tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67829452024-03-21T02:25:28.562-07:00Glib GibberishThe further adventures of Glib Gal.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-55382410439620068882008-10-01T16:58:00.000-07:002008-10-01T17:04:58.778-07:00She was not invited.Thought I'd post this little video for those of you who don't read the Princess Awesome blog and wonder what craziness I've been up to. Yep, I got another minute of fame courtesy of Ellen Degeneres:<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz-XJA_lhRVvuttXLVM-yVs-QnF_iLMLcMgLlwJFtwmjg9kjNmGYgqJQQJKepsxQMmuCJ6cAudngag' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />And no, Sarah Palin was not at the wedding, nor do I endorse her as a candidate. Still, it's kinda funny since my dad hates Ellen for being a "queer" (not my words - I like her) and hates Palin for being, well, herself.<br /><br />I'm really trying to get back into blogging but it's tough to know where to begin when your whole life has changed so dramatically and you're sure your blog fans won't appreciate hearing about the things I have to say these days...Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-8720777607292011702008-08-09T08:05:00.000-07:002008-08-09T08:10:44.296-07:00Eight, nine oh-eightDarn. I missed my date to return to blogging by a day. It would've been cool to shoot for 080808. As usual, I'm lagging. I'm sure you're used to it by now - if you're even still out there.<br /><br />It's been eight months so I guess its time. Maybe this week. Seriously.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-78112342911603968412007-12-19T18:27:00.001-08:002007-12-20T09:55:07.254-08:00All-right, alreadyGee you people are pesky.<br /><br />First MB calls and wanks about my absence from blogging, then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BH</span> comments on my dear, sweet child's blog about my lack of posting, not to mention the numerous e-mails and back-handed complaints about the demise of Glib Gal I've gotten in the past two months.<br /><br />Truth be told, I've been a bit busy since I became enslaved by an 11 pound screaming blob that depends on me for everything. Let me tell you, having a baby is nothing like having a kitten. They don't tell you a bunch of stuff about pregnancy and newborns. Or maybe I never paid <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">attentnion</span>. If they told women everything, I am certain the species would be extinct. Well, maybe if it weren't for the cuteness, smiles and sounds that little blob makes. It's her only saving grace, I tell you.<br /><br />So there's really not much to post about these days. I've lost all the pregnancy weight, except in my boobs. Sadly, though they are huge and now have names (Laverne and Shirley - because they worked at the bottling factory while in the hospital), they are no fun at all. Sometimes they leak, sometimes the ducts get blocked, and most of the time a small being is attached to one of them. Such is my life these days: no sleep, things leaking, still no alcohol, and a sudden ability to leave the house in sweats and a t-shirt - something I wouldn't do before except for a workout.<br /><br />I do, however, have something to blog about. It's this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyy_7rR9Bjw-rLQhljaI6TzGhFhX-KKuvT6icW3AnNvUawwOoqZaB_x6OO_85Mh6sJWtJuUtBRhAqAaOJy-o6dueJOOKk-D04YJ1InyskFjMjxUf99gAaMWb77nYHXvseLMm2PQA/s1600-h/bako+preggo1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyy_7rR9Bjw-rLQhljaI6TzGhFhX-KKuvT6icW3AnNvUawwOoqZaB_x6OO_85Mh6sJWtJuUtBRhAqAaOJy-o6dueJOOKk-D04YJ1InyskFjMjxUf99gAaMWb77nYHXvseLMm2PQA/s400/bako+preggo1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145876286497768722" border="0" /></a>Yes, that is a pregnant woman outside the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">OBGYN's</span> office in Bakersfield. Q snapped these shots while he waited in the car during one of my recent visits. Yes, he is the perfect husband - caring for our child and snapping shots for the blog! Who can doubt our love now?<br /><br />So this lady is clearly pregnant, in the parking lot outside the birth center, having one last drag before going in for her prenatal care.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQsKm-mVKZ0-9Khcxragy205wOalYll1Bog_6skRfTy3OTiBFB3lIDBI-4gfN9fA56q6dW1ZcIwAEaJr-DHRVI0ym-_5FmVi3A7VbhfiU-yphRRiQ3if8UhPF-YuYo_cf_KgB_FA/s1600-h/bako+preggo2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQsKm-mVKZ0-9Khcxragy205wOalYll1Bog_6skRfTy3OTiBFB3lIDBI-4gfN9fA56q6dW1ZcIwAEaJr-DHRVI0ym-_5FmVi3A7VbhfiU-yphRRiQ3if8UhPF-YuYo_cf_KgB_FA/s400/bako+preggo2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145876290792736034" border="0" /></a>This, among other reasons, is why I did not want to have my baby in Bakersfield. Alas, Lentil Bean is cursed for life with filling out numerous forms wherein she must answer "Place of Birth: Bakersfield" and "Mother's Maiden Name: Klingon". Sorry Lentil Bean, just now that what <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">embarrasses</span> you makes you stronger. Trust me, it does.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-1733911657402853982007-10-24T14:18:00.000-07:002007-10-24T15:25:57.223-07:00Things to do before you die.I've bicycled through Europe with strangers, climbed mile-high mountains, eaten a snake and drank its blood in a bar in rural China, served my country, jumped out of an airplane, swam in several seas, even buzzed along a zipline through a rain forest. I've been to Ozzy Osbourne's house for a party, sipped water from a glacial stream, done a TV commercial in exchange for beer and jack cheese, gone to college, dropped out of college, and one time I drove a dogsled. I've bought and sold many a thing, driven fast cars, bottle fed baby zebra, had my heart stopped by the sound of a floor to ceiling organ in an 800 year old cathedral, operated a D-9, planted a farm, swam with mermaids in a natural spring, caught a fish and fried it up by the river that night, and changed my mind about a thousand things at least a thousand times. I've fired fully automatic weapons, bailed a sibling out, needed bailing out, been up, been down, been detained in a third world country, learned a foreign language, taken pilot lessons, sang karaoke, put myself through law school, run my own business, sold a tv show option, buried a friend, gone a round or two in the ring, fallen in love, eaten quiche on the Champs Elysees, and skinny dipped under a waterfall or two. Yes, some would say my life list was already quite complete - that I've been lucky to have taken every opportunity and lived so fully and I would've agreed until I learned what I learned at 6:21 pm on Tuesday, October 16. That being, of course, that the greatest adventure, the most overwhelming feeling you'll ever have, the biggest accomplishment in any life, has to be seeing your child for the first time and knowing that your life has just gotten bigger, fuller and way more meaningful.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJBCjHGAPY8aIE_g_Sk8XOn2YTMRcIBKlcrfjE7ncJqc1RKkqiJllkMP7GfRKGKs8fRZvN09pZUiwutBgO-sPC8kelu5vmCypOKoSOGpOIgvO0Bnckw-TDos3yMmP4BXzgAy1yQ/s1600-h/first+look.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJBCjHGAPY8aIE_g_Sk8XOn2YTMRcIBKlcrfjE7ncJqc1RKkqiJllkMP7GfRKGKs8fRZvN09pZUiwutBgO-sPC8kelu5vmCypOKoSOGpOIgvO0Bnckw-TDos3yMmP4BXzgAy1yQ/s400/first+look.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125022494220040290" border="0" /></a>Yep, that's me and the Lentil Bean. Q was fortuitous enough to capture my expression when she (that's right, SHE!!!) was first shown to me after 18 hours of induced labor (about 10 of it very unpleasant) followed by the emergency cesarean section by which the extremely large (8 lbs, 3 ounces) Lentil Bean was wrenched from the womb and shown to me. How a person can look that happy after nearly 24 hours of nothing short of misery goes to show how powerful the moment is. Ionly wish I'd have captured his face as they first held her up to him - it was incrediblly happy as well.<br /><br />Here she is at about 10 muinutes old.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4dZ5OtTn2nsuGzOkhkT2vX9tsPFgneF35_gmUmOLd602d7rneDUmw9PgD_D2skRFtEVqwt5FgcUVngpGawWd7T9G6NoXN-zXzztFJ34UKsHCOZACMrB-ikfwiJGr2lUXE0pv3w/s1600-h/lentil+bean+day+one.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk4dZ5OtTn2nsuGzOkhkT2vX9tsPFgneF35_gmUmOLd602d7rneDUmw9PgD_D2skRFtEVqwt5FgcUVngpGawWd7T9G6NoXN-zXzztFJ34UKsHCOZACMrB-ikfwiJGr2lUXE0pv3w/s400/lentil+bean+day+one.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125016580050073682" border="0" /></a>Note the nice, round head and lack of old man wrinkles. That's because she's already so stubborn she refused to even attempt entry into the birth canal.<br /><br />And here's another nice shot taken by Q as I carried my own urine into the operating room. Catheters sure are fun!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKprUMHSPm6KWRgsBEqUBBWAUO9SILKqisRHPr61bO8fyaUoPu8ssdS3Rtb3HmORItRAo1GDxtp5a07jkyxM5IXlA1GV3Si6c492yTSXILswnX6ptQ4VpoxIoxg-2ucf6qitjbQ/s1600-h/pee+bag.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKprUMHSPm6KWRgsBEqUBBWAUO9SILKqisRHPr61bO8fyaUoPu8ssdS3Rtb3HmORItRAo1GDxtp5a07jkyxM5IXlA1GV3Si6c492yTSXILswnX6ptQ4VpoxIoxg-2ucf6qitjbQ/s400/pee+bag.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125016575755106370" border="0" /></a>Lentil and I both ended up staying a little longer than expected. I spent six days trying to get my blood pressure stabilized. Of course, the cause of my high blood pressure was most likely the sad fact that they took a feverish Lentil from me on Thursday and put her in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). It's not cool to take a baby from a mom and not tell her anything. Luckily, she only spent five days there and we were allowed to visit frequently. It was sad to see her all hooked up with needles, though:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5binPYYZ1diBmshGHUu_cqkzkARFlu3h3T1A_VnZlKtuIs8yESR-DO91e9nrzGlkRUp3SK-4zJ29qKVSEhzxXMYt9YxnVAoBcNt2RovVVcwicTp9VddjwlIh4IZdqURb2VJ_Yg/s1600-h/needles.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5binPYYZ1diBmshGHUu_cqkzkARFlu3h3T1A_VnZlKtuIs8yESR-DO91e9nrzGlkRUp3SK-4zJ29qKVSEhzxXMYt9YxnVAoBcNt2RovVVcwicTp9VddjwlIh4IZdqURb2VJ_Yg/s400/needles.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125030276700780658" border="0" /></a>Alas, all is well that ends well and Lentil came home yesterday and, as you can see, things have returned to normal in the McQ household (identity withheld lest child protective services reads this blog)...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5_OxY6oIl_uDAz5FEFeo0DSyBZ1dkHYeIDDP1U5lt8_ew3KoMXE7wCqABBI74nk_Bv0Pbq4YxoFIoH5xjT7WEJUA0vKSvBcL_Gdm769Z0IJyCzBbpWFTH294raw63VurtgoY7A/s1600-h/murphys.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5_OxY6oIl_uDAz5FEFeo0DSyBZ1dkHYeIDDP1U5lt8_ew3KoMXE7wCqABBI74nk_Bv0Pbq4YxoFIoH5xjT7WEJUA0vKSvBcL_Gdm769Z0IJyCzBbpWFTH294raw63VurtgoY7A/s400/murphys.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125030280995747970" border="0" /></a>Oh yeah, we didn't name her Lentil Bean. Her official name is Sarah Addison McQ. By the way, Sarah means "princess" and Addison means "awesome". Princess Awesome. No, we didn't know that until I was released and we found the baby name book. How cool is that?Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-54024219786404804412007-10-14T11:30:00.000-07:002007-10-14T11:53:16.955-07:00The Lentil Bean Cometh...Thought I'd let you know that tomorrow (October 15) might be the day Lentil Bean arrives.<br /><br />Had some elevated and abnormal levels of things during my doctor's visit last week, they ran some tests, then called me Friday afternoon and told me to stay in bed, on my left side, all weekend and watch for a plethora of symptoms, which, upon experiencing, I am supposed to rush to the hospital immediately. If I make it through the weekend I'm supposed to go directly to the main lab at 6 am Monday for further testing, have breakfast and relax, then go to the doctor around 10 am to see what the results are. Oh, and since I live 45 minutes from the hospital it might be wise to bring my bag and car seat, "just in case".<br /><br />I think the doctor had a wine tasting weekend planned and just didn't want to ruin it by having to induce me or do a c-section on a Friday night. The good news is that Lentil Bean is full term and if he or she does come out tomorrow there are no issues with development or being premature or anything like that. If Lentil doesn't come out tomorrow I'll probably be on bed rest until it's time. That would suck as I don't do well sitting still and lying on your left side isn't as wonderful as one might think.<br /><br />So if you don't hear from me for a couple of weeks it may be because the Lentil Bean is out and Q and I are running around like chickens with our heads cut off trying to figure out what to do next. Or it may mean I'm just lying around ignoring you.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-57177821938766417202007-10-02T15:06:00.000-07:002007-10-02T15:31:06.833-07:00Something to scare you this Halloween....Woo hoo!!! October is here! That means Lentil Bean is coming soon. I'm officially "full term" so it could be anytime in the next few weeks. Let's hope for sooner rather than later because the last month or so of this ordeal is pretty much crappy.<br /><br />Anyhow, since I'm not sure how much longer I'll have this orb attached to me so I thought I'd better immortalize it here and give you all a good scare with some photos sure to make you double wrap in the future. Sadly, this is what I see when I look down...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKVgZq1RSEbDyNqhLtT5LRyzZXmBw6PsnefLotsQZVXW366LWMlZsAaGJ3NY2Qh1S8qWvwKAyyLygGOIsOIy7H1J8J20sA29XZ-A60GadxjH2SD1apNgw4NjgS1S7uXV3x__JYw/s1600-h/9+month+belly.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYKVgZq1RSEbDyNqhLtT5LRyzZXmBw6PsnefLotsQZVXW366LWMlZsAaGJ3NY2Qh1S8qWvwKAyyLygGOIsOIy7H1J8J20sA29XZ-A60GadxjH2SD1apNgw4NjgS1S7uXV3x__JYw/s400/9+month+belly.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116864461539325954" border="0" /></a>Perhaps even more sad, just six months into married life, this is what Q sees every morning:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DvDh0j7i_7QbFWs5sSvJZ3dLW-p7zAUi2bNk17wOzzW_yg-YBXOpmmEhKtIVqDzqgpr3WTYu_ZsS1J6MawgsX0sby2jfd5rioq3Efym0OkMNpz47F0DhxiHagvMbMsmXtCev8Q/s1600-h/9+MONTH+NKD.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DvDh0j7i_7QbFWs5sSvJZ3dLW-p7zAUi2bNk17wOzzW_yg-YBXOpmmEhKtIVqDzqgpr3WTYu_ZsS1J6MawgsX0sby2jfd5rioq3Efym0OkMNpz47F0DhxiHagvMbMsmXtCev8Q/s400/9+MONTH+NKD.