What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

I feel old. (Also, I have no interest in Clerks II)

What else could I possibly feel after tuning in to an easy-listening radio station and hearing Sisters With Voices on my way to work?

The year was 1993; I was thirteen and on the cusp of starting eighth grade when their first single came out. I remember one of The Sisters had scary-long finger nails, but they weren't enough to deter me from buying the cassette from Venture (formerly Zayre's, currently non-existent) with my hard-earned baby-sitting money. Yes, I'm well aware that was fifteen years ago, but still, isn't it a tad premature to lump the girls in with the likes of Phil Collins and John Mellencamp?

That said, the following songs were just downloaded from iTunes by a member of the Frema-Useless Clutter household. I'll let you guess which one. 

"Dreamlover (Def Club Mix Edit)" - Mariah Carey
"Right Here" - SWV
"Remember the Time" - Michael Jackson
"Easy Lover" - Phil Collins
"Land of Confusion" - Genesis   
"Live for Loving You" - Gloria Estefan   
"Live Forever" - Oasis   
"Again" - Janet Jackson

Forty more cents and I would've grabbed "Cherry Bomb," too. God help Baby Brother's musical taste post-womb.

In other Frema nerdiness, as I sort through my things and decide which items are worthy of storage space at the new house, I came across a few gems that might be of interest to some of you.

My apologies for the prime real estate given to the boobage and butt crack. I wasn't consciously trying to showcase that issue, and honestly, I'm kind of embarrassed about the oversight, but I'm too lazy to upload a new photo, so there you go.

My senior year in high school, I worked for a mom-and-pop video store minutes away from my house. Because it was so small, hiring was sparse, partly because you only needed one or two people per shift but also because the perks were so good nobody my age ever wanted to leave: no uniform, free movies, and you could do your homework on slow nights without fear of repercussion. It was every teenager's dream job, and the kids in my neighborhood knew it. Rich, the owner, was bombarded with requests for applications every day. I should know, because I pestered him every couple of months or so until one day I came in at just the right time and he hired me on the spot. He was a little concerned about my age; I was only 17 at the time, and there was a whole section of Adult Movies that needed constant restocking and supervision, but apparently that stopped being a problem because soon I found myself on the other side of the swinging doors, charged with reshelving such thought-provoking titles as Wet and Wild 5 and Wednesday is Hump Day.

Anyway, that job is the reason I learned about Kevin Smith and the brilliantness that is Clerks. And once I saw Clerks, Mallrats and Chasing Amy weren't far behind. By the time I left for college, I owned them all on VHS. There were posters, soundtracks, and screenplays, quizzes online to test my knowledge of dialogue (NERD!), and utterances of "Snootchie Bootchies!" more times than was appropriate for a person who didn't wear flannel clothing or spend free time dreaming up new characters for Dungeons and Dragons. But whatever, it was fun, and Kevin Smith was hella cool in college.

I didn't learn about the comic books until my second serious boyfriend. Mike gave me the above-pictured graphic novels after just a week of dating, and at that stage in my life, they were better than roses. I actually attended that year's Comic Con with him and his friends a few months later specifically to meet Kevin Smith, but Mike's BFF was an hour late picking us up, so by the time we got there the line had already been roped off, and I totally cried. I did get a comic signed by one of Kevin's cronies, though. I'm keeping that one.

This I bought after the release of Dogma, which I didn't enjoy as much as the other films (don't even get me started on Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back), but I love Jesus, and I loved Kevin Smith. Who could ask for anything more?

The comics and figurine were proudly displayed in my dorm room until I graduated, and they've survived all of my moves within the great Hoosier state. Now, eight years later, I think I'm finally ready to say good-bye. I considered donating them to Goodwill, but if it's possible, I'd love to give them to someone who I know will appreciate them. Plus, I'm afraid the Goodwill guys will take one look at the comics and laugh at me behind my back.

ANYWAY, my point is, are you interested? If not for yourself, perhaps for a friend? First person to call dibs wins.

(By using the phrase "first person," I'm assuming more than one of you a) know who Kevin Smith is and b) care enough about his movie memorabilia to want this stuff cluttering your home. Please don't make a fool out of me.)

Edited to add: Holy cow, you guys, I had no idea even one person would be interested, let alone four! Let me think more on how to give this stuff away.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who occasionally refers to Jack as "Charlie"

Why didn't anybody give me a heads up that DeLurking Week was more than two freaking weeks ago?

At least, I think it was. Its creator, Sheryl of Paper Napkin, hasn't really done anything with it since 2006, but when it comes to comment-inducing events, the blogosphere isn't about to let one go without a fight, so I assume its spirit is alive and well. Right, Liz?

