, we were no longer "alone" in our tropical paradise, but really, that spell was broken as soon as we saw the umpteen other honeymooning couples. They were easy to spot -- they were all lovey dovey, and the men were all fiddling with their wedding rings, trying to get used to the feel of them.

Funnily enough, that wasn't the end of it. When we came home, we had to fly from Maui to Phoenix, then change planes, fly to Denver, have a short on-the-plane layover while they dropped off and picked up, then fly to Chicago. When we finally arrived at Midway, we were waiting at baggage claim, and I noticed a woman who looked a little like a work acquaintance of my husband's (I'm trying to use that word a lot so I can get used to it, but it's still weird). I pointed her out to him, and he confirmed that yet again, we'd run into someone we knew. It wasn't as weird as running into Jeremy and Megan in Hawaii, but what was weird was that she'd been on our flight from Denver.

I wonder if this sort of thing happens to everyone, because it happens to me all the time. I run into people I know everywhere I go, in places far away from anywhere I would normally see them, or I'll meet someone who knows some random person I knew long, long ago. I love these little meetings; it's so cool to see how we're all connected. And even if our corner of paradise turned out to be not so private, it's nice to have a reminder that no matter where you go, you're never alone.