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116864465834293266" border="0" /></a>I don't know, but I think I kind of resemble Demi Moore's Vanity Fair preggo layout...except maybe she had better lighting and no granny panties as an accessory:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7L7CpvYU1X8wQtjnHdvm4O6XL1MGo29uLZTaHgeq6DuWeVmIU4dDezSRoskgyPDMZ3kPUMb0I9-5buRFJ_qbPS3mrLLw6lQwUYp9FCbfXZdvbGOltSkShRl-TNPw2w4eWGt4Ybw/s1600-h/Vanity_Fair_August_1991.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7L7CpvYU1X8wQtjnHdvm4O6XL1MGo29uLZTaHgeq6DuWeVmIU4dDezSRoskgyPDMZ3kPUMb0I9-5buRFJ_qbPS3mrLLw6lQwUYp9FCbfXZdvbGOltSkShRl-TNPw2w4eWGt4Ybw/s400/Vanity_Fair_August_1991.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116866956915324962" border="0" /></a>Oh, and for your further amusement and enjoyment, some of you will be pleased to learn I have now topped the 170 lb mark on my latest weigh-in at the doctor. Good friend B said she's delivering the baby jogger next week so I can get back in shape right away. Thanks, B.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-73122927477326012512007-09-19T17:11:00.001-07:002007-09-19T17:26:31.771-07:00The Incredible Expanding WomanSpoke with MB the other day and he begged for a recent picture of my ever-expanding self. Ever one to please, I asked Q to take one last weekend. I handed him the camera and he took this one of me from behind. He's romantic like that.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOwV_fdvsWiLgw5ehtjXxjbAKreauJDN82E3ph3Ijs-KZGb0pXZagsjdgAzyZygGf_aKf_YJbVmE1L1TpteAHJYpgfPKMalk79hSgAxNQSfYuhSicB1bNF_eKiTtp7OdhQL2mkA/s1600-h/butt.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOwV_fdvsWiLgw5ehtjXxjbAKreauJDN82E3ph3Ijs-KZGb0pXZagsjdgAzyZygGf_aKf_YJbVmE1L1TpteAHJYpgfPKMalk79hSgAxNQSfYuhSicB1bNF_eKiTtp7OdhQL2mkA/s400/butt.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112072454116631490" border="0" /></a>You can hardly tell I'm pregnant, right? Some might even think, "Wow, nice arse." Then I turn to the side and people flee at the sight of The Great Pumpkin:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VBxC3b6TO2KgrdUOqScoXxBcnrkfbyk7RW0_abOOTS9kR3L42T9mFXP6cGgZkf06FpXQcS9wxgAfKqW7iq0vf6hO4G9wzwi3TO4C8AWydidZ50FV_b2CkpH5lOh0kosyKswTbQ/s1600-h/8.5mos.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VBxC3b6TO2KgrdUOqScoXxBcnrkfbyk7RW0_abOOTS9kR3L42T9mFXP6cGgZkf06FpXQcS9wxgAfKqW7iq0vf6hO4G9wzwi3TO4C8AWydidZ50FV_b2CkpH5lOh0kosyKswTbQ/s400/8.5mos.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112072458411598802" border="0" /></a>I don't know what's up with my hair, either. I got it cut - a phenomenon among preggos - we feel ugly so we go do something like lop off our locks so we can go home and cry about it to our bewildered spouses. Then we put our feet up and eat ice cream while lamenting the loss of hair. I believe it was BH who once asked what a cankle is. This, my friends, is a cankle:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTA_FwoFPNJLluTZgeCGmhmxP121W7CShsdolmrxZXpo6Dvwmkrm27AKs34E7B3fjndQN6fZDZD3ZubbLtwWd-woqIZYy729r8XJnE52OIyKsM3dJ6pRc7pcUwt-CxIRdE_FnJw/s1600-h/cankle1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTA_FwoFPNJLluTZgeCGmhmxP121W7CShsdolmrxZXpo6Dvwmkrm27AKs34E7B3fjndQN6fZDZD3ZubbLtwWd-woqIZYy729r8XJnE52OIyKsM3dJ6pRc7pcUwt-CxIRdE_FnJw/s400/cankle1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112073042527151090" border="0" /></a>I actually think it may be a thankle on some days. Note the crease in skin and severe ankle bulge. I can no longer wear anything but men's extra-wide flip flops, and those sometimes leave an indentation. In fact, if you push on my foot you leave a fingerprint. Still, I'd rather have the cankles than the hemorrhoids that most preggos get.<br /><br />Finally, yes, that is Midge in the background. I'm having a hard time parting with her. Interested callers are treated rudely and not even allowed to come see her as I decide they are not worthy for some reason or other. As Q says, we can just disconnect the battery, cover her up in the barn, and run her once a month until we decide what to do. Sounds good to me.<br /><br />Bye the way, Lentil is due in about a month!!!Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-54807506486428874182007-09-04T11:03:00.000-07:002007-09-04T11:12:50.975-07:00Lentil Bean is Growing UpThe kid's been bugging me about this for weeks. I figure with six weeks until Lentil emerges, he/she was ready for <a href="http://lifewithlentil.blogspot.com">his/her own blog</a>. Some of you may think it's too early, but we are progressive parents...<br /><br />In other news, that's right - only six weeks until the arrival. I'm glad because this whole being preggo thing is getting old. I'm fat, tired, haven't seen certain body parts in months, and am just plain tired of sucking down Tums like I used to drink Murphy's. If you want to experience pregnancy for a day I suggest strapping a 30 pound medicine ball to your belly, eating something that brings on killer acid reflux, ingesting as much salt as possible so as to have cankles so huge you can leave a finger indentation in them (Q's favorite party trick), then trying to sleep that way. Be sure to have to wake up every two hours to pee or roll that lump over to the other side because your hips hurt. For added effect, turn off your AC or turn your heater up to 98 degrees - the temperature that it always feels like no matter where you are.<br /><br />Not that I'm complaining...I'm actually very excited to meet Lentil and have a little discussion about the appropriateness of sticking one's feet in another person's ribs or punching them in the bladder.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-20531010015822237812007-08-23T18:21:00.001-07:002007-08-23T18:36:42.244-07:00Farewell to Midge<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGv9im2HcPjzYuIC8BeUAhL4za0ZOMJzWmvzBkSHnxHaEaVsXRjv2FH9j5B-YQWwdyM2K_roTOFe5yEpAKfO_C7T2LDAKU3nW0lTDAgq4ePgMhxUCEHxEc_d70B6f405mX_5FOw/s1600-h/midge2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGv9im2HcPjzYuIC8BeUAhL4za0ZOMJzWmvzBkSHnxHaEaVsXRjv2FH9j5B-YQWwdyM2K_roTOFe5yEpAKfO_C7T2LDAKU3nW0lTDAgq4ePgMhxUCEHxEc_d70B6f405mX_5FOw/s400/midge2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102071191368404802" border="0" /></a>Just spent the last hour placing ads to sell my beloved Midge - the 1976 Mercedes 450SL I bought myself when I passed the bar exam. This car, especially when topless and accompanied by a non-pregnant me in a matching Dodgers hat turned a few heads in the greater Ventura and Santa Barbara area in its day. I almost sold it when I moved, knowing the mountain roads and unpredictable weather would be the death of her, but couldn't bring myself to do it. Since the move I've driven it a few times and, surprisingly, didn't even need it to snare Q (although he secretly wants to keep her for "date night").<br /><br />Now, with thoughts of car seats, small person bodily functions, and graham cracker crumbs crushed on leather seats, I've accepted that it's time for Midge to make someone else cool for a while. Besides, I can get a god chunk of change out of her (still less than 92,000 original miles) and know she'll be cared for while I tool around town in my cousin's old Honda Civic.<br /><br />Yep, that's the replacement, family-friendly car I'm getting. It's practical (4 doors - I've never had one of those!), will run forever, gets good mileage, and, best of all, won't have a car payment. Q and I will reassess the vehicle issue in a few years once we figure out how this whole parenting thing works. And we made a deal that we each get a car, any car that we want, no questions or comments allowed by the other party, in 18 years when the Lentil Bean leaves for college or runs away or does whatever unimaginable teenage thing he or she will inevitably do as payback for my own misspent youth.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-36721542748967534752007-08-14T11:15:00.000-07:002007-08-14T12:11:31.005-07:00Still SmilingLentil Bean, that is. Went to the doctor last week because as I had a couple of days in a row wherein I had the distinct pleasure of not only being unable to sleep, fat and cankled to the max, but also leaking fluid while walking around such places as Home Depot and Albertsons. It's lovely to wet yourself in public. This caused my first meltdown of the pregnancy, which I think is pretty good at seven months. And don't think Lentil won't pay for this down the road sometime.<br /><br />Anyhow, the doctor did all her poking and prodding and everything is fine. The cool thing was that because I'm so old and the leaking of certain things is a bad thing, they sent me for another ultrasound.<br /><br />The technician remembered me as half of "the fun couple with the smirking baby" and once she assured me all was well in utero she said she wanted to look at the baby's face again to see if it was still smiling because she never sees that in the womb. Mind you this meant switching over to the $400 per minute 4D imaging machine but she said she wouldn't bill us for it. Way cool to have a lab tech who not only remembers you but is willing to use the expensive equipment because she thinks your baby is cute. I told her I hope the kid isn't too cute because I want it to be nerdy and join band or Academic Decathlon or something. I guess not many folks in Bakersfield have such aspirations for their progeny. Go figure.<br /><br />Anyhow, Lentil has grown considerably since the last look, and now he/she has some serious cupids bow-pouty lips:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qvtdjve9J1PcXHDttK2-RKxSY3ROKGZw4zN2xy_P10FA88WrHH8h8MWDtpXJK52zOcQvTTI0SvsC08vqbyA666GqG4MMS0Ui1t4oY4Oxw81SH4O0Id5zGEm-rCzJuUsBzQUpCQ/s1600-h/lips.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qvtdjve9J1PcXHDttK2-RKxSY3ROKGZw4zN2xy_P10FA88WrHH8h8MWDtpXJK52zOcQvTTI0SvsC08vqbyA666GqG4MMS0Ui1t4oY4Oxw81SH4O0Id5zGEm-rCzJuUsBzQUpCQ/s400/lips.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098622241802134738" border="0" /></a>Of course, Lentil was frowning a bit at first. The technician commented on it and said she didn't expect to see another smile as she'd never seen the same baby smile twice in the womb. Overachiever that Lentil is destined to become, he/she immediately smiled for us:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zF3cXIvCkb9Dfru-F9ttFiJ0PvZuDshzi98kO8wShwm4ywL1dVqk19IBX1yL9gqPedSOKXwBKo41InwKEoZRp6M9zttYWOnSBO4bkX4aRQkoExbYOEFOMDyvvqh_rG3_S4-HjQ/s1600-h/lentil+7+mo.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zF3cXIvCkb9Dfru-F9ttFiJ0PvZuDshzi98kO8wShwm4ywL1dVqk19IBX1yL9gqPedSOKXwBKo41InwKEoZRp6M9zttYWOnSBO4bkX4aRQkoExbYOEFOMDyvvqh_rG3_S4-HjQ/s400/lentil+7+mo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098622237507167426" border="0" /></a>I just hope it's an indication of things to come for little Lentil.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-53738029285391357632007-08-06T14:13:00.000-07:002007-08-06T14:35:28.818-07:00Lentil's First Dodger Game/Fun Things to Do when you're preggo #4<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCKeXs_0oIWew36dWEyb-O8Y2NyFOn5rpmqoPJfFdGSLRC72ILusgh0Ry80xI-P07YZivwPahbDeUJDZMrNpQTGEkxdAsY-x5SM2QLCE0VfoZ3LVmdcIQeQcxPvNFSGUqo1vWgyw/s1600-h/dodger.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCKeXs_0oIWew36dWEyb-O8Y2NyFOn5rpmqoPJfFdGSLRC72ILusgh0Ry80xI-P07YZivwPahbDeUJDZMrNpQTGEkxdAsY-x5SM2QLCE0VfoZ3LVmdcIQeQcxPvNFSGUqo1vWgyw/s400/dodger.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095698923851719778" border="0" /></a>Headed down to Chavez Ravine to introduce Lentil to the sounds of America's game on Sunday and learned that it's not just fat men in Pittsburgh that can utilize their gargantuan bellies to show their team spirit, we preggos can do it too:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3Es3YstnrJGThNsspyne3u9s8C5R9wSh1byshZG-Ev5-ZkBADFzX2jPqviUZaoeE4bGt_kq_2osVi728fAsdggzf7DOEIALKBTXTir9W5wO85JNmvIT2I9B9kfXx9C6oohL5KQ/s1600-h/lentildodger.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3Es3YstnrJGThNsspyne3u9s8C5R9wSh1byshZG-Ev5-ZkBADFzX2jPqviUZaoeE4bGt_kq_2osVi728fAsdggzf7DOEIALKBTXTir9W5wO85JNmvIT2I9B9kfXx9C6oohL5KQ/s400/lentildodger.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095698928146687090" border="0" /></a>Nothing says "GO BLUE!!!" quite like a big white belly emblazoned with the letters LA. It also leads to many comments about what great parents we will be and how we are already raising our child right. A special thanks to <a href="http://melonball.blogspot.com/">Melon</a> who finally got to put that art degree to work on the canvas that is my belly. I'm sure the Art Institute is proud and will be featuring this in their alumni update.<br /><br />One thing I did learn at the game is that $6 Dodger Dogs are only palatable after drinking at least three $11 beers. If you just have one with a Coke, they are awful so I would recommend foregoing the infamous dog unless sufficiently inebriated with watered down beer.<br /><br />Of course, seeing as how this was Lentil's first Dodger game, we had to get him/her a souvenir t-shirt. And seeing as how I'm twisted and feeling maternal but couldn't find my old Cabbage Patch Kid, I decided to have my dog, Riley, model it for you. Good thing she's a perfect size 6-9 months:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZof0y2pmGx-wKYKyWmAlM4_0iQQuRYzUT7za7QLIgZpahmFtGLJ75N8yomWVu9PpOfyHiJAOod6Ro5UL-1-cBKB8wISuhU6OtgN6DXa58cnvLQy7WDc6XKngPpdItdiLroFxUCA/s1600-h/riley+dodger.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZof0y2pmGx-wKYKyWmAlM4_0iQQuRYzUT7za7QLIgZpahmFtGLJ75N8yomWVu9PpOfyHiJAOod6Ro5UL-1-cBKB8wISuhU6OtgN6DXa58cnvLQy7WDc6XKngPpdItdiLroFxUCA/s400/riley+dodger.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095698928146687106" border="0" /></a>Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-77693273987196210342007-07-31T12:15:00.001-07:002007-07-31T12:48:54.849-07:00A baby shower, hasher styleHeaded down to Santa Barbara this weekend for my first baby shower as hosted by good friend SC. Here's a pic of SC and me.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXUjJGIK3jCdbsVJBrayAZ2-ry26g9OOidfOqOhKPAMe-Ph1SywTxnCubGbulVVo6nAwdPwwPC6Xf2c_A52-w0E3eu4LYB5uLuXKRSq_gx_WA0jOW7efTrLh5uyXHTy7G0p967Q/s1600-h/sc+and+wl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYXUjJGIK3jCdbsVJBrayAZ2-ry26g9OOidfOqOhKPAMe-Ph1SywTxnCubGbulVVo6nAwdPwwPC6Xf2c_A52-w0E3eu4LYB5uLuXKRSq_gx_WA0jOW7efTrLh5uyXHTy7G0p967Q/s400/sc+and+wl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093444285064651826" border="0" /></a>She's happy because she finally has a flatter stomach than me and has had about 14 shots of tequila at this point. I'm happy because I knew she'd feel miserable in the morning.