Anyway, for this period of delurkism, I'd like to talk about television. You know, that thing that used to be cool before last fall's writer's strike? Now it seems the best most networks can do is either put out new crap like Dance War: Bruno versus Carrie Ann or recycle older, tired crap like American Gladiator. Although dude, I'll be damned if I didn't watch twenty minutes of Dance War last night.

So, what I want to know is: how are you surviving the strike? Luke and I have embraced our Blockbuster Online membership and recently finished the first season of Lost. Why the hell we weren't watching this show before is a mystery to me, but we are loving it now. It took us about three weeks to get through season one, and we just started the first disc of the second season last night. I've also been pleased as punch that Deal or No Deal is on at least twice a week now.

Since it appears the strike's going to last for the rest of the current TV season, we're in the market for ideas of other shows we should get into. The second season of Big Love is already on our queue, and we're contemplating The Sopranos and Six Feet Under (LOVE hottie Peter Krause). And the fifteen-year-old in me is seriously considering going for Dawson's Creek, because I never caught that show, either. Dawson wasn't exactly my cup of tea, looks-wise.

OK, have at it, people! And of course, if you just want to compliment my baby, that's fine, too. She's quite delicious.

If the stair climbing doesn't do it, Carol's sexual innuendos will

I was so sure it was going to happen last night. The contractions were coming every fifteen minutes or so, Luke and I walked around our apartment complex to jiggle the baby up, and I bounced my ass off on the birthing ball; plus, ten minutes before bed I proceeded to have a nesting panic attack so severe that Luke mopped our floors and took out the trash for me. At midnight. Because suddenly everything seemed filthy.

This morning we woke up and took another walk. I vaccuumed the shit out of our apartment, bleached our sinks (wearing gloves, don't worry), and did several laps on the stairs in our building. When Luke comes home for lunch, we'll do some more walking, but in the meantime, I'm watching A Very Brady Christmas in hopes that the awfulness of the dialogue, wardrobe, and continued abuse of Alice (if she's really a houseguest, why not encourage her to get out of that damn uniform?) will be enough to make Freka want to flee the confines of my uterus before the ending credits have a chance to roll.

Seriously, this movie is terrible. Between Carol's thinly veiled "let's do some business together" sex talk, Mike's pairing of a watch and a bracelet on the same wrist (I really can't stand jewelry on men), Greg's selfish wife (who refuses to visit the Bradys for the holidays this year because her favorite aunt will be in town, EVEN THOUGH they've been to her family's house for Christmas the last two years), Marcia's whiny, jobless husband (who has no qualms sharing their dismal financial state in front of their two bratty kids), and Peter's willingness to sleep with his boss but not make her an honest woman because she makes more money than he does, I haven't a clue as to why I look forward to watching this drivel year after year after year.

But, God help me, I do.

Deep thoughts from my first day off; also, in case it isn't obvious, no baby yet

Yesterday, while reading Marie Clare:

Christina Aguilera, I don't think buying a house qualifies as "nesting."

Will I ever be in a financial situation that can justify spending four hundred dollars on a purse?

God, I miss normal-people clothes.

While showering:

Hot damn, is this a pain in the ass.

While brushing my teeth:

Hey, our soap dispenser is almost out. I wonder which Bath and Body Works pump I should put out next: Country Apple or Warm Vanilla Sugar?

I really should floss. Tomorrow.

While watching The Parent Trap:

Uh, Susan? Telling your camp buddies that The Girl Who Looks Exactly Like You is the spitting image of Frankenstein doesn't bode well for you, honey. Also, you are a bitch and totally deserved to have the back of your skirt cut out at the Saturday night dance.

I wonder if Hayley Mills got bored acting with herself.

Maureen O'Hara was gorgeous. Does my generation even have a Maureen O'Hara?

Vicki was actually pretty nice to the girls until they submarined her.

Wasn't Mitch in The Shaggy Dog? I've never seen it, but still.

Am I the only person who remembers the sequel to this movie? Who was it that the divorced sister hooked up with in that one?

Mitch has every right to be mad that his ex-wife is prancing around in his bathrobe while he's meeting with his fiancee and wedding minister. Where the fuck does she get off punching him?

I bet the sex was pretty good.

Tom Skerritt.

Ben and Jerry, your Banana Split isn't bad, but it's no Chunky Monkey.

While watching The Sound of Music:

Did Julie Andrews ever have long hair? Mary Poppins doesn't count, that was totally a wig.

Captain Von Trapp is HOTT. HOOOOT.

I don't care if I'm a dork, I LIKE Maria's handmade dresses.

Liesel is so pretty. Look at those eyes!

Her shoes are cute, too.

