That’s what comes to mind almost every time I spend time with Lena (aka monster – although she’s not really a monster… except when she’s hungry). I’m just continually shocked by the day-to-day changes that occur in my daughter. I have no idea where she is on the “gifted baby”chart or if she’s even on the chart… and to be honest, I’m pretty sure I don’t care. To me, she’s doing just fine, and I’d rather avoid all the comparisons that tend to come with new parents. I have enough competition through sports and my job, I don’t need my daughter’s performance or lack thereof to become an issue (Now when she starts getting grades at school, I’ll make sure she does her best, but her best shouldn’t be gauged against that of her classmates.) And I’m also pretty sure that a good portion of the baby comparisons are just a bunch of bull. For example, I took Lena to her 4-month checkup (2 months ago) and she was in the mid-70s/low-80s percentiles for weight and length. Now she’s up in the mid-high 90s. But after I sat back and breathed a sigh of relief that my baby was firmly back in the “A-“ category, I actually wondered what the heck I was so happy about. Is it going to affect how I interact with my baby? Is she somehow less “loveable” or inferior to my Russian neighbor’s baby because she might be a little smaller? That had better not be the case or else there will be one pissed-off, dark-haired grandmother from Pennsylvania boarding the next plane to Sacramento. Don’t worry, mom. It’s not.
Okay, now I’m stepping off my soapbox or whatever that was. As I was saying I’m amazed by what changes occur in Lena on a daily basis. The day she leaned forward to grab a magazine off Kim’s lap definitely evoked a “whoah, wait… when did she learn how to do that?” (That happened on August 17, btw) And I don’t think I’ve ever cheered as hard as I did the day she rolled over for me. But her latest thing… is dancing. So I had to share this. Pay particular attention to the part of the song where Jason Mraz sings “Scooch on over closer dear” – while I’m pretty sure she didn’t understand what he was saying, it was an odd coincidence.
I’ve always had pets in my life and really can’t imagine going for too long without one. I guess if I tried, I could break up the significant periods in my life according to what pets were in the house. First, it was an old mutt named Barkis that used to guard my crib. I don’t remember much about him except that he didn’t ever want to play water ski in the kitchen when I was 3 and had on my socks. I think it had to do with my use of his tail as the tow line. He was followed immediately by a black and white gerbil named Lansing, who wasn’t the friendliest little bugger on the planet, but I have a feeling that I wasn’t the gentlest owner at 9 years old. The little “travel ball” that resembled a bowling ball was just a little too tempting to roll down the hallway at times… I know now that it was wrong, but the mischevious little devil that took over my motor functions at times didn’t care.
After Lansing was with us for about a year, we added Dodger (not named after the baseball team) – a buff cocker spaniel that was bred for “temperment.” (Back to the name for a sec, Mama and Papa M are huge English literature buffs, especially Charles Dickens, so all the dogs were named after Dickens characters. Barkis (David Copperfield) and Dodger (Oliver Twist) were the first two.) But seriously, I’d be hard-pressed to find a better dog. He loved playing hide-and-go-seek in the yard behind the azaleas. We’d also play chariot down the street with me holding onto his leash and sitting on my skateboard. But after about 7 years, Dodger ran into some health problems and passed on. I still remember the phone call from the vet in the middle of the night that basically told us it was time to put him down.
Mainly at my urging, he was succeeded almost immediately by Micawber (David Copperfield). Now, I deserve at least part of the blame for the next few years because Micawber was a puppy mill dog (ended up getting quoted in Teen magazine for that one). We really should’ve known better, but he was so damn cute. Thinking that there was some “American Gothic” family selling off the family dog’s litter, we headed out into the country (eastern pennsylvania) in response to an ad in the paper for chocolate cocker spaniels (harder to find than buff/blond cockers). And there was Micawber, the 6-pound bruiser of the litter… and I just had to have him. Well, three days after we took him home, Micawber showed signs of Parvo (if you don’t know what it is, it basically destroys a dog’s digestive system). Micawber went from 6 pounds to 3 pounds in the first week that we had him (half of which was spent in the emergency veterinary hospital. But he came back, and the sucker had a huge appetite for the rest of his life.