<br /><br />The baby shower was great. We scored lots of great loot for Lentil Bean - from clothes to books to a playpen to toys. Awesome and thanks to all who attended. Those who attended also scored in the form of numerous of pomegranate martinis, high end margaritas and beers. They say you should get your child accustomed to the sounds it will hear in its first months out of the womb and it's safe to say Lentil will definitely be used to the sounds of drunken revelry. It should prepare Lentil for a future that involves uncles who feel comfortable cross-dressing. Yes, this man was at the shower and provided a lovely outfit (gender neutral) and some baby toiletries for young Lentil:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEOwhwUwQMx4DM382PN4mKZyMjWdgK3CTJ7_fTKexiF9EKxP-4nFjKxpctZ0XYItHrhWLITrwdDjDk9Suyv_y_BtDc_wjCThdV7p5dc7l23v7sVVQIIANiqp1pw4IyxS04VA29Q/s1600-h/happy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEOwhwUwQMx4DM382PN4mKZyMjWdgK3CTJ7_fTKexiF9EKxP-4nFjKxpctZ0XYItHrhWLITrwdDjDk9Suyv_y_BtDc_wjCThdV7p5dc7l23v7sVVQIIANiqp1pw4IyxS04VA29Q/s400/happy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093442279314924562" border="0" /></a>Of course, he wasn't dressed like that at the shower. He was playing a part at the hash run we went to after the shower. No, I didn't run, I walked - as did most of the shower attendees. Well, they more likely stumbled but it was fun nonetheless.<br /><br /> Of course, with my cankles and gigantic feet I had to get some new shoes the day before the run. For those of you that don't know what happens when you wear new shoes to a hash event, it means you are ostracized and then forced to drink beer out of those new shoes. Seeing as how I couldn't drink beer and SC felt compelled to tell on me for wearing new shoes (thinking Q would have to drink for me but forgot shoes come in pairs), she and Q earned the privilege of each drinking from one of my shoes. Thanks guys!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWmIGcDvkCVql6u5qGu2X3bZK1uO2PAgfmWAdS6qHvk_qaWXhksOKWYrLwil3ROYYclHPqIjxMY5PE7hzpMxGhWO_0mO937k_Zrt7FQoUZkK4HoJLmZK098FcWCOc7cjJMg4ZNQ/s1600-h/new+shoes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWmIGcDvkCVql6u5qGu2X3bZK1uO2PAgfmWAdS6qHvk_qaWXhksOKWYrLwil3ROYYclHPqIjxMY5PE7hzpMxGhWO_0mO937k_Zrt7FQoUZkK4HoJLmZK098FcWCOc7cjJMg4ZNQ/s400/new+shoes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093444285064651842" border="0" /></a>Speaking of Q, here he is proudly pointing to his handy work. I look tired because I just lugged an extra 30 pounds up a hill with me in the heat and could only drink water at the top.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4hQBmHG_yDZh4T-Vzu7XGTMSO_5sL_tvf45zBgc4yVxauMceoaXXkZxYH1NTscX-FXVV4QdARKWqk8bKBMJYFS9dpC7TAmu5cVYGevlXZeZIgT7dd9t1Lx7ivEX1fmAq46ktbg/s1600-h/wl+and+uni.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4hQBmHG_yDZh4T-Vzu7XGTMSO_5sL_tvf45zBgc4yVxauMceoaXXkZxYH1NTscX-FXVV4QdARKWqk8bKBMJYFS9dpC7TAmu5cVYGevlXZeZIgT7dd9t1Lx7ivEX1fmAq46ktbg/s400/wl+and+uni.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093444289359619154" border="0" /></a>And per your many requests, here's a nice profile of me and Lentil at seven months of sharing the same body. Yep, it's quite obvious I'm pregnant these days.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnxJWOB3Ftb-hL15hb_drPHIAn9qf3bpoWdigdnl-X84zLGQI8MroK9KquS3evM7kfbsnXwPmO7MQX95z7QZ2Yy9kU5e6CHuIaV9CIifuohaL3dQ54GI_HtQ7WWH3Yf8Hd1GLPw/s1600-h/preggo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnxJWOB3Ftb-hL15hb_drPHIAn9qf3bpoWdigdnl-X84zLGQI8MroK9KquS3evM7kfbsnXwPmO7MQX95z7QZ2Yy9kU5e6CHuIaV9CIifuohaL3dQ54GI_HtQ7WWH3Yf8Hd1GLPw/s400/preggo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093442283609891874" border="0" /></a>Not sure where Lentil thinks he or she will be finding more real estate between now and October.<br /><br />And yes, I'll post more pictures now that the real fun has begun in the form of weekly expansion. Other than being somewhat uncomfortable and bulky, I feel fine and Lentil is destined to be a cage fighter based on how often I am kicked and punched.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-21510122656081841432007-07-19T17:02:00.001-07:002007-07-19T17:11:29.706-07:00Fun things to do when you're pregnant #3Go to a beach in a bikini. This works particularly well if you are extremely pale, that way others can bask in the reflection off your belly once they regain their sight. One tip, though: have your significant other dig a hole in the mid-towel range so you can lie on your belly. You can roll over when unsuspecting people walk by and scare them. This is even more fun if there are preteen boys around to scar for life.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-86199021737295363902007-07-11T09:20:00.001-07:002007-07-11T09:38:19.158-07:00Fun things to do when you're pregnant #2I'm learning that now that I look pregnant people look at me differently. Lots of folks ask if it's a boy or girl, when due, etc., so at least now I look pregnant rather than just like I was putting on the pounds.<br /><br />So yesterday Q called me at work and asked me to pick up some beer on the way home. I didn't think twice and waddled on into the local grocery store, grabbed a 12 pack of Sam Adams, then grabbed a pack of marked down 4th of July cupcakes and headed to the express check out. I didn't consider how this looked until the checker asked if I was planning a wild night while glaring at me and my belly. The only thing that would have made the moment more entertaining is if I'd have asked for a pack of Marlboro's to go with it. And yes, I was wearing flip flops and a tank top to add to the look.<br /><br />Next time I'll have to get some hard liquor too.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-2280371207472765772007-07-10T13:45:00.001-07:002007-07-10T14:00:36.096-07:00Lentil's First SmirkI know, I know...It's been a while. What can I say? I've been busy getting to know my husband (who just returned from 9 weeks in Europe) and growing a baby. It's a difficult transition for a confirmed bachelorette. Think about it, not only am I married, I'm getting fat and I can't drink!!! That's like a triple dose of life. Note to readers: Only try this at home if you have a sense of humor and are willing to waddle on cankles for months.<br /><br />We had our ultrasound last week. Technology is crazy. They now have 4 dimensional imaging that allows you to see everything - even the four chambers of the heart (which Lentil has despite certain transgressions by her mother in Berlin). Everything is fine and Lentil is either bigger than usual for six months or I'm a week ahead of the game. I'm hoping for the latter because I'm scared to death of popping out a baby.<br /><br />Anyhow, here's a typical ultrasound shot of Lentil in profile:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01NKSdTPrs0ilH9iG-6qsLwtNvRVQZQgu1k5MHcLstEqGoKY_11M6K-GwhwwD2YqfxCV884XE6ezFodNzcvsmuYhxNlkCv9mJLLTd8e4_jkjLcUG73STEubo06jjAMnRkejzF-Q/s1600-h/P1010020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh01NKSdTPrs0ilH9iG-6qsLwtNvRVQZQgu1k5MHcLstEqGoKY_11M6K-GwhwwD2YqfxCV884XE6ezFodNzcvsmuYhxNlkCv9mJLLTd8e4_jkjLcUG73STEubo06jjAMnRkejzF-Q/s400/P1010020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085672346742351874" border="0" /></a>My mom thinks he/she looks like Bob Hope with that big forehead (from my side of the family) and ski slope nose (from ??? side of the family).<br /><br />And here's the money shot. We were looking at Lentil's little face (at 1.5 pounds total it couldn't be that big - that's how amazing the technology is) and her/his mouth was a straight line, then, like she knew we were watching, she smirked:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCu2Kn0xJRbS309sB6m31BbR-tgmg9DiQjygtYTciXFVSpabxhGGggIZ2gIQihzXY4ocVihMRf7Sd6VQ9PIduk_y3sSMpo-sflFc8wJibXHZ5zLwKqAt-P4CX2Og5-Pc1oEsuKg/s1600-h/lentil+6+mo.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCu2Kn0xJRbS309sB6m31BbR-tgmg9DiQjygtYTciXFVSpabxhGGggIZ2gIQihzXY4ocVihMRf7Sd6VQ9PIduk_y3sSMpo-sflFc8wJibXHZ5zLwKqAt-P4CX2Og5-Pc1oEsuKg/s400/lentil+6+mo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085672338152417266" border="0" /></a>See the upturned corners of the mouth? I must say she's pretty cute and now I can't get that little face out of my head. I say she because I hope for a girl. Face it, they just have cuter stuff. But just so you all know - we are one of the 7% of couples who decided not to find out what the baby is (the ultrasound tech was astonished we looked away and didn't crack). We figure this whole thing has been a surprise so why not let Lentil shock us one more of what will no doubt be many times. Besides, this way Q gets to rush out of the delivery room and proudly announce, "It's a .....!!!"Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-66941202547449610362007-06-03T17:16:00.001-07:002007-06-03T18:44:14.986-07:00Lentil's First Sex ShowAfter a couple fo days in exciting Rheine I hopped on a train and headed down to Kaiserslautern to see my old friend A and her family. I've know A since the 11th grade and she joined the Air Force a year after I joined the Navy. She stayed in and has been stationed in Germany for about four years. I hadn't seen her in about three so it was pretty fun hanging out and seeing her and her four kids for a couple of days. I sure wish I'd visited before I got knocked up, though. Visiting a house with four kids ages 8 months to 14 years is the best birth control in the world!!!<br /><br />After a couple of days hanging out in Kaiserslautern we ditched the kids and A and her husband and I drove up to Amsterdam to meet Q for Memorial Day weekend. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8diKq62SuUEueyPwzIrTl9JZZbMQIL8QcwSoN4xSdOU8J2EhX9gSAcGeCbTd6G1jKZdA_J4xQyaFLFikDa7WyJskUBSHFQuYgA7lf1-4UdAkPioGHW4HBPOaxXFsccp5W1U3e7g/s1600-h/amsterdam.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8diKq62SuUEueyPwzIrTl9JZZbMQIL8QcwSoN4xSdOU8J2EhX9gSAcGeCbTd6G1jKZdA_J4xQyaFLFikDa7WyJskUBSHFQuYgA7lf1-4UdAkPioGHW4HBPOaxXFsccp5W1U3e7g/s400/amsterdam.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071996734566353410" border="0" /></a>If you've never been to Amsterdam, you should go. It's a great city to walk around, hang out with a beer or coffee at a sidewalk cafe, and just watch people. There is also a lot of culture there - the Van Gogh Museum and Rijksmuseum and all sorts of stuff to make you think if that's what you're into.<br /><br />Of course, we weren't into thinking so we met up with Q (who was working on worsening his gout), grabbed dinner and headed for the famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red-light_district">Red Light District</a>. Here's a picture of Lentil on her first trip to the district, isn't it cute?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha58QpMA9vZ0dMruFCshPHQzrYuTkHspBLIUyHm8YvmDAE_v1f3TGewxe0hH-2VK5lBcbrYm6yC4EhaNHh24BQENMOqZu34QzjsAog7eoO5uZ2JtxP7-HLJl7fExJLwtPdpdyusA/s1600-h/lentilinredlight.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha58QpMA9vZ0dMruFCshPHQzrYuTkHspBLIUyHm8YvmDAE_v1f3TGewxe0hH-2VK5lBcbrYm6yC4EhaNHh24BQENMOqZu34QzjsAog7eoO5uZ2JtxP7-HLJl7fExJLwtPdpdyusA/s400/lentilinredlight.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071996734566353426" border="0" /></a>With daylight fading and all of my traveling companions sufficiently lubricated, we perused the streets of the red light district in search of a live sex show. You don't have to look far as there are salesmen outside every show trying to get you to come in to see the show. My favorite guy had an auctioneer-like quality about him when he rattled off the contents of his show in under 3 seconds: "F******, sucking, smoking, blowjobs, banana, 25 euros, 2 euro beers." Seriously, say it 10 times fast out loud in a nasaly voice with a Dutch accent and you'll get the picture. A found the guy less than charming so we moved on until Q recognized the glowing pink elephant that signifies the most popular live sex show in the red light district. Of course, there was a line outside and it was 15 Euros more than the auctioneer's place but we went in anyhow. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY31FvfjGI_LO9HKUUkYlvK7Qk-8J7o3JY6xpw62JBOPO8YkDLRmsfIjs_ZKlr_PoA1yrdYzylfywhMuTYb3dolwbcrSLHBaiK9TiGu31Em47mGL6FLWvh9D5RCTrZKYJgvD4KQQ/s1600-h/175313-the-pink-elephant-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY31FvfjGI_LO9HKUUkYlvK7Qk-8J7o3JY6xpw62JBOPO8YkDLRmsfIjs_ZKlr_PoA1yrdYzylfywhMuTYb3dolwbcrSLHBaiK9TiGu31Em47mGL6FLWvh9D5RCTrZKYJgvD4KQQ/s400/175313-the-pink-elephant-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072002150520113778" border="0" /></a> After about a 20 minute wait we got in to the show. A wanted to sit in the very front row. If you know A, you know there's no point arguing with her when she's sober, let alone drunk. So I headed to the front row with my three drunk companions. The front row was so close that our knees were literally up against the stage.<br /><br />There's a reason no one sits in the front row at a sex show: It's gross in the TMI, holy-cow-I-didn't-know-they-came-like-that kind of way. Everything is happening just a foot or two in front of you, right at eye level, and you can practically smell the latex. And let me tell you, the beautiful people of the world are for some reason not drawn to live sex performances as a career. Their parachute color is not red...<br /><br />In case you don't know what goes on in a sex show, there are several "acts" wherein the performers do various things from smoking cigars to chopping bananas to shooting ping pong balls and making change with their body parts, in addition to more conventional heterosexual sex with men with enormous genitalia that will make all audience members seem inadequate, a smattering of oral sex, and an occassion lesbian encounter. Literally something for everyone. Each act lasts about the length of one song and involves some dancing or attempt at role play to give it some substance. After all, we all want our live sex to be meaningful, don't we?<br /><br />We eventually gained entrance and walked in on the first act which was basically a stoic-looking woman playing with a light-up dildo. Nothing too special so I spent much of my time just watching the bed spin on stage and noting the shoddy appearance of things, contemplating what diseases I might be contracting but then deciding the cigarette smoke had no doubt asphexiated any living organism in the place. You have to remember that I was completely sober, it was late, and Lentil was present. Not exactly how you want to be when some one is playing with a glow stick a few feet in front of you.