I wish handsome boys delivered telegrams to MY house and then twirled me around in a gazebo in the rain.

When I was a kid, I always thought the German/Austrian conflict stuff was kind of thrown in after the second act, but really there were subtle clues throughout the whole movie. Damn network television and their edits for clouding my original impressions!

The adult dialogue in this movie is actually pretty clever!

I wonder what the age difference is between Maria and Captain Von Trapp?

HOOOOT.

"Climb Every Mountain" is the worst song in a musical ever, mainly because it's sung by an eighty-year-old nun.

Would a sixteen-year-old girl really enjoy helping out with a damn puppet show?

I remember when I wanted to be a nun. Good thing that didn't work out.

Poor Captain Von Trapp, having his homeland torn apart by Nazis.

HOOOOT.

Braxton this, Mr. Hicks; also, the episode where Brandon met Emily in San Francisco was also a Turkey Day one, right?

Long day, people. Long day. And because of it, the 38-week photo shoot is lacking, I think.

But don't worry. Frema finally found her happy face!

I'm working on it.

Tonight, Luke and I had a fun time trying to time my latest round of Braxton Hicks contractions, which were (sometimes) strong enough to inspire my breathing exercises but never regular enough to merit real concern. I did get one hell of a foot massage out of the deal, though. With lotion! Bath and Body Works lotion! Such a lucky woman, am I.

Continuing with the Q&A goodness, Jenny asks: 

Have you been watching The Office this season, and if so, what do you think so far?

Luke and I have been huge Office fans ever since we discovered the show during its season two run; every episode is guaranteed to withdraw at least one heartfelt guffaw from each of us. Michael's stupidly painful (yet unfortunately, still very boss-like) antics! Toby's depressing life! Dwight's cousin Mose! It's all too much!

At the end of season three, when it appeared that Jim and Pam were attempting to make a go of things, we both cheered. And at the beginning of season four, when we saw their relationship wasn't going to dominate the show's entire story arch, we breathed a sigh of relief. But now? Now, I'm not sure how I feel. The show is still very funny, but at this point it's kind of...I don't know...slow? The Dwight and Angela break-up is interesting, but it's not picking up fast enough for me. Jim and Pam are adorable, but I'm getting some very strong "Ross and Rachel season three" vibes--you guys know what I'm talking about, right? When Rachel went from being a waitress at Central Perk to a fashion executive at Bloomingdale's, and Ross got all iffy, and now Pam's trying to shed her receptionist shell to pursue leads in graphic design, and Jim's all iffy? Branch out a little, NBC writers, is all I'm saying.

What is your favorite Mexican food/Italian food?

This may come as a shock to you guys, but I'm a picky eater. I know! Despite the Mexican genes I've inherited from my father, it's a miracle I even eat tacos. I do, though. They're very good. But steak fajitas are the best.

As far as Italian food goes, same thing. When Luke and I go to places like Olive Garden or Macaroni Grill, I usually get either spaghetti (with sausage, yum) or pizza. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, am I right?

I think I'm right.

What is your favorite (or strangest) Thanksgiving memory?

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because the focus is so simple: family and food. No worries about decorations or presents, and most everyone gets to enjoy a lovely four-day weekend without having to lose a vacation day. I can't ever remember having a bad time. Memories that stand out include a broccoli fight shared between my mom and one of my aunts when I was eleven and the first time Luke and I spent it together in 2005. Prior to that we were usually apart for the actual meal on the actual holiday, so finally being able to share that with him was extra special.

If it's strange you want, I also have a lingering memory of a Beverly Hills, 90210 episode that aired on Thanksgiving, probably when I was in middle school. I never did see the whole thing, but Brandon was hanging off a cliff. Anyone care to fill in the blanks for me?

And I don't even watch the damn show anymore

Luke and I will be leaving for the much-anticipated Tori Amos concert in three hours, and I've been sitting in front of the computer all day, half working from home, half indulging on clips from General Hospital that highlight the tumultuous love triangle between Jason, Liz, and Lucky, and Liz's giving birth via emergency c-section to Jason's baby but passing him off as Lucky's, and then the baby being kidnapped, and then Liz and Lucky getting in the middle of a nasty divorce, and Lucky trying to take Jake away from Elizabeth under the guise of "custody strategy," and I've cried three times because I keep thinking about what would happen if I had an emergency c-section and died and Luke and the baby had to be without me. I haven't even showered yet.

It's just one of those days.

Tragic Love Friday: She's (not) having a baby

Ah, the gloriousness of a three-day work week. Aren't they the prettiest things ever?