One other not-so-nice trait, which Micawber picked up from the puppy mill that (we can only guess) was the result of inbreeding in an attempt to retain the chocolate coat of hair, was a slightly mis-wired brain. He was an awesome dog, 99 percent of the time… but every now and then, he’d just … well, snap. One day (summer of 1996), I was watching an Agassi/Sampras match on TV (I think it was Wimbledon), and Micawber was sitting on my lap for some much-needed petting. I don’t remember what happened during the match, but at one point, I laughed. And I must’ve pulled back my upper lip or something, which might’ve seemed like baring my teeth (yes, I realize there’s a lot of must/might/could-have-been in this story.) Anyway, Micawber didn’t like that. Whether he felt threatened or not, he let me know of his displeasure by sinking his teeth into my upper lip. The next thing I remember, he’s on the ground giving me an “oh crap, what did I just do” look, which I’m sure complemented my “wtf just happened” look quite well. At any rate, five stitches and an inflated lip later, Micawber and I made up. There were a few more incidents of varying degrees over the next several years, but all in all, he really was a pretty good dog, although by the looks of this post, I’ve painted him in a slightly different light.
So now that I was out of the house (post-college), there were two households that needed pets. I continued my theme of dogs named after cities with Memphis, a mostly hairless and continuously stinky version of a Boston Terrier… she’s got more character than a Disney movie though, I’ll give her that.
And my parents continued their theme of Dickens characters with (Nicholas) Nickleby and (Jacob) Marley. And they’re really the reason for this post… because I’ve realized that, whether I knew it or not, although my parents’ only (human) child left the house, I was replaced and have two rather furry brothers now. And this year, they sent me some birthday wishes.
So what about you? Is your life as dependent on the presence of furry creatures as mine is? As further proof that our lives are driven by pets, Kim and I have already agreed that when Lena turns 5, she can have a dog. I’m thinking of a lab or something bigger (Bernese Mountain Dog would be pretty sweet, but our house would resemble an unswept barbershop I fear)… but yeah, the little one gets to choose. Please no poodles… please no poodles.
Yes, that was pretty much what 85% of my conscious self screamed at me the day I realized I was going to propose to Kim. I’d decided that I was going down the dark road that is marriage when I went back to visit my parents in January/February of ’06 to see these little guys.
I think they were secretly pleading with me not to do it, which I mistook for just plain old “man’s-best-friend” behavior. But the dogs were totally worth the vacation. Nonetheless, I still remember sitting across the table from my parents in their sweet early 1900s house that overlooks New Jersey from Pennsylvania and saying, “so yeah… I think I’m going to ask Kim to marry me…”
Now the question became how the heck to do it. Propose at Disneyland? While it would be perfect for a girl like Kim, I wanted something a little different. So alright, what else embodied Kim? Ear surgery… okay that one’s off the list. A bright yellow car… yeah, not proposing in a bright yellow Ford Focus with fairies all over it. UCLA… … could I get the UCLA marching band to play “Here comes the bride?” as I propose to Kim? … maybe, but I have a feeling that Kim would end up sprinting in the opposite direction… that and nothing screams romance like an 8-clap cheer. Okay, UCLA band was out, but I still kinda liked the whole UCLA theme. So what else UCLA was there? The Rose Bowl. Associated with both flowers and UCLA football. Plus, my company was the primary author of the Environmental Impact Report for the conversion of the Rose Bowl into a NFL stadium (that one’s not going to happen – so don’t get your hopes up… or down). And that meant that we had some contacts at the stadium that might be willing to help us out. So, we’ve got sports, romance, and an in? Bingo. I later asked the PM of the EIR if she could set something up between me and the stadium that would let me onto the field (when it was empty) to pop the question. Okay, June 9th and 16th are available. Sweet… that’ll be perfect.