<br /><br />After the first act Q and I were discussing moving back a row or two when, I'm not kidding here, the Batman theme song started playing. In case you don't remember, there has been a Batman theme in my life for sometime. Click <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2006/11/disorder-in-court.html">here</a>, <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2005/06/to-batmobile.html#">here</a>, <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2005/07/paging-robin.html#">here</a>, and <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2004/07/catwoman.html#">here</a> for a refresher on past references to Batman on this blog.<br /><br />So the Batman theme starts playing, the original TV one, and a large black man in a mask, cape, buttless chaps, and what appeared to be a faded Batman logo half-shirt came prancing across the stage in search of the woman who was presumably his catwoman for the night. Q and I looked at eachother and just laughed. What are the odds we would pick a sex show in Amsterdam featuring Dutch Black Porno Batman (DBPB)? I wish I could have taken my camera in. Even better was the fact that DBPB has his arse pointed directly at our friend B, who's face was approximately two feet away from said cheeks whilst DBPB received fellatio from a Catwoman that spent much of the act yawning and rolling her eyes waiting for her shift to end. I was quite impressed when Catwoman laid on the rotating bed giving DBPB a BJ while he sidestepped around with the bed. They must have worked on that one a while.<br /><br />Soon after DBPB we saw a woman smoke a cigar with her hoo ha while laying back on the spinning bed in the middle of the stage. She blew rings and everything but looked incredibly bored with the whole thing. I wondered what her OBGYN might think when he discovers she's got nicotine-related cancer cells in her cervix?<br /><br />Q and I eventually moved back a ways. A and B sat gape-mouthed, apparantly enjoying the show. To me it was boring, mechanical, and not the least bit enjoyable. One act had two people having sex and changing positions to the beat of the music. It was like dancercize mixed with sex and if you listened you knew they at least had rhythm. Later some girl came out with a guy in a monkey suit but didn't even do the banana trick. What a rip off!<br /><br />Q and I had seen enough and headed back to the hotel. It was about 2 am. A and B didn't get back until about 4 am and later reported enjoying the show very much. Different strokes...<br /><br />Note to readers: Do not sit in the front row of a live sex show stone cold sober while pregnant. It might make you question your abilities as a parent.<br /><br />The next couple of days we all slept in then Q and I hit the Van Gogh Museum (all the good stuff is out on loan to other museums!) and the Rijksmuseum (under construction with only 10% of exhibits open), and just walked around the city. If you go, be sure to hit the Leidesplein and Centraal Plaza where there are always street performers and vendors of things unique to Amsterdam. For example, this is a lady who sold us some "original" watercolors for Lentil's bedroom. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigoz09PyiiPkeFlFWU4j-Omaoj5F7-5f6gKYMlh5wGvDKebYd4bTHS7V_8gh-jq3a_T6871a363cp0BULlmwPUn6pPiAdnExzsLkId3dhjXQUQnRfMXxezFnJuZ7WOeqoz2dLlNg/s1600-h/copyright+violation.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigoz09PyiiPkeFlFWU4j-Omaoj5F7-5f6gKYMlh5wGvDKebYd4bTHS7V_8gh-jq3a_T6871a363cp0BULlmwPUn6pPiAdnExzsLkId3dhjXQUQnRfMXxezFnJuZ7WOeqoz2dLlNg/s400/copyright+violation.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071996743156288050" border="0" /></a>She was kind enough to tell us what she was thinking when she sold us them, and even signed and dated them for free. We were quite happy with our original work of Amsterdam street art until we saw the same painting with another vendor the next day. Watch out for her, she is a sweet talker and hangs out at Leidesplein on weekends...<br /><br />We also hit Centraal Plaza, saw some Dutch breakdancers who were quite good, watched a guy juggle fire while riding a unicycle, and then I noticed this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6FDnBY6f7iCM06nb7IdlOAO2zl-F5-jf34lTYI8xLR9yHK-0gBJWbMJl5ewp4E-mHXjBM6UEsR4SiqBiHDyOsurDwWQ8D9ktY3rE212HOfIqYE_FbN380pPjG-0FQSKT-CKujg/s1600-h/markincentralplaza.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6FDnBY6f7iCM06nb7IdlOAO2zl-F5-jf34lTYI8xLR9yHK-0gBJWbMJl5ewp4E-mHXjBM6UEsR4SiqBiHDyOsurDwWQ8D9ktY3rE212HOfIqYE_FbN380pPjG-0FQSKT-CKujg/s400/markincentralplaza.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071997035214064194" border="0" /></a>Yep, that's a guy dressed as The Mask in the middle of the center of Amsterdam. No, I didn't ask why. I just thought it was strange.<br /><br />Oh, and if you're looking for a great hotel with an awesome location in Amsterdam, try the NH Schiller on Rembrandplein. It's on a busy square right across from the famous statues of Rembrandt's The Night Watch. Any hotel on the square would probably be cool. In fact, here's our motley crew with The Night Watch one day:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCffN9KZwx5vGqvDQIkGmawcBXhLr7SmwyJyEQCfl_eu6E2AP0FcnXAI7xbYnET49ZlYXBLss6bHZAOPGf4w85r6LiyE5f443WmwC5tw5OHl-2oC48i4vUGhknnltmlTEm8gq_Q/s1600-h/nightwatch.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCffN9KZwx5vGqvDQIkGmawcBXhLr7SmwyJyEQCfl_eu6E2AP0FcnXAI7xbYnET49ZlYXBLss6bHZAOPGf4w85r6LiyE5f443WmwC5tw5OHl-2oC48i4vUGhknnltmlTEm8gq_Q/s400/nightwatch.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071996738861320738" border="0" /></a>I'm the short one whose pants barely fit. You know why? Because I was in denial that I am pregnant until I woke up one morning in Amsterdam and my belly had finally "popped":<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-kpZa8AVopdgdnlyOpTom3nopAcOSXqTvEE1PHSXCxJTOx10_ue3XIViAG7oR7NvMt1hrD20Erd0yklwW1SgCxmcmhT9EeQIvIWRKqPa-40nSwsAFyW444l1WacUu_8IGaKlOg/s1600-h/18+weeks.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-kpZa8AVopdgdnlyOpTom3nopAcOSXqTvEE1PHSXCxJTOx10_ue3XIViAG7oR7NvMt1hrD20Erd0yklwW1SgCxmcmhT9EeQIvIWRKqPa-40nSwsAFyW444l1WacUu_8IGaKlOg/s400/18+weeks.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071997039509031522" border="0" /></a>Seriously, I felt my ligaments stretching all day while Q and I went museum-hopping and I woke up the next morning looking pregnant. No more denial for me now...<br /><br />On that note, I flew home the next day and found not only was my belly huge, I had developed cankles. I blame Q, Lentil and Batman.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-46043417870172070262007-06-01T15:31:00.001-07:002007-06-03T17:15:55.381-07:00Lentil's First Nightclub<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWrdCjUhz3p10OTJwmSlDvDDUU_Lq-9320tQ5SkTGdZLYPnFft69BRqTXrAUo7kjTjdLkkrh17j4-nZ7CKs_ouQVsc_32VyryK9ZilM3hiCluFzhUUVquxhxgylBT5kACfjDybg/s1600-h/building.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWrdCjUhz3p10OTJwmSlDvDDUU_Lq-9320tQ5SkTGdZLYPnFft69BRqTXrAUo7kjTjdLkkrh17j4-nZ7CKs_ouQVsc_32VyryK9ZilM3hiCluFzhUUVquxhxgylBT5kACfjDybg/s400/building.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071227892470696306" border="0" /></a>You know me, I like to do it right. I expect nothing less of my unborn child, Lentil Bean. This includes enjoying the nightlife and experiencing life to the fullest - even if it starts at just 16 weeks after conception.<br /><br />That said I took Lentil to her (I'm thinking it's a girl) first nightclub while we were in Berlin. She really had no choice in the matter and is probably deaf as a result. During our ever-romantic honeymoon we somehow ended up being invited to a worldwide battle of the bands called <a href="http://www.emergenza.net/eng/default.asp">Emergenza</a> in a smallish, dank club on a sidestreet in Berlin called <a href="http://www.so36.de/">SO36</a>.<br /><br />We met up with Q's co-worker, L, and his two young female friends at a bar near the club for a beer before heading in and learned that one of the girls' cousins was in a band that was competing. Our job was to boo at all the other bands and raise our hands for her cousin's band, <a href="http://www.orange-distortion.de/">Orange Distortion</a> so that they might win and move on to the next round of Emergenza. Here is a link to <a href="http://www.myspace.com/orangedistortion">Orange Distortion's MySpace site</a>, complete with sample songs.<br /><br />The club was extremely dark and smoky and filled up quickly with lots of young Berliners. We watched a few bands, two of which sucked really bad doing something like punk-rap, and one of which I really liked that did a modified cover version of Stray Cat Strut in German. I sort of speak German so it was really interesting to listen when the songs were not mere screaming into a microphone.<br /><br />While at the club I decided to treat myself (and Lentil) to a <a href="http://www.koestritzer.de/en/marken/koestritzer-schwarzbier.html">schwarzbier</a> (black beer). One beer turned into two and then maybe a third. In my own defense we were there for hours and it sucks to be pregnant in a smoke-filled punk bar listening to young Germans rap to the beat of Metallica. So, if Lentil ever has any physical or behavioral problems Q and I intend to blame it on Berlin. And really, if you can't blame the Germans, who can you blame? :) And at least the first time we catch Lentil drinking we can tell her she really got drunk for the first time in a night club in Berlin during a punk/rap/crap music competition. How cool will that be?<br /><br />After our wild night in Berlin I was feeling a bit jetlagged and Q was suffering from a beer-induced episode of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gout">gout</a> in his big toe so we decided to head back to Rheine and relax for a day. Seriously, you can get gout by drinking too much beer. It isn't pretty and is apparantly quite painful. But it's funny when you get it from too much dark beer...<br /><br />Seeing as how I'd been traveling for four days straight and Q had the gout, I figured we'd stay in bed all day but Q was restless and made me go to Bad Bentheim (aka Badmitton) for even more sightseeing and schnitzel. Actually, it's a nice town with a castle and that quaint German feel to it. Although I wouldn't recommend the curry wurst. Yech.<br /><br />Here's a picture of Badmitton castle:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio-RidxHMTZQLfVg4qjwWYQi2mkfobJl1POIf9v584fWU9xPp4bYC8yQytjAeGNokVd6_saFpIcL2TdBqxufqjCrqT4p-l1mBAWjywwJ-Q2iKgU7DkPHPavq-1hxYhNFCitHY9Cw/s1600-h/badmitton+castle.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio-RidxHMTZQLfVg4qjwWYQi2mkfobJl1POIf9v584fWU9xPp4bYC8yQytjAeGNokVd6_saFpIcL2TdBqxufqjCrqT4p-l1mBAWjywwJ-Q2iKgU7DkPHPavq-1hxYhNFCitHY9Cw/s400/badmitton+castle.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071992237735594434" border="0" /></a>Especially impressive were the gardens below the castle:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvOQY4MdQSfmP-UBj9GXkT2lE2_3N2yzOXulKe7o00iYsNM3CZT8p_YRwtpu-7ulWfbmVWmADPHzPxAqJbGf_gCJWxmj3xtDJsckStorJipv9nMrX1yGh3hnscfifCWky0dxDWw/s1600-h/badb+garden.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvOQY4MdQSfmP-UBj9GXkT2lE2_3N2yzOXulKe7o00iYsNM3CZT8p_YRwtpu-7ulWfbmVWmADPHzPxAqJbGf_gCJWxmj3xtDJsckStorJipv9nMrX1yGh3hnscfifCWky0dxDWw/s400/badb+garden.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071992237735594450" border="0" /></a>Perhaps even more cool than that was that we were in Badmitton just in time for the regional go kart races:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXGwh7xEc0-kqZHh6h3xM_636THLCF2OoHYba8ifk9sdZB48pTeUrURjL0jdSjLXmhJlWkxSLUpbtwSMo7xKbCx7dXhB6hk3JQO67SmLY1taAL6ETIlCQoRBTUB4ScQfSEVekhQ/s1600-h/go+kart.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXGwh7xEc0-kqZHh6h3xM_636THLCF2OoHYba8ifk9sdZB48pTeUrURjL0jdSjLXmhJlWkxSLUpbtwSMo7xKbCx7dXhB6hk3JQO67SmLY1taAL6ETIlCQoRBTUB4ScQfSEVekhQ/s400/go+kart.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5071993070959249890" border="0" /></a>Remember go karts? Think back to a time before personal injury lawyers...I remember strapping plywood and refrigerator boxes to a couple of three inch wide plastic skateboards (the kind with see-through wheels) and barreling down the streets of Fillmore as a kid. No helmet, no shoes, no sense...Those were the days. Of course you can see that the German kids have much better engineered go karts than us scrappy Americans...Typical.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-68022805150163027692007-05-31T17:12:00.001-07:002007-05-31T18:11:27.723-07:00Honeymoon in East Berlin, day oneI don't know about you, but for me nothing says romance quite like a weekend in the former bastion of all things grey and communist. I think this piece of the Berlin Wall appropriately sums up the mere thought of spending one's honeymoon in Berlin:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PznkrfE7O_HQz_LmW-3hqEjxkdmdUhsTQQzr7V86T1RGCpTGvHOJBy6AtTl4plA9J6JprtfWsyqWz8cHoxWdgyfKhqCFTGfdsvbPirnI8FlqKuV7NErwhg1wk4nsHhvcQXaWPg/s1600-h/Berlin+Wall.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PznkrfE7O_HQz_LmW-3hqEjxkdmdUhsTQQzr7V86T1RGCpTGvHOJBy6AtTl4plA9J6JprtfWsyqWz8cHoxWdgyfKhqCFTGfdsvbPirnI8FlqKuV7NErwhg1wk4nsHhvcQXaWPg/s400/Berlin+Wall.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070882877747808498" border="0" /></a>A few weeks after we got married, Q fled the homestead for a two-0month work assignment in Rheine, Germany. I went to visit a couple of weeks ago. We were going to go to Prague for a long weekend, but that would entail too many train rides so we opted for Berlin instead. Note to readers considering a romantic getaway: Berlin should not be on your list.<br /><br />Q had booked us a room at the <a href="http://www.parkplaza.com/berlinde_wallstrasse">Wall Strasse Park Place</a> centrally located in former East Berlin on Wall Strasse (Wall Street). I'm sure you've all heard of the famous East Berlin Stock Exchange? Yes, they are right up there with NASDAQ.<br /><br />So the hotel took it's location quite seriously. When we checked in there was a huge mural of men in suits catching U.S. dollars as they fell from the sky. We laughed and wondered how such a place got a four star rating.<br /><br />After checking in we followed the stock ticker carpet (I am not kidding - it was grey with stock market abbreviations and numbers all down the halls) to our room where we found a lovely money theme waiting in our honeymoon suite. Check out the huge dollar bill rug. Again, nothing says happy honeymoon like walking across George Washington's face to get to the bathroom:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWb1ZH8PGDPsNbhRvZHVRfRQWOLa0uVftwQkGDctDmyFWHgsdngTYDDPt-1ZueEzMWg0u_53nxswcw7yo4F3A1wVzuhYunavWzyBQ3yVdmFzYxE6L-ZOUNJlur-GZL1WVmc2UmKQ/s1600-h/PPWallstreet_HP_2450x300.