Last night was spent in a whirlwind attempt to finally put our dishevled apartment back together, catch up on five episodes of All My Children, and finish one of the blog books I'm reading for class. I was on the verge of high-fiving myself when the taco I had for dinner decided to resurface, and I spent the last twenty minutes before bed rinsing out the toilet seat cover and bleaching the sink, all while Luke slept like a baby.

Almost fifteen weeks along and I'm still gagging myself with a toothbrush. Will it ever end?

Also, a random AMC note for those who watch: Is anybody else digging the new Greenlee? The character's a total biotch, of course, but the replacement actress they found is actually doing a decent job. Meanwhile, I continue to hate Ryan Lavery with the burning passion of a thousand suns. Just because Greenlee is the reason that Kendall was impregnated with Ryan's sperm doesn't mean she has any "moral claim" to Spike, seeing as she abandoned her gestating BFF the minute she found out Kendall used her own egg because Greenlee's were destroyed in a city-wide blackout and Ryan's sperm was thawing and there was no time to collect more of Greenlee's eggs and Kendall was terrified that Greenlee would kill herself because Ryan had faked his death by driving off a cliff and she wanted his child more than anything in the world, even though Ryan wasn't into kids at the time and actually had a vasectomy but sneaky Greenlee stole his sperm from a fertility clinic, which was donated back when Ryan first came to town and needed cash. The nerve of some people.

But anyway. On to TLF.

-------

CHAPTER TEN - KATHERINE (CONTINUED)

It was final. I was pregnant. I had officially become a statistic, and I hated that. It wasn't my fault! I didn't want kids; never had, and definitely never will. Yet here I was, an expectant mother.

But would I stay that way? I wasn't a fool; I knew my options. A baby was definitely not on my list of accomplishments this year. I couldn't do it. I had to get rid of my kid--I mean, the fetus. That's it.

"I'm having--I'm having--" I couldn't say the word "abortion." I just couldn't. "I'm ending my pregnancy," I said to myself firmly. That sounded better.

[Is Katherine breaking your heart yet? This poor girl can't get a break. I don't know if I have the heart to snark on her. But I'll try.]

Well, one thing was for sure. I wouldn't be able to go and have an abortion. The doctor would call my parents faster than I could say [your mom! Ha, I did it!] my name. Don't doctors have to say those things? I wasn't certain, but I didn't want to find out. [Apparently, neither did 'lil Frema. What a lazypants she was.] Also, I was broke. I'd have to do it myself. But how?

I felt horrible. I was planning to end a human life, on my own. "Oh, God," I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. My tears flowed, and for once I couldn't stop them. Shaking, I walked into my parents' room and grabbed the bottles off my mother's dresser. I examined the contents and labels. Sedatives, sleeping pills, anti-depressants... It suddenly hit me that my mother was emotionally unstable, probably had been for years. "Don't think about that," I whispered, my voice unsteady. My eyes were blurred with my tears, so I couldn't read the fine print that followed the "WARNING" label. I didn't care. I'd be OK in the end. I popped open the lid to the sleeping pills and only took one. Right now I needed rest. I'd plan everything out later. I swallowed the pill and curled up on my parents' bed, trying to drown out of my head the consequences of my decision.

[Remember when Julia was pregnant on Party of Five and wanted to an abortion but actually experienced a miscarriage? Even lil' Frema knew that was a cop-out on behalf of the writers. So, in the instances when you're too icked out for words--and trust me, folks, it gets icky--at least commend this youngling for her literary bravery.]

* * *

When I awoke, I felt groggy, unaware of everything. Where am I? I wondered. My head felt as heavy as a truck, and it hurt. I felt a distinct movement in my stomache. I got up slowly and fumbled around until my hand found the lightswitch. The room was filled with light, and I had to close my eyes. I let the wall support me as I slid down to the floor. When I opened them, Shannon was kneeling next to me.

I blinked my eyes. "Sh-Shannon." My tongue was like leather. "How come you're here?"

"Lucas let me in. No one else is here. We have to talk." She pulled me to my feet. "C'mon."

"Wait a minute." I pulled away and tried to glare at her, but it turned into a frown. "I have things to do. It'll have to wait until--maybe, in a few days--"

"With what, Katherine?!? What do you do besides veg out at home and isolate yourself? Nothing, and I'm sick of it. It's not healthy! Look at you!" Her eyes filled with tears. "Let me help you. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong! Who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that? I'm FINE. Or I was until you showed up." I opened my mouth to yell some more until I saw the look on her face. Suddenly I felt bad. She was only worried about me. She had no idea what was going on.

My best friend saw my body loosen up, and she opened her arms. I accepted, and her embrace was tight. It's a good thing; otherwise I know I would've fallen.