Let’s fast forward through March and a bit of April that were filled with a ton of ring shopping. Seriously folks, I’m pretty sure that towards the end I could tell you clarity and color that year without any help from the sales clerk. But then, during the second week of April, I get a call from my buddy at the Rose Bowl. “Okay, you’re all set for this Friday” … … ummm, what? I thought I still had two months? “It’s got to be this Friday,” he said. So that sends ringless, plan-free Chris into a spiral. Thanks to whomever is controlling my little puppet strings for typing in the words “blue nile” on Internet Explorer. The guy on the other end of the phone (at Blue Nile) pretty much saved my life, although you could definitely picture him flipping the receiver off at my statement “I need the ring the day after tomorrow.” The rest of the conversation went something like this…
Him: Seriously? You need this by Thursday?
Me: I’m proposing on Friday, so yeah, it’s kind of a necessary item.
Him: How about Friday morning?
Me: Can you guarantee that? I’m due at the stadium by 11:00, and I’m driving her there.
Him: I’ll have the ring, all ready to go and at your door, by 9:30. Does that work?
Me: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but okay.
Him: Tell me about it. I’ve been working for this company for two years, and you are my strangest call to date.
Me: Thanks?
So Friday morning rolls around, and I’m patiently (and by patiently, I mean pacing around the apartment and checking all the clocks to see if even a single one of them says 9:30 yet) waiting for the ring to arrive. Sure enough, at 9:25 FedEx knocks on my door. I think I spent a grand total of five seconds inspecting the ring before jumping in the car to go pick up Kim.
Now Kim, on the other hand, had no clue what was going on. I had only told her to plan for a night away and to dress comfy casual. So when I finally roll up, she’s just relaxing and strolling around after finishing classes for the day. What I didn’t know at that point was that her graduate school friends had actually figured things out… and despite them saying to Kim as she was leaving class “he’s gonna propose,” Kim had insisted that there was nothing going on. At any rate, Kim gets in the car and we start on our journey north on the 405 (yes, Nor-Cal peeps, freeways get a “the” in front of them down south… You may think it’s “hella” stupid, but I’m sticking to it.)
“I need to stop off on take some pictures for work,” I said to Kim. “At the Rose Bowl.”
“Oh, what are you guys doing?” she asked.
“We need to do some supplemental work for a few changes to the project (NFL renovation of the Rose Bowl), and I promised Alison that I’d stop by and take them for her,” I lied.
During this time, I was actually quite mystified that Kim hadn’t noticed the sweat pouring from my hands onto the steering wheel or the strategically selected soundtrack for our ride, but after about five minutes, I realized that, in both cases, this wasn’t a bad thing. So we parked next to the stadium in a space that fans can only dream about when coming to UCLA football games and walked through the front gate. I made my way to the business office to let them know that we were there and to figure out how the heck to get on the field. It turns out that we needed to be escorted, which, as you’ll see, turned out to be a good thing. Ooooo… almost forgot to mention, I had hidden the ring in a pseudo-secret, velcro-concealed compartment of my camera bag (I’d brought the camera, too). So Charles (our guide) leads us down one of the main tunnels to the field – “you can’t stand on the field, though” he says. “What?” “No one’s allowed on the field except during events and for maintenance. The best I can offer you is the concrete walkway around the field – at ground level.” Okay, fine, so I’m essentially standing in the stadium’s stormwater collection system, but we’re here, right? … … keep going, Chris. Keep going.
Now you might be wondering what Kim was doing at this point… two words. Mmmmmm grass. That’s right, the smell of the Rose Bowl’s freshly manicured field had so completely entranced my soon-to-be fiancée that she had no clue what I was discussing with our guide. At this point, Charles holds back a bit to let me go forward with the actual proposal. Kim, on the other hand, thinks that I’m going to start taking pictures, so she hangs back with Charles… and continues smelling the grass. “Kim, can you help me for a sec?” Now, I never saw Kim in her Goofy costume at Disneyland, but I’m pretty sure I saw her do Goofy’s saunter when I called her over.