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWb1ZH8PGDPsNbhRvZHVRfRQWOLa0uVftwQkGDctDmyFWHgsdngTYDDPt-1ZueEzMWg0u_53nxswcw7yo4F3A1wVzuhYunavWzyBQ3yVdmFzYxE6L-ZOUNJlur-GZL1WVmc2UmKQ/s400/PPWallstreet_HP_2450x300.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070884819073026354" border="0" /></a>But wait, it gets better. The interior decorator really embraced the theme of money and added the lovely touch of having a quote about money written in four languages above the bed:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBISSk-xvTWaYCjxZzWOBCSmJnK2LMmsl1_PGvaI1cRifnrXaS5sdAIyIwNywvw9Z6Juevo9emkv39ZdUXnyXw4glfOfYxzKJidrr26Urfb3PYplS0amkeXSBY19jsmB0AJ80iA/s1600-h/Buy+stocks1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBISSk-xvTWaYCjxZzWOBCSmJnK2LMmsl1_PGvaI1cRifnrXaS5sdAIyIwNywvw9Z6Juevo9emkv39ZdUXnyXw4glfOfYxzKJidrr26Urfb3PYplS0amkeXSBY19jsmB0AJ80iA/s400/Buy+stocks1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070887078225824066" border="0" /></a>In case you can't read it, it says "Buy stocks and go to sleep for a long time." Now if that doesn't put you in the mood, I don't know what will...<br /><br />Enough on the accomodations, on to Berlin. We spent our first day walking around the entire city. I wanted to see <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Checkpoint_Charlie">Checkpoint Charli</a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Checkpoint_Charlie">e</a>, maybe even get a picture of myself running through or past it, right? News flash: Checkpoint Charlie has been removed. There is now a museum for it on the corner of the intersection that replaced it where you can see pictures of the Checkpoint and read about it, but that's it. It was pretty disappointing to see that the biggest crossing area had been dismantled and replaced by none other than a Starbucks (on the former west side, of course). Here's Q taking a picture of some tourists in front of the checkpoint museum while I take a picture of him taking a picture and the Starbucks in the back:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWQufcHyWXyy6JXVtZRLF126HZgDksFXTiV4vUzpynfC3wi9mnH2MTQwYLnVwB7JwOBwwg-L2gVPGtdGkyi_yZ7LnKQdjnkrx6Hd7RhSN1YohC2v34r30ENcRMmYzIy1zNNhZ7w/s1600-h/CHECKPOINTCHARLIE.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWQufcHyWXyy6JXVtZRLF126HZgDksFXTiV4vUzpynfC3wi9mnH2MTQwYLnVwB7JwOBwwg-L2gVPGtdGkyi_yZ7LnKQdjnkrx6Hd7RhSN1YohC2v34r30ENcRMmYzIy1zNNhZ7w/s400/CHECKPOINTCHARLIE.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070888160557582674" border="0" /></a>Seemed funny at the time. Next we headed up toward the famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brandenburg_Gate">Brandenburg Gate</a>, the former formal entry point into the city of Berlin:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwPhN9foXfb8BYSHC79SOex30GiL3Pz-0BOTwQ_JDXcGLsm0n_MBo2QELE_z0RK0a-Zqw1i7YfLF7ekJeFheFH4Ljs4Yz07adiNt-_qRcgKy5DzRALwFF8vjPSFhogmpN8T97rLA/s1600-h/brandenburg+gate.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwPhN9foXfb8BYSHC79SOex30GiL3Pz-0BOTwQ_JDXcGLsm0n_MBo2QELE_z0RK0a-Zqw1i7YfLF7ekJeFheFH4Ljs4Yz07adiNt-_qRcgKy5DzRALwFF8vjPSFhogmpN8T97rLA/s400/brandenburg+gate.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070882607164868834" border="0" /></a>Look closely at the picture. See that guy in the white jacket with a hat? See what looks like ears behind him? That's a guy dressed in a bear suit getting paid to take pictures with tourists in front of the gate. I guess he's supposed to be the Berlin Bear, which are sold everywhere but really just seem to be teddy bears in Berlin t-shirts.<br /><br />The chariot on top of the gate is called a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quadriga">quadriga</a>, and Berlin's is very famous. I zoomed in for a closer shot and think the horses on top look a little crazed if you ask me...Check out those nostrils and eyes!!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5QkTS4J7BtNpW7he7ey1qzF2sDTCGwa-MayaP-KiGMvIazRJkTWnZ5xC7ZyklN9_AOI4jr8nt9Xh3nE4X2DOMyprfv5xPiedunPcpDV5Znry3FH-8iQFhBji9_Po6O_ZyZnkUQ/s1600-h/brandenburg+horses.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5QkTS4J7BtNpW7he7ey1qzF2sDTCGwa-MayaP-KiGMvIazRJkTWnZ5xC7ZyklN9_AOI4jr8nt9Xh3nE4X2DOMyprfv5xPiedunPcpDV5Znry3FH-8iQFhBji9_Po6O_ZyZnkUQ/s400/brandenburg+horses.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070882882042775810" border="0" /></a>We walked a bit more, using the famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siegess%C3%A4ule">Victory Column</a>, with Golden Lizzy on top, as a guidepost and kept ending up back at the same place, in the middle of an intersection. The sad thing about Berlin is that most of it's historic stuff was destroyed during the war. Then it was all separated by the wall and one side started to restore while the other built over. This results in reconstructed historic buildings next to modern, or not-so-modern, high rises and kind of destroys the feel that you want in a historical city. Where was I? Oh yeah, here's the column:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinLm0t-_qgpI19a0boAzsX1YYEbShDqBcuv3x1XTsJskJ9mJ5eKnNYUwiOJ-byHcOJiBqRYVwTHnldEEn6qposHl6lILFsBm9B3exZNioO2bq7qJeQ-rTVKx4rWG-vxM_-MhbAvQ/s1600-h/berlin+statue.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinLm0t-_qgpI19a0boAzsX1YYEbShDqBcuv3x1XTsJskJ9mJ5eKnNYUwiOJ-byHcOJiBqRYVwTHnldEEn6qposHl6lILFsBm9B3exZNioO2bq7qJeQ-rTVKx4rWG-vxM_-MhbAvQ/s400/berlin+statue.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070882886337743122" border="0" /></a>Golden Lizzy kind of reminds me of <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2007/02/french-fries-pizza-and-macoroni.html">Moroni</a> of Mormon cultural significance. I feel sorry for the poor guy who has to polish Lizzy. Someone must because she sure is shiny. I think she should hook up with Moroni sometime:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisfb_ZXXSLjGfovGyAyBV-PJat00kW59hchUHDWfUK4nE4uN9lal72PteLQ4WFfahvvOuVCaJDo_VGn8rwom1_m1X7lFj00Do7R1LVnFumCcwSHzX9fIrvMLR4ksxWwL-BYC4PA/s1600-h/moroni's+girlfriend.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisfb_ZXXSLjGfovGyAyBV-PJat00kW59hchUHDWfUK4nE4uN9lal72PteLQ4WFfahvvOuVCaJDo_VGn8rwom1_m1X7lFj00Do7R1LVnFumCcwSHzX9fIrvMLR4ksxWwL-BYC4PA/s400/moroni's+girlfriend.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070882886337743138" border="0" /></a>Speaking of religion, did you know that Scientology is banned as a religion in Germany? Here's a quote from the <a href="http://home.snafu.de/tilman/krasel/germany/">Scientology vs. Germany</a> website about it: <br /><blockquote>The German Federal Government maintains that <i>Scientology is an organization which has primarily economical interests</i>. This idea has been reinforced by a <a href="http://home.snafu.de/tilman/krasel/germany/bag5azb.html">ruling of the Federal Labour court</a> (which is not connected to the government in any way). After having reviewed several Scientology books, the judges concluded that Scientology is not a religion, but a commercial enterprise. <br /><br />Furthermore, the German government maintains that Scientology tries to distribute its ideas as widely as possible, ideally leading to a society where humans life together according to Scientology rules. A closer look at Hubbard's writings shows that this is not desirable since Scientology is structured in a totalitarian, anti-democratic fashion.<br /></blockquote> No, I didn't know about this until I spoke with a German friend. He was surprised to learn that I had snapped this shot of none other than a multi-lingual Dianetics display at a bookstore just down the street from the Hard Rock Cafe in Berlin itself:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ptBeNkp-KMbN4toN4NPPjnHWTWib50aUGFeKcfxhNvbHRb3WAshBbUaX3TiVM0E3DKrSwdzpaOKhmkLPXFSGrOjnCu2KYa5wFybENKtTARdUi-3yeZlK7myPhn6vDP5R2aKyfg/s1600-h/dianetics.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ptBeNkp-KMbN4toN4NPPjnHWTWib50aUGFeKcfxhNvbHRb3WAshBbUaX3TiVM0E3DKrSwdzpaOKhmkLPXFSGrOjnCu2KYa5wFybENKtTARdUi-3yeZlK7myPhn6vDP5R2aKyfg/s400/dianetics.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070882602869901522" border="0" /></a>Score one for the commercial enterprise that is organized religion.<br /><br />Next up: Going to a German nightclub while pregant.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-78355247165277394662007-03-20T08:05:00.000-07:002007-03-20T09:50:26.324-07:00Three things I never thought I'd do that are guaranteed to shock you<span style="font-weight: bold;">1. ATTEND A HASH EVENT SOBER</span><br /><br />Yes, I attended the entire 2007 Betty Ford Rehab Hash without imbibing an ounce of alcohol. In case you've forgotten what Betty Ford is, it's that wonderous weekend each year wherein hordes of somewhat disturbed hashers converge upon the sleepy town of Palm Springs, California to run through the streets in lingerie. This was my fourth year making the pilgrimmage and the first time I spent the entire weekend sober. The good thing is that I had my faculties intact and was able to document the event with my digital camera.<br /><br />Imagine watching these two swing at 1:00 am in an American Legion Hall while completely sober:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFpIoAdzS2c4Dupxa74sCRA2ZqE0UushrU8VRIUgDAJzJrTRVzZqBs9rdi3C6H6I5DKh5KFd6JVCcF55cdXz0i5FLCUT6NSjyQYKow_stulokpLCzi2Y1I9LYczHhDveQ5vmcXQ/s1600-h/bf07.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFpIoAdzS2c4Dupxa74sCRA2ZqE0UushrU8VRIUgDAJzJrTRVzZqBs9rdi3C6H6I5DKh5KFd6JVCcF55cdXz0i5FLCUT6NSjyQYKow_stulokpLCzi2Y1I9LYczHhDveQ5vmcXQ/s400/bf07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044033649662848594" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, I had to do a double-take on that one too. For those of you ready to be scarred for life, here's the frontal view:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPrCBTDFFtwNaP5aGypAB8eY0WobecTa-Cg4cGFAum0bj4YlG86AzqDxvXhJzh5kvrqyM2bJz1i6wp-mpNRvWmJLX6N01nsMepVGYWKL3bhyphenhyphenPnh4lUKY5JxNl8F-FOsdiGTlRXA/s1600-h/just+wrong.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPrCBTDFFtwNaP5aGypAB8eY0WobecTa-Cg4cGFAum0bj4YlG86AzqDxvXhJzh5kvrqyM2bJz1i6wp-mpNRvWmJLX6N01nsMepVGYWKL3bhyphenhyphenPnh4lUKY5JxNl8F-FOsdiGTlRXA/s400/just+wrong.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044033653957815906" border="0" /></a>I'm not sure which was more frightening either.<br /><br />Of course, I took my new boyfriend, Q, to Betty Ford with me. I wasn't sure how Q would fare as we'd only been to two rather mellow hash runs together but all my fears were quelled the minute we stepped into Mervyn's in search of plus-size lingerie and he exclaimed that there were no good panties in 2X that I'd found a keeper. In fact, it took him longer to choose his lingerie than it did me. He was torn between the leopard print and a lovely floral with lace. He also noted that next year he'd start shopping earlier. In the end he even borrowed my red feather boa. I was quite proud and as a display of my devotion to him allowed him to borrow my sacred hash mug. Anyone who is a hasher knows this is very symbolic and a sign of complete trust. If you don't understand why, ask MM what happened at the campout when he lost his mug...<br /><br />One great thing about the weekend was that Q got along well with all my friends. Here he is with BH of Santo Barbara. I'm not sure what they are doing either:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54kQIcyNo4Srr2FBbd62yk4Ydxc3uQ4_HTzLFfCiMeP2tCYLwT3WPLpnZZh9KRHf6u5zjH7S_vHRgWvNogHTOTryJhwaD38o_JabTfwIMMbcFH80TqNq-4ItP9_1wvET-RjklUA/s1600-h/jmandblo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54kQIcyNo4Srr2FBbd62yk4Ydxc3uQ4_HTzLFfCiMeP2tCYLwT3WPLpnZZh9KRHf6u5zjH7S_vHRgWvNogHTOTryJhwaD38o_JabTfwIMMbcFH80TqNq-4ItP9_1wvET-RjklUA/s400/jmandblo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044034173648858754" border="0" /></a><br />And here he is with <a href="http://boulderblather.blogspot.com/">BH of blogging fame</a>: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vzzBYgkyYTvy6On0fRQ4IY4NcokWiKtsp_xw4x4HlOaWr_MfKaJL1yWjee-suV_ofzCjmS3TD2k4pX0NT0zTvGxdJwVYgpaTPtrMZmzb4X6VwfcnHTV6ATSv0r2Tzb58jNXKlg/s1600-h/bhandjm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vzzBYgkyYTvy6On0fRQ4IY4NcokWiKtsp_xw4x4HlOaWr_MfKaJL1yWjee-suV_ofzCjmS3TD2k4pX0NT0zTvGxdJwVYgpaTPtrMZmzb4X6VwfcnHTV6ATSv0r2Tzb58jNXKlg/s400/bhandjm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044034177943826082" border="0" /></a><br />Enough on that, Betty Ford sober was still fun and I certainly got a different perspective on all the excitement that goes on. So, on to the second thing I never thought I'd do:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. SEE TWO LINES ON A PREGNANCY TEST.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjefeEogjTnTRJteC5mFlZRLel-mSPsA2abeoWEC3h-Hcur_oTkdUlkb7kWmHxf9hN1v-6yIU7phdVXE4zE9sBnJiAZfekWoK_w-zprIg2vYxATAu9l9bjfE16WeN8-31L0peaoyQ/s1600-h/oops.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjefeEogjTnTRJteC5mFlZRLel-mSPsA2abeoWEC3h-Hcur_oTkdUlkb7kWmHxf9hN1v-6yIU7phdVXE4zE9sBnJiAZfekWoK_w-zprIg2vYxATAu9l9bjfE16WeN8-31L0peaoyQ/s400/oops.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044042995511684786" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, that means what you think it means. Don't worry, it's not yours. It's Q's and we're pretty darned excited. Shocked beyond belief, but at the same time thrilled beyond comparison. I'm still processing the fact that we are going to be parents and that all these incredible things are going on inside of me. I hear payback is terrible so I'm expecting a wild and unruly child, most likely prone to cross-dressing and mouthing off. Hopefully Q's angelic past will counter some of my youthful indiscretions and the child, currently called Lentil Bean, because that's the size he or she was when we found out, will turn out healthy and well-balanced despite having us as parents. I'm still trying to find the right words to explain this to Lentil when he or she grows up:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHWrQw1AVleLTJQEpEymNjtbGyZiVGmsP_R4utoKADtxmAn8Cm_LzmYeNsFUCxw-taixybSP-Sl8bBP7RugclyhYgB_3aZ4CCa8eByDCENXJecIOzFxHpW6yAzlLzYdqFg0FWCQ/s1600-h/mmandjm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHWrQw1AVleLTJQEpEymNjtbGyZiVGmsP_R4utoKADtxmAn8Cm_LzmYeNsFUCxw-taixybSP-Sl8bBP7RugclyhYgB_3aZ4CCa8eByDCENXJecIOzFxHpW6yAzlLzYdqFg0FWCQ/s400/mmandjm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044034177943826066" border="0" /></a>Any suggestions are greatly appreciated. And finally, thing number three I never thought I'd do is:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. TIE THE KNOT.