[Shannon's a good pal and all, but don't you think her language is a little intense? It's like they're lesbians without benefits.]

"C'mon," she repeated. "Spend the night tonight."

[I rest my case.]

"Can't. Tomorrow's school," I replied, letting go.

"Today's Friday, Kath."

"I gotta ask my mom, and she's not home." Shannon looked hurt; I couldn't blame her. My mother wouldn't care, and she knows that.

An idea popped into my head.

"I'll leave a note," I relented. "I just gotta get some stuff." She nodded. She was waiting in the kitchen; I grabbed two of each pill and stuck them in my pocket. The rumble in my belly was painful. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what those "WARNING" labels were for.

Before I left, I checked on Lucas. He had an old photo album on his lap. "THE BRADY BUNCH" was on TV. I sat down beside him. "Whatcha lookin' at this stuff for, Luke?" He shrugged. We stared at the TV screen as Mike kissed Carol before he left for work.

"Dad doesn't do that anymore," he commented.

"No," I agreed. "But Mom's not home when he leaves. She works in the morning, or she's asleep from the night before."

"Nobody cooks dinner," he continued. "Dad doesn't play checkers anymore. (His favorite game.) Mom won't help me with my math. I got an 'F' on a big test yesterday." My brother's forehead wrinkled, and his chin trembled. "Leigh's never home. I hate her. And you act funny. You're staying at Shannon's, aren't you?" he demanded. I nodded, and he grabbed my arm. "Please don't leave, Kathy. I hate being alone!" His face completely crumbled, and he buried his face in my sweater. I cradled him in my arms. God, I felt awful for going. "I have to, Luke," I whispered. "I'll be home tomorrow, and we'll have a checkers marathon and we'll go over your test, and anything else you want to do." He lifted his head. "Promise?" I hugged him again. "I swear it."

I left him sitting there. I forget that he's only 12 sometimes.

"Let's go," I told Shannon.

[Too bad Katherine doesn't want children. She's already a better mother than Jenna and Kayla combined.]

END OF PART TWO

[Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging! I brought the next--the last! (sob)--notebook with me to work!]

PART THREE

CHAPTER ELEVEN - KATHERINE

We sat on Shannon's bed in silence. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't her, but I couldn't tell her the truth.

"I'm sorry," I finally said.

"Why?"

"I know I haven't been the greatest person to be around. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"You were that way for a reason, Kath. What's wrong?" she asked gently.

"It's OK now, Shannie," I replied, ignoring her question and thinking of my pills. "Everything's gonna be OK. I don't want to think about it anymore."

"Katherine--"

"Shannon, please." I hugged her quickly. "Don't ask."

Thankfully she let it drop. We ate pizza and painted our nails. I caught up on gossip, but my heart wasn't into it. She could tell. "Kath, I've seen Kyle around with Andrea Polly," she said tentatively. "What happened with him?"

"It didn't work out," I answered. "He's a real jerk. Too possessive." Lies, lies, lies!

[Actually, that's the truth. He was possessive. Illegally and brutally possessive. Of her poor, innocent body.]

"Oh," Shannon cried. "I feel so stupid! That's why you've been like this." She squeezed my hand.

"It's alright, Shannie. There was nothing you could do." I stood up. "Be right back."

In the bathroom, I clutched the six pills in my clammy hand. I glanced in the mirror, only I didn't see me. I saw a little girl of about four or five. Her golden hair was in piggy tails, and her smile revealed shiny white teeth. Her eyes, however, had no pupils.

[So I guess the sleeping pill Katherine took also induces hallucinations? If that's the case, Jenna's been having a grand ole time these last few years. Also, from this description, I can't stop picturing Cindy Brady. And the brat wasn't even cute! Damn lil' Frema and her references to sixties-era television.]

"Mommy, ouch! That hurts! I don't feel good." The toddler's body cringed, and she cried out. "Momma, stop! Stop, momma, I'm in here!" I held back my sobs. "Go away, go away," I whispered, shaking my head and blinking hard. The little girl was gone. I was alone in my reflection.

["Are you pregnant? Do you feel trapped and alone? If so, take the wire hanger away from your vaginal canal and call the toll-free number at the bottom of your screen." Thus concluding lil' Frema's first pro-life commercial.]

[This making fun of people's pain, it's easier than I thought!]

"Katrina," I said, and I liked the sound. "Katrina," I continued, swallowing one pill; then another and another. "I'm not your momma. God gave you to me on accident. I'm returning you to Heaven, that's all." I drank a little water. "I wouldn't be a good momma anyway." I kissed the mirror, just in case my baby came back. "Bye-bye, Katrina."