So I’ll be honest, at this point, I’m pretty much shaking all over. And I had spent the better part of the week memorizing my proposal… and promptly forgot it as the words came out of my mouth. Except for the first few lines – “It was one year, one month, and 6 days ago that I met a girl. And who would’ve guessed that just a short time after our first cookie, we’d be here.”
Now it was time for the one knee bit, but just before that happened, Kim realized just what the heck was going on. I missed the part where she brought her hands up to her face and closed her eyes. In case you didn’t know, Kim is a pretty tall girl, so when she opened her eyes, I was already down on one knee and out of her immediate field of vision. She later told me her initial reaction was “where the #$%@ did he go?” … and then she looked down. There I was stammering on for the better part of two minutes and trying to make it through this all-so-important speech that I had prepared. But when I looked up for Kim’s answer, all that made it out was a closed mouth gurgle that she contends was a yes and a nod of the head. … good enough for me. So after a few hugs and tears (on her part – totally on her part :P), Charles was nice enough to take a few pictures with the stadium in the background.
After the proposal, I’d planned on talking Kim to the botanical gardens where we could walk around and call everyone. But she was a fountain of happiness at this point (tears were free-flowing). So while I went in to buy tickets, Kim stayed outside to call her parents. What we didn’t think about was that Kim’s “happy” tears were incredibly difficult to talk through. Let me back up for a second, when the rush of “you’re proposing this Friday” happened, my ability to go to Monterey and ask for parental permission to marry their daughter went out the window. So I had to resort to a phone call. It wasn’t ideal, but I think Kim’s dad made it up for it by milking my nervousness a bit (there was a part during the conversation where I distinctly remember hearing Kim’s mom say in the background “Richard, stop it. Be nice!”) So then back to the botanical gardens… since Kim was unable to enunciate very well through the tears, all her parents were hearing were the tears and “happy” sobs (which as I understand it can easily be misunderstood for the other, unhappy kind.) Now, I’m not sure which one of them said it (MIL or FIL) but after a few rounds of “happy” tears, one of them blurted through the madness “What did Chris do wrong?” :P Nothing… nothing at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. Or so I think.
I won’t say I wasn’t warned, and it’s not like I have much of a choice. But it seems as though the sickness train runs through our house every five days thanks to Lena’s daycare. And I don’t really blame daycare either… so I’m really fricking conflicted about the whole thing. It’s the parents, who like me… need to get to work, and if their kid has the sniffles, they’re not going to say he/she is sick and keep them home. They’ll wait for daycare to send their child home. And this translates into communicable illnesses for all 12 infants at daycare. From what I understand, the entire infant room, including the caregivers, was laid up over the weekend.
Our poor little munchkin was firing from both barrels (aka nostrils) and really just wanted to be held. The only problem was that Lena is normally a little heating pad, and this most recent illness put whatever bodily functions are creating the most heat into overdrive. Plus, the appalling lack of painkillers and fever reducers for children under 6 months thanks to a bacteria at the plant that manufactures infant tylenol has basically made searching for this stuff the equivalent of looking for bigfoot in Los Angeles. To date, I’ve visited 14 different pharmacies and to no avail.
But the weekend wasn’t all badness… Lena’s definitely got this rolling over thing down. That and she is completely and totally fascinated with Memphis. There was actually a laughing fit this past weekend when she saw Memphis playing. Unfortunately, the video camera wasn’t ready to go until the tail end of Lena’s interest. And as you’ll see in the video, it appears that our dog has been using a lot of restraint when it comes to playing with the baby. Because when she thinks the gates are officially up, she wastes no time to rush the baby for a few kisses.
The munchkin has started rolling over. In the past few weeks, she’s been getting to the halfway point, but her arm would always get stuck underneath her and present an insurmountable speed bump. But as of last night, she’s learned to tuck and push, and she’s getting pretty good at it. She did it twice last night and once this morning as I dropped her off at daycare. The only bad thing about this whole situation is that Kim has yet to see it because of a dead car battery in the brand new mazda.