</span><br /><br />We're getting married. This week. Sunday the 25th to be exact.<br /><br />Yes, my father is polishing his shotgun. Of course, at our first dinner with my folks after finding out we are pregnant my father had his shotgun on the table the whole time. It was quite amusing.<br /><br />When you think about it, this is the only way it could happen for a girl like me. Luckily, it happened with the best man I've ever been lucky enough to date and I thank the powers that be for stepping in before I could manage to mess things up.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span>Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-83846418789801161902007-03-03T15:33:00.000-08:002007-03-03T15:56:00.139-08:00Winter in the mountains<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5IkdUkYxgh2GQxk8yUw6Dfw_1v5omBGf_e9vdVKakL0-h5g5eVlg_kkBUHaqtmpktL1SvkrWAGlJwLAsabiy_iaEFuTk4ZJxxP3JOmh8GgYqvCslu4o9YIXW6AzbdhnjWWxG5g/s1600-h/febsnow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5IkdUkYxgh2GQxk8yUw6Dfw_1v5omBGf_e9vdVKakL0-h5g5eVlg_kkBUHaqtmpktL1SvkrWAGlJwLAsabiy_iaEFuTk4ZJxxP3JOmh8GgYqvCslu4o9YIXW6AzbdhnjWWxG5g/s400/febsnow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037848592036149298" border="0" /></a>I know, I know...It's been a while. In fact, MB called to harass me about it today. What can I say? It's been cold outside, I've been busy, and life is changing before my eyes.<br /><br />Still, I had to get the Nardcore pictures off the top of the blog so now you've got one of my view from the kitchen last week. Hope you like it.<br /><br />In the meantime, I'm preparing for the Orange County Hash House Harriers' annual <a href="http://www.ochhh.com/BettyXXI/index.html">Betty Ford Rehab Run</a> that's in Palm Springs next weekend. For a refresher on what it is, click <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2006/03/betty-ford-rehab-run-xx.html">here for the 2006 recap</a>, complete with those lovely photos of men in green lycra. Don't worry, I'm already charging my camera battery for this year's event...Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-63635880367507235242007-02-06T14:12:00.000-08:002007-02-06T15:57:52.530-08:00French fries, pizza, and M(ac)oroni...Well I guess it's been about three weeks since I returned from my first ski excursion, which was also my first trip to Utah. It was also my first multi-day trip with the new beau. Lots of firsts for a gal like me. That means a long post for you. At least there are pictures...<br /><br />So Q and I were to meet up with J, R, B, D, and E in Salt Lake City on a Saturday evening to occupy what would be our ski condo for the week. We flew while all the others drove in because Q had to leave for Iowa mid-trip and I abhor a long ride home. We also decided it would be fun to arrive early and meet my friend H, who lives in Salt Lake City and is a real, live Mormon, and hang out with her for the day while the others were stuck in a truck for 10 hours.<br /><br />H picked us up at the airpoer and the three of us decided to tour Temple Square, the heart of the <a href="http://www.lds.org/">Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints</a>, aka Mormonism. H is active in the church but not in that ride-your-bike-around-and-convert-folks kind of way and was more than happy to take the guided tour with us and show us around her town. Thanks H!<br /><br />Our tour of Temple Square was led by two very nice young ladies on their respective missions on assignment at the world LDS headquarters. One was from Arizona and the other from Australia and they were quite entertaining and fun. I would highly suggest that if you are in Salt Lake, you hit the square and take a tour as it is a) free, b) very informative, and c) not preachy in the least, except when you have to sit quietly as a statue of Jesus speaks to you. That was a bit uncomfortable, especially because he sounded a bit swishy.<br /><br />For someone like me, who is about as non-religious as they come, it was quite amazing and gave me some insight into how the religion (or any religion for that matter) was established. Here is what I learned from the tour: A blonde and blue Native American angel named Moroni who was fleeing religious prosecution buried some gold plates with inscriptions on them in New York around the time of Jesus (or shortly thereafter). Then, in the early 1800's Moroni came back as an angel and visited Joseph Smith in his bedroom in Palmyra, New York (naturally) and told him to go dig up the gold tablets on The Hill Cumorah. Good old Joe did, then he somehow figured out how to translate them and that became The Book of Mormon. Smith then told his buddy he would not be allowed into the Kingdom of Heaven unless he paid to have the book published. Smith knew this because he was a latter day prophet who received revalations from god (including the one about polygamy). The friend paid for the publishing, found an extra wife or two, and LDS was formed. Some other stuff happened along the way and about 50 years later the Mormons ended up in Utah with Brigham Young (another prophet) as their leader.<br /><br />When they got to Utah they built this modest temple, now known as Assembly Hall:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSq-nf7iqOuSgEzqhM_EFMwI8_TVaDRvG1uJzCpZOpFBmOWWZAQdSDGKw6ANNd541DSVKCYD-4SSIEY2mjFfNe9sFgqjFcQavT-juwmxmoaQw6OghDCyC7z_oxIEmul6wwc3Ygg/s1600-h/first+temple.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSq-nf7iqOuSgEzqhM_EFMwI8_TVaDRvG1uJzCpZOpFBmOWWZAQdSDGKw6ANNd541DSVKCYD-4SSIEY2mjFfNe9sFgqjFcQavT-juwmxmoaQw6OghDCyC7z_oxIEmul6wwc3Ygg/s400/first+temple.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028550258108479330" border="0" /></a>It took them three years to build it. Mind you, this was in 1877 so you know they were working pretty hard! That fountain has seagulls on top. The seagull is the state bird of Utah, which I find kind of amusing. You can go inside the church and it is quite nice. The benches are made of pine but the early Mormons handpainted the pine to look like oak because oak was more impressive.<br /><br />After that temple was finished, Mr. Young decided they need a bigger one so they started building what is now know as the Salt Lake Temple:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGy1W2SHBWJcZbR9xZOpZ194QVI7KfhFJfa3JZf-cWR_c4vk5talBTye3kqLyror0QODydb5WeMH2VDAcuDu9GO9UdbBxOpOlndHlA-ChjfFliALpNJnNtF51RBo5c0ePA8pxsjA/s1600-h/salt+lake+temple.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGy1W2SHBWJcZbR9xZOpZ194QVI7KfhFJfa3JZf-cWR_c4vk5talBTye3kqLyror0QODydb5WeMH2VDAcuDu9GO9UdbBxOpOlndHlA-ChjfFliALpNJnNtF51RBo5c0ePA8pxsjA/s400/salt+lake+temple.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028550262403446642" border="0" /></a>Yes, it's quite impressive. It should be, it took them 40 years to complete it. It's more than 250,000 square feet and its walls are nine feet thick. Nope, you're not allowed in unless you are an active member of the LDS church. Even my friend H had not kept up her Mormon card and so would not be allowed in. Incidentally, that little gold man at the top to the left is the angel Moroni and he's on top of most, or maybe all, LDS temples.<br /><br />Finally, on the LDS thing, that dome in the middle is the world famous Tabernacle where young boys sing. It is under renovation so we couldn't go inside.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin9hSVuHeMu6Y3-mzYjUDumH3PI8PN1gQB8JKTE4WniWYPtyAmAUiKKuFo2bKboqzlJHwvNxCbXJ0oDff-p3yhNwZGj7yHyOHCLPYntRQX-LHQ8kDcDBOdQT9ckuxy6NXndEmiIA/s1600-h/tabernacle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin9hSVuHeMu6Y3-mzYjUDumH3PI8PN1gQB8JKTE4WniWYPtyAmAUiKKuFo2bKboqzlJHwvNxCbXJ0oDff-p3yhNwZGj7yHyOHCLPYntRQX-LHQ8kDcDBOdQT9ckuxy6NXndEmiIA/s400/tabernacle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028550262403446658" border="0" /></a>After our tour of the Mormon center of the world, we headed to one of my favorite temples, Barnes and Noble, and drank coffee while pretending to read books that we had no intention of purchasing.<br /><br />Everyone eventually arrived and we all ate, drank and were merry. We then played some card games, including a rousing game of spoons. Think musical chairs with drunk adults, spoons and cards. Basically, there is one fewer spoon than people and everyone is trying to get matching cards. The first person to get four of a kind grabs a spoon. This prompts everyone else to grasp a spoon and the person left empty-handed gets a letter. When you get enough letters to spell "SPOONS" you're out. If you've ever played spoons, you know it can get ugly if you're fighting over the last spoon.<br /><br />So we were playing and I had a SPOO when I caught the short end of a spoon handle of which B had the actual spoon part. B is a fit firefighter and we were wrestling over the spoon. He was on his back and I was on top of him on my back with my left hand bent back trying to steal the spoon. Knowing I was outpowered, I created what is quite possibly the best spoon maneuver ever by taking my right hand, creeping it along B's thigh, finding his butt, and strategically placing my middle finger in a certain sensitive area. B reacted as if he'd been hit with a taser and bucked me off, spoon and all. All the witnesses agreed that there are no rules in spoons so the spoon was rightfully mine. In light of this, B soon moved to the other side of the spoon area and did not challenge me for a spoon again. Come to think of it, no one did...<br /><br />The next morning was our first day skiing. Yes, I decided to try to ski because, first, Q is a skier and it would be more fun for the two of us, and second, the <a href="http://outdoorspro.blogspot.com/">Outdoorspro</a>, a ski patroller, recommended it. So off we went to <a href="http://www.skibrighton.com/main.html">Brighton Ski Resort</a>.<br /><br />We arrived at the resort and I was not feeling well at all. I had a fever, the shakes, and the general misery that is associated with the first days of the flu. Still, I went and attempted to learn to ski. Note to non-skiiers: Learning to ski while you have a fever and do not feel well sucks as there is a bit of coordination and patience involved.<br /><br />Poor Q took me up the mountain and spent the next hour and a half watching me snowplow and fall down it. I was about as miserable as you can imagine. It was about 3 degrees out and all I wanted was to get to the bottom of the hill and sleep. Add to being sick the fact that schools of five and six-year old skiiers were passing me in perfect formation reciting the ski commands "pizza" and "french fries" as I lay my back wondering why my ski was above my head didn't help much either. We eventually made it down the mountain where I stayed in the lodge for several hours drinking cocoa and thinking how much skiing sucks and that I would not be back while Q (at my insistence) went off and had some fun. By later in the afternoon my fever had broken and I attempted two more runs that went a bit better but I was still shakey and not feeling well, although I did have more fun than on that first run.<br /><br />The next day I was completely sick and decided to stay back at the condo to rest while everyone else went skiing. Poor Q wanted to stay back with me but I insisted he go have some fun as he is a good skiier and was leaving the next day. I slept all day. Yes, this is exciting, isn't it.<br /><br />The next day was an off day so we did some ice skating because B is Canadian and wanted to show off and everyone else kind of relaxed around the house. Q left for Iowa that afternoon so I was left to watch the American Idol elimination show with the gang, once again reinforcing my belief that cable tv is worthless.<br /><br />By the fifth day I was feeling better and headed back up the hill to <a href="http://www.skisolitude.com/">Solitude Ski Resort</a>. For my first run of the day R and J were kind enough to take me up the Eagle Express to the top of an "advanced" blue run. This included a long downhill with a lodge at the bottom of the big hill. There was no way down other than on those two things attached to my feet so with R prompting me with commands of "snow plow" (pizza) and "go straight" (french fries) I started down the mountain. I lost my skis a few times, ended up in the moguls once or twice, and learned that I had not yet mastered the skill of turning left. Of course, that was nice for my friends as they could watch me do this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvxlvkZ130FiFsU5wmjzzf_zOLxOlI95BlEHhQgO1Q5xqyVYV4UYv-c9_aO80Lqk79d0ldE7RDJVhHwYub1M2iT0wRZSKkGvORdEW5TN9tmwotoClcy6HMj9-kqo82sDfhLA7zA/s1600-h/snow+plow.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvxlvkZ130FiFsU5wmjzzf_zOLxOlI95BlEHhQgO1Q5xqyVYV4UYv-c9_aO80Lqk79d0ldE7RDJVhHwYub1M2iT0wRZSKkGvORdEW5TN9tmwotoClcy6HMj9-kqo82sDfhLA7zA/s400/snow+plow.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028547908761368386" border="0" /></a><br />And this:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93I0gQARz9-uVx4b9XTn-J4Bu0B6CWzosT84tZjRXdiPkiFj82Lt2Q_zPMfMSsONCgwqGOGVWzkBFQGbIRjceopvDPOls6HYDEk2_T1nXQ6PDhNGitf_QgwAQFRKMZBGOJLy8nQ/s1600-h/face+plant.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93I0gQARz9-uVx4b9XTn-J4Bu0B6CWzosT84tZjRXdiPkiFj82Lt2Q_zPMfMSsONCgwqGOGVWzkBFQGbIRjceopvDPOls6HYDEk2_T1nXQ6PDhNGitf_QgwAQFRKMZBGOJLy8nQ/s400/face+plant.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028547900171433778" border="0" /></a>All the way down. Note to future skiiers: Do not take a blue run if a) You cannot turn right and there are moguls to the right; b) There is an area at the bottom for people to congregate to laugh at you; and c) It is your first real attempt to ski. Then again, after that nothing was intimidating and by the afternoon I was up and skiing like a pro (or not...):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtEOeMkJlpv9TLNuptS9tDV1GgQi76_zbATBnckNVAoRt12kyXufJAOkvKgvY4bKx7vyHwHDIg4dU-28xmvU6QkMTM4HXPsAuMz04joYV7nsqHDfCofUIQKIfU4-ni6L9y_x0zbw/s1600-h/snow+bunny.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtEOeMkJlpv9TLNuptS9tDV1GgQi76_zbATBnckNVAoRt12kyXufJAOkvKgvY4bKx7vyHwHDIg4dU-28xmvU6QkMTM4HXPsAuMz04joYV7nsqHDfCofUIQKIfU4-ni6L9y_x0zbw/s400/snow+bunny.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028547913056335698" border="0" /></a>All in all it was a great trip and I learned that I can ski better when not running a fever, Q and I get along great, I have good friends who don't mind a little poke in the arse over a spoon on occassion, and that if you watch 24 and have to drink whenever someone says "Jack" it can be quite entertaining.