[I got the "toddler's" name from my best friend in high school. We're still friends today; she even stood up in my wedding. Lucky for lil' Frema that her first initial fit in with the whole "K" theme she's got going on.]

Back in my friend's room, we turned off the lights and put on a movie. All the while my stomache churned, my head pounded, and my tongue felt too thick for my mouth. As the room started to fade, I started to panic, and for the first time I thought about the possibility that I could die. I would've deserved it.

My mind blanked, and all was dark.

-------

So, now that we're seeing more of Shannon, which celebrity do you think should play her? Let me know in the comments, and I'll find a picture of the one who collects the most votes.

Also, there are only fifty-three pages left until the end of the sequel. There is no part three, and I'm still not sure what to do. Keep going without the charm of lil' Frema or let TLF die peacefully in the "What're you lookin' at?" archives? This is how Meryl Streep's character must've felt in Sophie's Choice, I swear.

Everything-But-the-Kitchen-Sink Wednesday

So, I tried on my swimsuit for the first time this year, and you know what?

I totally look pregnant in it.

Parading around my bedroom in front of our full-length mirror, marveling at the lessening gap between my gut rolls, I couldn't stop gazing at myself, couldn't stop rubbing my belly. I've taken the tests, I've heard the heartbeat, I've lost my dinner more times than I can count, and yet, it was like discovering I was pregnant for the first time. Like, oh my God, something is totally growing inside of me.

Needless to say, it's time for a new swimsuit.

(And since I'll be at the mall anyway, new underwear. My pants fit fine, but the skivvies are cutting off my circulation. When will Victoria's Secret wise up and start a maternity line?)

Things are at an even keel around here, as far as weight goes.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 129.4
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -6.2

Lunch is getting harder and harder to plan for, as soups of all textures and flavors currently turn my stomach and frozen dinners and sandwiches sound as appealing as chunks of cardboard, so I've been trying to make do with apples, nectarines, yogurt, and a Ziplock bag stuffed with pickles until it's time to go home. This afternoon I broke down and spent five dollars and ten cents on three cheeseburgers, an order of mozzarella sticks, and a small fry from White Castle, but two bites into my second burger Freke sent a stern message via my digestive tract advising me to make wiser choices in the future. Can this really be a child of mine? Next thing you know it'll be jonesing for seafood. I love this baby, but not that much, you know?

I've also been busy pouring through potential texts for my blogging class this fall, as you can tell by the endless list of Amazon links on my About page. I didn't take any education classes in college or grad school, so teaching is brand-spanking new to me, and I'm terrified I won't have enough material to keep my students engaged for two and a half hours a week for thirteen weeks. Worse, I'm afraid my tendency to stumble over my words and talk too fast in front of large groups will give these undergrads the impression that I'm a complete and total idiot. And I'm not, I promise you I'm not, no matter what your mom might tell you.

Here are some of the topics I plan to address:

• The origin of blogs
• Popular technical features
• Available blogging technologies
• How blogs have influenced politics, business, advertising/marketing, and communications
• Web standards
• Copyright protection
• Privacy/safety issues
• Blogging versus the traditional personal essay
• Creative writing versus blogging
• Money-making opportunities

If you were taking my class, what else would you expect/hope to learn about blogging? Inquiring minds want to know.

Let's see, what else can I blab about? Luke and I are still waiting to see a two-bedroom apartment on hold for us within our complex, an apartment that's been vacant since May 13th but for some reason still isn't presentable enough to view. Whether it's this unit or another one, though, we are set to move on the last weekend of the month, and every few days or so one of us questions our decision. On one hand, we can get rid of a few items in our current place and find room for a crib and a Pack 'n Play, but on the other hand, wanting to have a kitchen table isn't that outrageous a desire, is it? On one hand, it'd be nice to save the extra ninety-five dollars a month a bigger apartment will require, but on the other hand, how long can two adults and a baby live in 675 square feet without somebody requesting a divorce or parental emancipation?

Round and round and round we go with the whole discussion until we realize that we just plain want the extra space because car seats and strollers and dressers and cribs can't be stored in our hall closet, so we are moving and that's the end of that.

Of course, too much space could also be an issue, as evidenced by the movie First Born starring Elisabeth Shue, which Luke and I rented and watched on Monday night. I'm a sucker for films revolving around demon-baby plots, and since the DVD's cover art featued an upside-down cross in the title and a tagline of "Stay away from the baby," I thought for sure I'd hit the supernatural jackpot. Only not so much.

The movie is centered around a couple of ritzy city-dwellers who find out they're with child and move to the suburbs, in a house larger than your local Dominick's, to provide a safe environment for their budding family.

(Spoilers ahead, in case you care.)