I’m starting to wonder if I should pull out the baby barriers already. I seem to recall that crawling isn’t too far behind rolling over. Heck, when I was a baby, I shocked the hell out of my dad when I started crawling (or so he says). Here’s the scene. My bedroom was upstairs and led out onto a landing where there was a bathroom to the right and stairs going down to the left. My dad had placed me in the middle of the floor in my room when he went to go shave in the bathroom. I had not crawled up to this point. So after lathering up, my pops would do one stroke with the razor and pop his head out to see where I was. Still in the middle of the room. He got about halfway and decided that it would be much faster if he just shaved the other half of his face without peeking out. Just as he was putting the finishing touches on what I can only assume was a masterful shave…, he hears Thump… thump thump thump thump thump. He darts his head out of the bathroom in the direction of my bedroom… but no Chris. As he turns to his right, he notices at the bottom of the stairs, there is a rather confused little baby, slightly shaken… but otherwise okay. To this day, I contend that this event is responsible for some, if not all, of my quirks. Case and point, a recent video of Lena… where I’ve taken it upon myself to provide a voice for my daughter’s thought process. Bruce Willis (think Look Who’s Talking) I am not.
So first off, sorry for the extended absence. It’s been a hectic few weeks since my last update… there was 1) a hospital scare 2) a trip to Tahoe for the 4th 3) a Paul McCartney concert and 4) a new car. And somewhere in there, I fit in about 40 hours of billable time a week. But back to number 4… we recently purchased a new car… and this sucker is huge… at least by my standards. The biggest car that I’ve ever had up until this point has been the size of a Honda Accord, so when Kim started expressing an interest in a 7-passenger vehicle… well, I got scared. But on the bright side of things, it meant getting rid of Pixie Dust – which despite Kim’s nostalgia – was definitely not a bad thing. Pixie may have been great once upon a time, but she had devolved into the equivalent of a windup toy that you wind up, shake, bang on the desk, shake again, and then it starts to work. The engine either sounded like it was going to drop out onto the road behind you or blow up altogether. That and cruising down the highway in a bright yellow car with fairies all over it turned my already challenged masculinity into a veritable punching bag for any and all drivers sharing the road with me. So now we’ve got Pixie on ‘roids.
Introducing Pixie 2. Yes, the customized license plate will remain the same in honor of the old Focus, but we’ve traded up for two more feet and at least 500 more pounds.
We ended up deciding on a Mazda CX-9 with all the trimmings. I think the only thing we’re missing is a roof rack. You can see the power liftgate in the video – oh amazing gimmick that it is. Now, Kim and I had some disagreements as to how much space we actually need, but she ultimately won out since it’s her car. 7 seats… really? I mean, I know we’ve got the bunny, the dog, and the baby… but is there something I don’t know? Are there twins on the way? I’m sure in about 3 months I’ll be complaining about how there isn’t enough room for all our stuff in the CX-9 but for now, it feels like the Titanic.
Now, on the downside, I’ve got to say I’m not too hopeful about future dealings with Mazda. I love the car, but this went from a very pleasant car buying experience to “Oh holy hell, I’m going back to watching Flash Gordon on my iPhone”. We started on Saturday at the dealership with a test drive, but when it got to the negotiations part, Kim went all turtle-mode until we left (aka she sealed herself in her shell). I volunteered to come back on Sunday and get everything set up. So I found the salesman we had dealt with the previous day – nice guy but I got the feeling he hadn’t sold too many cars. I told him what we wanted, the color, and the price… and they found it in San Jose. I committed to buying it, got the financing approved, and was told it would be delivered the next day. Total time spent over the weekend in the Mazda dealership – 6 hours (3 on Saturday and 3 on Sunday). At this point, I’m thinking it’ll only take 20 minutes to hand them the Focus and drive off the lot.