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-86525321061148214382007-01-09T17:25:00.000-08:002007-01-09T17:55:50.044-08:00They all look alike anyhow...Went to Vegas last weekend. Nope, it wasn't quite as eventful as <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2006/05/gone-fishing.html">my last trip to Sin City</a>. In fact, it was rather pleasant not to lose my sunglasses in a toilet while vomiting and then be tasked with retrieving tons of rib bones from the Golden Nugget hallway at 4 am. It may have been more tame because I was there with my new beau, we were there with other people not so enthusiastic about abusing their livers as MM and RMA, and we had to attend a wedding.<br /><br />We stayed on the strip at New York, New York - a lovely establishment that really is a city unto itself. If you go to Vegas and are near the strip I highly recommend going on the Manhattan Express Roller Coaster at NY, NY. It is way cool, complete with corkscrew, loop, and huge drop. What I do not recommend is eating at the Chinese restaurant in NY, NY. Here's a picture of the restaurant:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82HV-fbIXAmjErbR9axmSG4nG8r25PRViOG2faR2_oqS-bjIiRcEARv4nEwaf8c4qpxMk07Jeszm2oWaODdpTFj_JpCytiGvvN4TkcKWza8bTIUeI7yOb5KIM86gFeTQwTB8zGw/s1600-h/chinchin.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82HV-fbIXAmjErbR9axmSG4nG8r25PRViOG2faR2_oqS-bjIiRcEARv4nEwaf8c4qpxMk07Jeszm2oWaODdpTFj_JpCytiGvvN4TkcKWza8bTIUeI7yOb5KIM86gFeTQwTB8zGw/s400/chinchin.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018208990514630914" border="0" /></a><br />It's not that the food is bad, it's that the translation is bad and I about died laughing when I saw the sign. The reason? "Chin chin", while a toast in Chinese, means penis in Japanese. If you don't believe me, check out <a href="http://www.coolslang.com/Words/wDetails.php?TranslationID=187">this definition.</a><br /><br />I love when that sort of thing happens. I wonder if the NY, NY folks know they have a penis restaurant in their casino. Good thing it's across the way from a hot dog stand...<br /><br />Also of note on the trip was our late night cab ride home from the Orleans casino on Saturday. Q and I were fortunate enough to land the most racist cab driver in Vegas: Las Vegas Lou. Upon entering the cab, the shaking octagenarian told us "If I don't make you laugh, you pay half." He then proceeded to tell us approximately 14 jokes explaining the difference between various races/religions and African Americans (although he used a less PC word). Q and I were extremely shocked and didn't know what to do. Still, one of the jokes stayed in my mind because I really hadn't heard anyone tell a joke about Samoans before. I'll tell the joke using hashers as a less-than-desirable race:<br /><br />What do you get when you cross a Samoan and a hasher?<br />Samoa hashers. (pronounced "Some more hashers").<br /><br />Yes, it was bad. Note to travelers to Vegas: Do not eat at the penis restaurant and do not enter a cab with an old guy named Lou.<br /><blockquote></blockquote><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-21088303066231129532007-01-04T11:39:00.000-08:002007-01-04T12:17:15.480-08:00I said a hip hop, a hippity hop...I am not ashamed to admit there was a time when I would don my hot pink parachute pants with black zippers, braid my tail, lay out some cardboard in the living room, have my mulleted friend push play on the boom box, and attempt to breakdance. During this time I thought I was cool. I would "pop" and "break" and call people out on the dance floor for dance-offs the likes of which Dance Revolution could never fathom. Come on, you know you remember Breakin' and Breakin' 2 - Electric Boogaloo. Those were the days.<br /><br />What spurred that 80's movement of bad acrobatics, head spins, and spastic gyrations was a little ditty called The Rapper's Delight by the Sugarhill Gang - three guys from New York who sang of the hippity hop, Lincoln Continentals, freaking you here and there, scooby doo, Imp the Dimp (the ladies pimp), Superman's tights, keepin' on rockin' to the beat, Perry Mason, and, my personal favorite, the need for late night Kaopectate. How could they not go platinum with lyrics like those and a following of little white children dressed like Michael Jackson spinning on cardboard to their cassette tapes?<br /><br />Flash forward 23 years to karaoke night at Domingo's Mexican Restaurant in Tehachapi wherein your friend and previous breakdancing fool, Glib Gal, decided it would be a good idea to sing Rapper's Delight to a crowd of Kern County cowboys after a margarita-induced flashback to her 80's days as an aspiring professional breakdancer. For those of you who might have forgotten the original rap song, or it's great length and lack of a refrain, imagine a 34-year old woman of Irish descent attempting to sing these words at warp speed:<br /><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote>(Wonder Mike)<br />I said a hip, a hop, the hippie, the hippie<br />To the hip hip hop, a you dont stop<br />The rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie<br />To the rhythm of the boogie, the beat<br />Now what you hear is not a test - I'm rappin to the beat<br />And me, the groove, and my friends are gonna try to move your feet<br />Ya see: I am Wonder Mike and I like to say hello<br />To the black, to the white, the red, and the brown, the purple and yellow<br />But first I gotta bang bang the boogie to the boogie<br />Say up jump the boogie to the bang bang boogie<br />Let's rock, you don't stop<br />Rock the rhythm that will make your body rock<br />Well, so far you've heard my voice but I brought two friends along<br />And next on the mike is my man Hank:<br />Come on, Hank, sing that song<br /><br />(Performed by Big Bank Hank but written by Grandmaster Caz)<br />Check it out, I'm the C-A-S, an' the O-V-A<br />And the rest is F-L-Y<br />Ya see: I go by the code of the doctor of the mix<br />And these reasons I'll tell ya why<br />Ya see: I'm six foot one and I'm tons of fun<br />And I dress to a T<br />Ya see: I got more clothes than Muhammad Ali and I dress so viciously<br />I got bodyguards, I got two big cars<br />That definitely ain't the wack<br />I got a Lincoln Continental and a sunroof Cadillac<br />So after school, I take a dip in the pool<br />Which is really on the wall<br />I got a color TV, so I can see<br />The Knicks play basketball<br />Hear me talkin bout checkbooks, credit cards<br />More money than a sucker could ever spend<br />But I wouldn't give a sucker or a bum from the rucker<br />Not a dime til I made it again<br />Ya go: Hotel, Motel, whatcha gonna do today? (say what?)<br />Ya say: I'm gonna get a fly girl, gonna get some spankin,<br />Drive off in a def O.J.<br />Everybody go: Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn<br />Say: If your girl starts acting up, then you take her friend<br />Master Gee, am I mellow?<br />It's on you so what you gonna do?<br /><br />(Master Gee)<br />Well it's on n on n on on n on<br />The beat don't stop until the break of dawn<br />I said M-A-S, T-E-R, a G with a double E<br />I said I go by the unforgettable name<br />Of the man they call the Master Gee<br />Well, my name is known all over the world<br />By all the foxy ladies and the pretty girls<br />I'm goin down in history<br />As the baddest rapper there ever could be<br />Now I'm feelin the highs and ya feelin the lows<br />The beat starts gettin into your toes<br />Ya start poppin ya fingers and stompin your feet<br />And movin' your body while you're sittin in your seat<br />And then: Damn! Ya start doin the freak<br />I said: Damn! Right outta your seat<br />Then ya throw your hands high in the air<br />Ya rockin to the rhythm, shake your derriere<br />Ya rockin to the beat without a care<br />With the sureshot MC:s for the affair<br />Now, I'm not as tall as the rest of the gang<br />But I rap to the beat just the same<br />I got a little face and a pair of brown eyes<br />All I'm here to do ladies is hypnotize<br />Singin on n n on n on n on<br />The beat don't stop until the break of dawn<br />Singin on n n on n on on n on<br />Like a hot buttered a pop da pop da pop dibbie dibbie<br />Pop da pop pop ya don't dare stop,<br />Come alive y'all - gimme what ya got<br />I guess by now you can take a hunch<br />And find that i am the baby of the bunch<br />But that's okay - I still keep in stride<br />Cause all I'm here to do is just wiggle your behind<br />Singin on n n on n on n on<br />The beat don't stop until the break of dawn<br />Singin on n n on n on on n on<br />Rock rock y'all, throw it on the floor<br />I'm gonna freak ya here, I'm gonna freak ya there<br />I'm gonna move you outta this atmosphere<br />Cause I'm one of a kind and I'll shock your mind<br />I'll put tic-tic-tickets in your behind<br />I said 1-2-3-4, come on girls get on the floor<br />A-come alive y'all, a-gimme what ya got<br />Cause I'm guaranteed to make you rock<br />I said 1-2-3-4 tell me Wonder Mike what are you waitin for?<br /><br />(Wonder Mike)<br />I said a hip hop, the hippie to the hippie<br />The hip hip hop, a you dont stop<br />The rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie<br />To the rhythm of the boogie, the beat<br />Skidelee beebop a we rock a scooby doo<br />And guess what America: we love you!<br />Cause ya rock and ya roll with so much soul,<br />You could rock till you're a hundred and one years old<br />I don't mean to brag, I don't mean to boast<br />But we like hot butter on our breakfast toast<br />Rock it up, baby bubbah<br />Baby bubbah to the boogie da bang bang da boogie<br />To the beat beat, it's so unique<br />Come on everybody and dance to the beat<br />I said a hip hop the hippie the hippie<br />To the hip hip hop, a you dont stop<br />Rock it out baby bubbah to the boogie da bang bang<br />The boogie to the boogie da beat<br />I said I can't wait til the end of the week<br />When I'm rappin to the rhythm of a groovy beat<br />And attempt to raise your body heat<br />Just blow your mind so that you can't speak<br />And do a thing but a rock and shuffle your feet<br />And let it change up to a dance called the freak<br />And when ya finally do come in to your rhythmic beat<br />Rest a little while so ya dont get weak<br />I know a man named Hank<br />He has more rhymes than a serious bank<br />So come on Hank, sing that song<br />To the rhythm of the boogie da bang bang da bong<br /><br />(Performed by Big Bank Hank but Written by Grandmaster Caz)<br />Well, I'm Imp the Dimp, the ladies pimp<br />The women fight for my delight<br />But I'm the grandmaster with the three MC:s<br />That shock the house for the young ladies<br />And when you come inside, into the front<br />You do the freak, spank, and do the bump<br />And when the sucker MC:s try to prove a point<br />We're a treacherous trio, we're the serious joint<br />From sun to sun and from day to day<br />I sit down and write a brand new rhyme<br />Because they say that miracles never cease<br />I've created a devastating masterpiece<br />I'm gonna rock the mike til you can't resist<br />Everybody! I say it goes like this:<br />Well I was comin home late one dark afternoon<br />Reporter stopped me for a interview<br />She said she's heard stories and she's heard fables<br />That I'm vicious on the mike and the turntables<br />This young reporter I did adore<br />So I rocked a vicious rhyme like i never did before<br />She said "Damn, fly guy! I'm in love with you!<br />The Casanova legend must have been true!"<br />I said "By the way baby, what's your name?"<br />She said "I go by the name of Lois Lane,<br />And you could be my boyfiend, you surely can<br />Just let me quit my boyfriend called Superman"<br />I said "He's a fairy, I do suppose -<br />Flyin through the air in pantyhose<br />He may be very sexy or even cute<br />But he looks like a sucker in a blue and red suit!"<br />I said "You need a man who's got finesse<br />And his whole name across his chest<br />He may be able to fly all through the night<br />But can he rock a party til the early light?<br />He can't satisfy you with his little worm<br />But I can bust you out with my super sperm"<br />I go: Do it! I go: Do it! I go: Do it, do it, do it!<br />And I'm here, and I'm there, I'm Big Bank Hank, I'm everywhere<br />Just throw your hands up in the air<br />And party hardy like you just don't care<br />Let's do it, don't stop y'all, a-tick-a-tock y'all, you don't stop<br />I go: Hotel, Motel, whatcha gonna do today? (Say what?)<br />I'm gonna get a fly girl, gonna get some spank, drive off in a def O.J.<br />Everybody go: Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn<br />You say: If your girl starts actin up, then you take her friend<br />I say skip, dive, what can I say?<br />I can't fit em all inside my O.J.<br />So I just take half and bust them out<br />I give the rest to Master Gee, so he could shock the house<br /><br />(Master Gee)<br />It was twelve o'clock one Friday night<br />I was rockin to the beat, and feelin all right<br />Everybody was dancin on the floor<br />Doin' all the things they never did before<br />And then this fly fly girl with a sexy lean<br />She came into the bar, she came into the scene<br />As she traveled deeper inside the room<br />All the fellas checked out her white sassoon<br />She came up to the table, looked into my eyes<br />Then she turned around and shook her behind<br />So I said to myself, "It's time for me to release<br />My vicious rhyme, I call my masterpiece"<br />And now people in the house, this is just for you<br />A little rap to make you boogaloo<br />Now the group ya hear is called Phase Two<br />And let me tell ya somethin: we're a helluva crew<br />Once a week we're on the street<br />Just a-cuttin' the jams and making it free<br />For you to party ya got to have the moves<br />So we'll get right down and give you the groove<br />For you to dance you gotta be hype<br />So we'll get right down and make you rock<br />Now the system's on and the girls are there<br />Ya definitely have a rockin affair<br />But let me tell ya somethin there's still one fact:<br />That to have a party, ya got to have a rap<br />So when the party's over, you're makin it home<br />And tryin' to sleep before the break of dawn<br />And while ya sleepin' ya start to dream<br />And thinkin' how ya danced on the disco scene<br />My name appears in your mind<br />Yeah, a name you know that was right on time<br />It was Phase Two just a doin a do<br />Rockin' ya down cause ya know we could<br />To the rhythm of the beat that makes ya freak<br />Come alive girls, get on your feet<br />To the rhythm of the beat to the beat the beat<br />To the double beat beat that it makes ya freak<br />To the rhythm of the beat that says ya go on<br />On n on into the break of dawn<br />Now I got a man comin on right now<br />He's guaranteed to throw down<br />He goes by the name of Wonder Mike<br />Come on Wonder Mike, do what ya like<br /><br />(Wonder Mike)<br />I say: A can of beer that's sweeter than honey,<br />Like a millionaire that has no money,<br />Like a rainy day that is not wet,<br />Like a gambling fiend that does not bet,<br />Like Dracula without his fangs,<br />Like the boogie to the boogie without the boogie bang,<br />Like collard greens that don't taste good,<br />Like a tree that's not made out of wood,<br />Like goin up and not comin down,<br />Is just like the beat without the sound no sound<br />To the beat beat, ya do the freak<br />Everybody just rock and dance to the beat<br />Have you ever went over a friend's house to eat<br />And the food just ain't no good?