Elisabeth Shue goes into premature labor after tripping over rocks in her lawn and receives an emergency c-section. The nurse who shows her how to breastfeed tells her "it's all downhill from here." Her asshole husband--who had previously PROMISED to take time off when the baby arrived--leaves for work at six in the morning and never comes home earlier than ten. She develops mastitis. She accidentally locks herself in the basement while her daughter cries in her crib upstairs. She runs to the store and forgets to take the baby into the house. The doctors she contacts for help cut off the ends of her sentences. She finds an abandoned doll on the subway and takes it home, but it has a hard time staying in the same damn place. And through it all we're led to believe Elisabeth's Shues troubles might be caused by spirits in the new house or a manipulative witch masquerading as a kindly, elderly baby-sitter.

In the end she buries her baby in the backyard, thinking it's the doll, so my bet is on post-partum depression.

Probably not the best flick to see when you're one week away from your second trimester. We should've gone with Fast Food Nation.

Apparently all I needed was a little cuddle time with the television

Because after I came home from work on Friday, bawled on my couch for ten minutes for reasons I could barely explain to my own husband, and satisfied my flair for the dramatic with a non-negotiable daily dose of All My Children, all was right with the world. Luke made pizza for dinner, and we watched some Law and Order, and then we spent the rest of the night taking turns on the Wii, he with the newest Legend of Zelda game, me with a download of the original NES Ninja Gaiden, which, may I say, is much more fun to play on the Wii because the hard drive will save your progress. Which means I can continue to try my hand at beating the multi-armed samurai featured in the first world of the fourth level until the end of time.

Saturday was spent doing much of the same, so much of the same, in fact, that neither one of us hit the showers until five o'clock. Luke passed out a few hours later while I warped back in time to the year 1990, the year I discovered the first, the best, the video-game-princess-I-love-more-than-life-itself Zelda, whose graphics are refreshingly one-dimensional and music is catchier than any chart topper on contemporary radio. I couldn't put down my controller until four pieces of the triforce were charged to my care. For intellectual stimulation, we watched Thank You for Smoking (fantastic) and the last few episodes of Big Love (I can't believe I have to wait a freakin' year before the second season is over and available on DVD to find out if the families will be driven out of Utah for their now publicly polygamous ways and how Margie's pregnancy affects her status with the other two wives, who currently treat her like a five-year-old preparing for her first day of kindergarten on a daily basis. Also, I still think Nicki's a bitch, but it was really cool to watch her stand up to Barb's sister, and she actually looked very pretty for the "Beehive Mother of the Year" awards ceremony). I didn't leave our apartment for the entire day. Luke ventured out to the supermarket in the morning, for cinnamon rolls. Bliss.

Our Sunday was equally glorious. We purposefully showered before noon so we could go out to lunch and see a matinee screening of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, which I thought was a lot of fun and much more worth my money than Spider-Man 3; good thing, too, because by the time the lights went up Luke and I were already engaged in a full-fledged sprint to the bathroom, which caused us to miss a pivotal scene that aired after the ending credits and is rumored to tie up a few loose ends in the plot, which means we will probably see it one more time before the conclusion of its theater run. We ended our day with dinner, dishes, and bills, the latter two chores being mine, and it was a pleasure doing both because Luke has been so good about keeping up on things around here while I moan on the couch, and the dishes were the result of steak and roasted potatoes and I wanted to show my appreciation for his hard work in the kitchen. Also, it was the first time since this whole "morning sickness" started that I actually approached our bills with vigor; as I write out checks and balance our register, I'm always reminded of how lucky we are that we can meet our financial obligations and still put a respectable portion of our earnings into our savings account.

So basically it took me three paragraphs to tell you that I'm feeling much better, and it can only go uphill from here, as Luke and I are leaving on Friday morning for a four-day romp through western Michigan and Mackinac Island, home to the best fudge on Earth. This trip is most likely going to be the last one we take before the baby's arrival, and by George, we're going to make every second count. For real, peeps.

Coffee Talk Wednesday

Somehow, it seems, through no official planning on my own, Wednesday has become our time--the Internet's time--for which I retreat from the worn spot on my couch to bitch to you about the insignificant melodramas that make up my life. I don't like coffee, but I did just gulp down half a glass of orange juice. What's your beverage of choice this evening?