Then comes Monday. I was told that the car would arrive by 4, and we could stop by whenever we wanted after that. So I called at 4:30 to confirm that the car was there… routed to someone’s voicemail – someone I didn’t know, had no idea what they did at the dealership, and who likely wouldn’t be able to help me without dragging someone else into the conversation. So I called again… same thing but different voicemail for another person I also didn’t know. Called again, this time I was bounced between 3 separate people before going to a 3rd stranger’s voicemail. Let me also clarify that this wasn’t a huge dealership. The sales floor was maybe 1,000 square feet. So now I’m pissed that no one can answer the question, “is the car from San Jose that I ordered on the lot yet?” And so I try “Live Chat” at mazdausa.com – and if I can caution any current/future Mazda owners, don’t do this. It’s not live. I got so pissed I started taking screenshots of the chat because it made absolutely no sense… For example:
Me: We held off on the trade-in and additional money down until the car was to be delivered today…
“Rebecca Marcus”: Will you have a trade in?
Me: I do have a trade-in, but we had a conceptual agreement or whatever is required for them to get the car delivered from San Jose
“Rebecca”: May I ask what is the year, make, and model of your trade?
Me: I’m sorry … is this necessary to find out if the blue CX-9 that I’m buying was delivered to Roseville Mazda?
“Rebecca”: Let me check with my Internet Sales Manager on this information and see what we can work out for you. What would be the best number for us to reach you at?
Me (getting very suspicious at this point): ? nevermind… I must be miscommunicating something…
So back to reality. I finally talk to someone at the dealership who tells me that the salesman that I dealt with is actually the one driving the car back and that he’ll be in between 6 and 7 and that I should give him a call on his cell phone. Well, “salesdude” had been having “problems” with his cell phone since Saturday, so surprise surprise, it was off. But Kim and I decided screw it… we’ll drive up to Roseville and wait for the car. We got there at 7:15… and waited until 9:30. No one knew where he’d gone. Another driver had brought another car up from San Jose and arrived at 7:30… but our car hadn’t arrived. So we finalized everything except the trade-in and went home with the promise that the car would be delivered “to us” on Tuesday.
Yesterday at around 1, our salesman calls and says “so when are you coming to pick up the car?” My internal monologue at this point wasn’t pretty, so much so that it would’ve made an ice road trucker blush.
Me: “I was told you guys were going to bring it to us.”
Mazda: “Oh, okay… where should we bring it?”
Me: “1200 Second Street in Old Sacramento.”
Mazda: “Okay, be there in a bit.”
Fast-forward a half hour and I get another call… “So…, we’re gonna need an address for where we’re going” At this point, I have beaten up my mental rendition of a punching bag, thrown it into oncoming traffic, made a voodoo doll version of it that I left on the barbecue for 4 hours, and flushed it down the toilet. “You know what? I’ll come and get it,” I replied. And well, I’m glad I did… because they hadn’t cleaned the car and it was missing a cover for the driver’s side door panel light… The kicker was that after all was said and done and I was finally ready to leave with the car, my salesman’s buddy, who was filling in for my salesman who had gone home for some mysterious reason, turns to me and says “so, outside of the minor waiting you did on Monday night, is there any reason why you wouldn’t give us glowing remarks in the review you’ll be receiving from Mazda corporate?” None whatsoever my friend… and thankfully, you can’t see the little angel and devil versions of William Shatner that are sitting on my shoulder, flipping you off, and throwing poo in your general direction.
I apologize for the wall of text… but I was/am kinda fired up by this.
So today we had Lena’s 4-month doctor’s visit, which included the second round of vaccinations. Mommy-dearest (aka Kim) skipped out on this one leaving the balance of bad doctor visits firmly in the Daddy column. First, we had happy, mostly-naked baby. She was weighed, massaged, and generally entertained by the nurses. We found out that she’s:
Weight – 80th percentile
Head circumference – 93rd percentile
Length – 74th percentile
She used to be 90th all the way around (at the 2-month check-in) but I’m glad to see that she’s still got the huge head!
Now, I think she was flexing for the picture, but seriously, check out that upper body! She’s gonna be in the scrum on some women’s rugby team somewhere… either that or the first female linebacker for the Chicago Bears.