<br />I mean the macaroni's soggy, the peas are mushed<br />And the chicken tastes like wood<br />So you try to play it off like you think you can<br />By sayin' that you're full<br />And then your friend says: "Momma, he's just being polite<br />He ain't finished - uh uh, that's bull!"<br />So your heart starts pumpin and you think of a lie<br />And you say that you already ate<br />And your friend says: "Man - there's plenty of food!"<br />So you pile some more on your plate<br />While the stinky foods steamin, your mind starts to dreamin<br />Of the moment that it's time to leave<br />And then you look at your plate and your chicken's slowly rottin<br />Into something that looks like cheese<br />So you say: "That's it - I got to leave this place<br />I don't care what these people think<br />I'm just sittin here makin myself nauseous<br />With this ugly food that stinks"<br />So you bust out the door while it's still closed<br />Still sick from the food you ate<br />And then you run to the store for quick relief<br />From a bottle of Kaopectate<br />And then you call your friend two weeks later<br />To see how he has been<br />And he says: "I understand about the food,<br />Baby bubbah, but we're still friends"<br />With a hip hop the hippie to the hippie<br />The hip hip a hop a you don't stop the rockin<br />To the bang bang boogie<br />Say up jump the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie the beat<br />I said: Hank? Can ya rock?<br />Can ya rock to the rhythm that just dont stop?<br />Can ya hip me to the shoobie doo?<br />I said: Come on make the make the people move<br /><br />(Performed by Big Bank Hank but Written by Grandmaster Caz)<br />I go to the halls and then ring the bell<br />Because I am the man with the clientele<br />And if ya ask me why I rock so well<br />A big bank, I got clientele<br />And from the time I was only six years old<br />I never forgot what I was told<br />It was the best advice that I ever had,<br />It came from my wise dear old dad<br />He said: "Sit down punk, I wanna talk to you<br />And don't say a word until I'm through<br />Now there's a time to laugh, a time to cry<br />A time to live and a time to die<br />A time to break and a time to chill<br />To act civilized or act real ill<br />But whatever ya do in your lifetime<br />Ya never let a MC steal your rhyme"<br />So from sixty six til this very day<br />I'll always remember what he had to say<br />So when the sucker MC:s try to chump my style<br />I let them know that I'm versatile<br />I got style, finesse and a little black book<br />That's filled with rhymes and I know you wanna look<br />But there's a thing that separates you from me<br />And that's called originality<br />Because my rhymes are on from what you heard<br />I didn't even bite and not a god damn word<br />And I say a little more later on tonight<br />So the sucker MC:s can bite all night<br />A-tick-a-tock y'all, a beat beat y'all<br />A lets rock y'all, ya don't stop<br />Ya go: Hotel, Motel, whatcha gonna do today? (Say what?)<br />Ya say: I'm gonna get a fly girl, gonna get some spankin, drive off in a def OJ<br />Everybody go: Hotel Motel, Holiday Inn<br />Ya say: If your girl starts acting up, then you take her friends<br />A like that y'all to the beat y'all<br />Beat beat y'all ya don't stop<br />A Master Gee? Am I mellow?<br />It's on you so whatcha gonna do<br /><br />(Master Gee)<br />Well like Johnny Carson on the late show<br />A like Frankie Croker in stereo<br />Well like The Barkays singing "Holy Ghost"<br />The sounds to throw down, they're played the most<br />It's like my man Captain Sky<br />Whose name he earned with his super sperm<br />We rock and we don't stop<br />Get off y'all, I'm here to give you whatcha got<br />To the beat that it makes you freak<br />And come alive girl get on your feet<br />A like a Perry Mason without a case<br />Like Farrah Fawcett without her face<br />Like The Barkays on the mike<br />Like gettin right down for you tonight<br />Like movin your body so ya don't know how<br />Right to the rhythm and throw down<br />Like comin alive to the Master Gee<br />The brother who rocks so viciously<br />I said the age of one my life begun<br />At the age of two I was doin the do<br />At the age of three it was you and me<br />Rockin' to the sounds of the Master Gee<br />At the age of four I was on the floor<br />Givin' all the freaks what they bargained for<br />At the age of five I didn't take no jive<br />With the Master Gee it's all the way live<br />At the age of six I was a pickin up sticks<br />Rappin to the beat my stick was fixed<br />At the age of seven I was rockin in heaven dontcha know I went off<br />I got right on down to the beat you see<br />Gettin' right on down makin all the girls<br />Just take off their clothes to the beat the beat<br />To the double beat beat that makes you freak<br />At the age of eight I was really great<br />Cause every night you see I had a date<br />At the age of nine I was right on time<br />Cause every night I had a party rhyme<br />Goin' on n n on n on on n on<br />The beat don't stop until the break of dawn<br />A sayin' on n n on n on on n on<br />Like a hot buttered de pop de pop de pop<br />A saying on n n on n on on n on<br />A rock rock y'all, gimme whatcha got<br />Cause I'm a helluva man when I'm on the mike<br />I am the definite feast delight<br />I'm a helluva man when I'm on the mike<br />I am the definate feast delight<br />Come and meet the Master Gee you see<br />The brother who rocks so viciously<br />I'm gonna freak you here, I'm gonna do you there<br />I'm gonna move you out of this atmosphere<br />Cos I'm on, all time, and I'll shock your mind ..... (inaudible)<br />Master Gee, gettin it on<br />Takin' all the girls<br />(fade out)</blockquote>Yes, it's a long one with a particularly nice message for small town conservatives. And I can't even describe the continued horror the crowd felt when Q and I sang Barry Manilow's Copa Cabana later in the evening...<br /><br />Note to self: Stick to Richard Marx when singing karaoke.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-1167247534639798532006-12-27T10:42:00.000-08:002006-12-27T11:25:34.783-08:00A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!If ever you are so lucky as to find yourself in Tehachapi and on your way to Casa de Glib, you will be advised to look for this big, plastic clydesdale statue as a landmark of where to turn off the main road:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/1600/422469/clydesdale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/400/736863/clydesdale.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Yes, it's quite impressive and tempting to the child in us all that wants to climb things because, well, it's a big plastic horse and who wouldn't want to climb a big, plastic horse? Can you see where this is going?<br /><br />It just so happens that my cousin, A, was visiting last night and we decided the Tuesday after Christmas would be a fine time to visit Tehachapi's finest saloon: The Red Caboose. You may remember the Cabooty, as it is affectionately known, from a <a href="http://glibgibberish.blogspot.com/2006/10/across-river-and-into-trees.html">previous blog involving mojitos, a camel and bad sangria</a>. Whenever A and I get together something that will eventually prevent me from becoming a judge is bound to happen. <br /><br />A and I went to dinner then met up with my friend D and we all played pool and drank beer until they kicked us out of the Cobooty a little after midnight. As we were driving home, A spotted that big, plastic horse and felt a sudden urge to mount it. This is a common family trait and thankfully I had the foresight to suggest we drive home and get the camera before attempting such a feat. Of course, first I drunk dialed Q because I knew he had nothing better to do at 1 am than listen to two inebriated women plot the mounting of a plastic statue in the rain. We actually drove home (2.5 miles), got the camera, and drove back to the work of art. In the rain. After midnight. <br /><br />So we got back to the intersection, parked and ran across the street. A flood light was on and pointing at the horse but we went through the fence anyhow, later noting we were lucky it wasn't electric, and came upon the great synthetic beast. <br /><br />Problem was that it was gargantuan. A attempted to climb up on it a few times but couldn't reach that high and the horse was slippery because it was wet. Here's A looking diabolical in her Red Caboose t-shirt and plotting how to get on the horse:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/1600/448353/clydehair.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/400/288996/clydehair.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Somehow we came up with the bright idea that I should get on my hands and knees in the mud and she should use me as a stool. It was only after I got a bootprint on my back that I remembered the clodhopper, hard-soled boots she was wearing:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/1600/207672/bootclyde.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/400/595417/bootclyde.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Yeah, that wasn't too pleasant. And, after a couple of attempts we were both in the mud laughing because she kept falling. <br /><br />Of course, quitting is not an option for us so we persisted and, after she basically climbed me to get onto the horse, success was achieved:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/1600/840590/aprilclyde.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5882/384/400/141877/aprilclyde.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>It's a good thing we only see eachother about once a year.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6782945.post-1166211993930277692006-12-15T11:18:00.000-08:002006-12-15T11:46:54.276-08:00On mountain rescues, beer and the mediaThe <a href="http://www.outdoorspro.blogspot.com">Outdoorspro</a>, a highly trained Oregon ski patroller, has been doing some excellent coverage on the three missing mountaineers at Mt. hood this past week and it, of course, reminded me of the time my own brother required rescue from a mountain while snowboarding.<br /><br />I was sitting home in Oak View about six years ago when one of my brother's buddies showed up at my door looking quite concerned. He didn't have my phone number but knew where I lived and didn't know how to get ahold of anyone on behalf of my brother. You see, my brother had gone snowboarding with some of his buddies. One of said buddies tweaked his leg or something early in the day and decided to go down the mountain and wait for my brother and his other friend at a bar. Well, said bar-going buddy soon found himself quite drunk and went to the truck to pass out. He awoke hours later to find my brother and his friend had not yet returned and it was after dark. So he went to the bar to find them. Of course, these guys didn't have cell phones so said injured friend, upon not finding the boys at the bar, decided to sit and drink some more while waiting for them, thinking they must be elsewhere. A few drinks later he found some clarity and realized that they should've met up by then, or at least put their gear in the truck, and decided to alert authorities to the fact that the two guys were missing.<br /><br />So this drunk friend tells the police he's had about nine beers while waiting for his friends who never returned from the mountain. The police write it down as the two snowboarders each had nine beers then went boarding.<br /><br />In the meantime, my brother and his friend, new to the ski area, were caught in a white out at the top of a run. They met another guy who held a season pass and told them to follow him because he knew the area - right down the back of the mountain into no man's land in a white out. The three of them were lost and disoriented and it got dark so they built a snowcave under a tree, smoked some of the good stuff, and shivered the night away as they were dressed only for a day's outing. A big storm hit that night so it was pretty fun for them. The following morning they found a clearing in the woods and stayed in the open hoping someone would spot them. Eventually a rescue helicopter came and they were picked up.<br /><br />Of course, this all made the local news and I have a strange last name so many people questioned me about my drunk snowboarding brother. In fact, here's the only snippet I could find about the incident on Google today:<blockquote><strong>Three Drunk Snowboards Lost at Mountain High</strong><br />Three drunk snowboarders. Three drunk snowboarders. See how they flounder. See how they flounder. They all went riding at Mountain High, after 9 beers they took off to fly, out of bounds they did nearly die. Three drunk snowboarders. Roy Paul Brown, 38; John Catlan, 31; and Glib Gal's Brother, 30, were found 12 hours after they went snowboarding in an out-of-bounds area at Mountain High West.</blockquote>Yeah, looks like libel to me too. If only my brother and his friends had a reputation to damage...<br /><br />This is an example of how the media can distort things and make a sensationalized story out of a reasonable mishap, kind of like the <a href="http://www.outdoorspro.blogspot.com/2006_12_01_archive.html#8484418443159614379#8484418443159614379">Bill O'Reilly clip you can find at Outdoorspro</a>.<br /> <br />As for my brother, it was later discovered that the boys had not had any beers prior to snowboarding and that the resort had failed to maintain its fencing in the area they went out of bounds at and the guy with the season pass was, in fact, stupid.Glib Galhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10681048313803299943noreply@blogger.com1