But then we got to the bad part… and the reason why mommy skipped out this time… again. “Please hold your daughter’s legs firmly just below the knee” the nursed asked shortly before delivering three needle points to Lena’s thighs. Her face went from “Yay, I’m happy baby!” to “Wait… something’s wrong” to “Holy crap that friggin hurts”… serving as an assistant to Nurse Freddie Kruger wasn’t exactly high on my “to do” list for today, but as soon as I picked her up, her face went back to normal color and the tears were wiped away. And then she slept like a rock in the car on the way to daycare… Next time, mommy,… you’re up. :P
So I get back in my black VW golf, put my hands on the steering wheel, and take just a few moments to try and figure out what the hell just happened. A kiss I can take… a hug means there’s a 50-85% chance she likes me… a handshake means she’s either interested or is going to wash her hands with antibiotic cleanser in the next 30 seconds… and a “It was nice meeting you. Take care”, well, that means “Don’t call, like, ever.” But what the heck did two hugs mean? If I went by my usual formula that either meant I was entering dating territory (100% interest) or I was entering stalker territory (100+% interest). There was one time I actually had a girl show up at my apartment and demand that my roommate’s girlfriend let her in to verify that I was, in fact, sick in bed. Needless to say, she didn’t get buzzed in, but I did have a 102 fever. What might also throw this further into the crazy column was that we’d met once at a party and talked twice on the phone… and the museum – The Museum of Tolerance… but that’s another story.
So after settling on the idea that the only way I would figure out what the hell just happened was to call Kim again, I started the car and drove home. A few calls to some buds revealed similar conclusions by them – “Yeah, dude, no clue” and “You sure she wasn’t trying to give you a kiss on the cheek and chickened out the second time?” were some of the ones I remember.
So I called Kim a few days later to set up the first actual, pick-you-up date. And in an effort to test her culinary tastes and also come off as a guy who’s idea of eating out isn’t just Fatburger (don’t get me wrong – Fatburger served it’s time in my rotation of restaurants), I offered sushi. When she got in the car, I gave her the option of run-of-the-mill sushi or something a little more adventurous. And she got the five bonus points for going for the adventure. So when we got out of the car, I remember asking, “so I don’t want to be presumptuous, but if you were planning on going dutch, this place is a little on the expensive side, are you okay with that? It’ll probably be about $45 per person.” A statement which has received mix reviews from friends (on her side and mine). I was planning on paying, but growing up in a house with an ultra-feminist mom, I really didn’t want to argue about a check at the end of the night. Kim said she was fine with a little expensive, btw.
So anyway, dinner was great. I took her to Sasabune, when they were still on Sawtelle in Los Angeles. The restaurant basically looks like it moved into someone’s home and you’re eating in the living room. The fun part of Sasabune is that you don’t get to choose what you eat. You can only order the chef’s special at first… and you get pretty much whatever’s freshest or whatever the chef feels like making. So Kim was a trooper at this point, but I made sure to mix in a little sake to calm the nerves (she later confessed to being a largely “California Roll” sushi person). Can’t tell you much of what was said, but I know I had fun. But when the check came, I opened it up to find out that my estimate for food was way off. The total bill without tip was up around 180. “I totally underestimated this; there’s no way I can let you even think about paying for half,” I told her. I think she finally found out the cost of the dinner after a month or so of dating.
So by now, it’s about 9:00 and we were in need of desert. Back in the car and heading towards the beaches of Santa Monica, she suggested a gelato place located just off the Santa Monica Promenade. That was totally fine with me because it would let us walk in the park along the bluffs afterwards… to chat, of course. So we walked and chatted for about two hours again – reminiscent of the first date, before we got to that awkward hand-holding part. I think my interior monologue at that point went something along the lines of this:
“Hold her hand?”
“Yeah, go for it”
“What should I lead with?”
“The pinky! always lead with the pinky?”
“Just the pinky? like a frickin pinky-swear?”
“Just do it, you pansy!”
(1812 Overture ensues)
Anyway, after a few more minutes of walking up and down the park, I drove her back to her place in Brentwood. I tried to do the chivalrous thing and walked her up to her door… and okay fine… for a goodnight kiss.
… now I’m willing to face facts… most if not all of the people reading this blog are a) female and b) people who follow Kim’s blog… so I’ll share this little tidbit that still befuddles me… Kissing a girl who is as tall or taller than you (if she’s wearing heels) is just plain wierd. Or at least it was for me. Being 6’2″, I’m used to being the taller one… looking down a little bit… and just generally relaxing. So Kim threw all that for a loop. I felt like I was back watching “Pretty in Pink” as a 9-year-old boy trying to figure out how sucking on a melon would make you a better kisser. But something must’ve worked, because we’re only 9 days from anniversary number 3.
So lately, the women of the house have been shunning the daylight. The house is currently home to two sick ladies, one pissed off bunny, and a needy dog hanging around the house. Yep, both Momma and baby have decided that they are fans of phlegm. This was the scene a few days ago…
Now, while there is definitely some concern on my part about the general health of my baby, there are a couple of revelations (good with the bad) that I’ve had since this week long episode began. First, since Lena’s in daycare, she’s exposed to a lot more in the way of germs, and if one kid gets sick there, well it’s pretty much a house of cards. But she gets socialized in this environment… which I hope will be a good thing later down the road. Second, she sounds like she’s purring when she’s stuffed up. And it’s pretty frickin cute.
Being sick also doesn’t seem as though it’s really affected her mood, either. It may have cut down on the number of squeaks, and maybe she’ll end up with a sultry alto 2 voice or something… but who knows.
So while I’ll be glad when she gets well, the purring kitten aspect of my baby girl will be missed… just a little.
Kim, on the other hand, seems to be suffering through this a bit more… especially with my evening TV choices of late. I tolerate “The Biggest Loser”, “Design Star”, “Project Runway”, Season #3,850,001 of “Survivor”, and the occasional episodes of “The Bachelor” and “America’s Next Top Model”, while Kim suffers through “Chuck”, “The Good Guys”, “Wipeout”, and “Merlin”. Okay, maybe I’ve got a few more than that, but someone’s got to win the battle of the Tivo queue right?
BTW, not a fan (and Kim isn’t either) of “The Gates” – It’s like Twilight on Wysteria Lane (although it’s not all about vampires, just one of the main plotlines). I’m normally a sucker for all things vampire (no pun intended)… but ever since the Twilight books came out, I’ve been a bit disappointed in the way vampires have become super-popular. Vampire Diaries is alright… nothing special… True Blood is awesome… but I miss the type of stories that we got with “Blade” (let’s pretend Blade 3 was never made), “Let the Right One In”, and “Interview with a Vampire.” Those, at least, weren’t filled with “No I love you more”… “no I love you more” that caused me to skip 20-30 pages at a time when braving the Twilight books two years ago.
1) My baby likes to sing. Or rather just talk. Not sure which she thinks it is, but either way, I found it pretty entertaining. She also responds well to the A-Team theme song (I think Kim is secretly praying that Lena will suddenly switch to Sarah McLaughlan – sp? or New Kids on the Block, but I’m pleased as punch with the A-Team). Anyway, here’s a sample:
2) Lena likes to be tickled… but only in certain ways. Gently blowing on the back of her neck/pseudo-mullet seems to do the trick.
Other thing that surprised me. These videos were all taken with Kim’s little blue iPod. First the quality is pretty damn impressive and the sound isn’t half bad.
I was also lucky enough to get a couple of grilling cookbooks, compliments of Lena and Bobby Flay. We tried them out last night with a grilled new york steak with rosemary-balsamic butter (seriously delicious) and some grilled asparagus with olive oil/freshly ground black pepper/sea salt that we mixed with some French Feta. The butter was the big winner of the night, but it was pretty damn tasty all around. I think I may have to kick my FIL off the grill when we go up to Tahoe for the 4th this year. :P