Since it is Wednesday, first things first.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 133.8
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -1.8

Pre-pregnancy Frema would be so proud of her bad-ass self for finally keeping her hands out of the Ben and Jerry's, but pregnant Frema is hoping the weight loss will justify the second-trimester cravings she plans on fulfilling the minute she can tolerate foods other than grapes, strawberries, select flavors of yogurt, toast, lemonade, Minute Maid juice boxes, and certain kinds of pizza. No milk, unless with cereal. No water, period. No Cheerios or Fig Newtons. Luke made bacon sandwiches for dinner last night, one of my very favorite foods ever, and I had to force it down. I don't think I've ever eaten so little in my entire life, and that includes my stint with Weight Watchers. My household is definitely ready for the first trimester to be over.

In the meantime, I regularly consult the five-dollar, cheapie Wal-Mart mirror in our bedroom hoping to pinpoint physical evidence that a condition other than an eating disorder is taking over my body, but there's still nothing visible to the naked eye, no matter how many times the well-meaning accountant at work compliments my stomach rolls. "I think someone's pouching out," she exclaims every few days, delighted, and every few days I reply, "Nope. That's just my gut. Seriously. It's that big."

The weird thing is that even though I've lost weight, my pants are somehow eating up all the extra space that should exist between my hips and theirs. Work slacks are fine because the material is stretchy, but jeans are another story. One day I said to hell with it and wore them zipped up but unbuttoned TO THE OFFICE, opting to cover the waistband with an oversized college hoodie from my undergraduate years. Pair that with a fro that's weeks overdue (not to mention weeks away from) a hair cut and a face that can't bear the feel of make-up and you have one smoking woman.

(The face thing is my fault, seeing as I've stopped taking my acne meds because I can only swallow so many pills in one freakin' day and have reduced the application of the topical creams to once every morning. I don't even brush my teeth before going to bed anymore. I'm afraid of my gag reflex.)

(Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?)

The icing on the cake? I had to schedule a doctor's appointment for tomorrow morning because it burns when I pee and there are undeniable signs that a yeast infection is camped out in my nether regions.

Is this TMI for coffee talk?

To wrap things up, I want to thank those of you who've sent in assvice stories thus far. I had originally hoped to post one on Monday, because these gems must be shared with the world, but you know, that would've interfered with the whole laying-on-the-couch master plan, so next week, definitely. Plus, I have plans to blog tomorrow! Two days in a row! I know! It has to do with the graceful way I announced my pregnancy to my boss last week. Just in case you were wondering if it'd be worth it to check back.

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Holy crap, this entry was posted for eight seconds before I realized I forgot to talk about American Idol. Can anybody tell me what the hell Blake is still doing on this show? I mean, his "rock star" rendition of Bon Jovi's "You Give Love A Bad Name" consisted of miming a record player and spitting on his microphone with his JT-wannabe beat box sounds. He has yet to belt out a tune but gets away with changing all of his songs into cookie-cutter techno recordings. And the judges eat him up, even Simon. Why, WHY? At this point, I don't even know who I'm rooting for. Melinda's great, but I don't think her sound is modern enough to sell albums. LaKisha is too diva-like, and Jordin is good but occasionally resorts to cutesy tactics on stage that irritate the shit out of me. What to do, America? What to do?   

What? It's Technically Still Wednesday

Geez, with only sixteen minutes left to Weight Loss Wednesday, you'd think there was bad news to report. But actually, I did myself proud.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.2
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12.2

Not bad, right? I'm not sure how it happened, really, since not only did I move forward with my plans to indulge in a big, heaping bowl of spinach dip this weekend while my beloved was out of town, I did it TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. Once on Saturday night while enjoying my long-awaited Sex and the City marathon, and once the night before at a quaint little pub with Jessi, a blog reader who works and attends law school in Indianapolis. I was so nervous about meeting someone whose sole perception of me was based on meticulously crafted entries and goofy pictures that almost always involve Photoshopping some of the acne off my cheeks, so afraid I'd look like an asshole when referencing something from my blog, as if I assumed people had nothing better to do then commit my archives to memory, but the minute I laid eyes on her happy smile outside the Aristocrat in Broadripple, I immediately relaxed and let myself be carried away by good conversation. Which lasted two hours. It was that awesome.

Plus, I felt a little like a rock star when we would delve into a new topic and she knew exactly what I was talking about, like when we were swapping stories about old boyfriends and I'd said only a few words about my second one before Jessi was like, "Oh, when you were Trophy Frema?" And I was like, "Oh, yeah!"

(How many of you have met other bloggers/blog readers? Did you have a similarly awesome experience?)

In other news, I can't deny my feelings any longer. I miss All My Children.

The Bible reading is becoming harder to keep up with, despite my intentionally leaving the Good Book in plain sight on the nightstand instead of tucked away on a shelf halfway across the room, but I still manage to get my time in more often than not. And I still enjoy it and feel like I've learned a lot. However, the absence of AMC from my daily routine is almost impossible to bear. No, I haven't cheated, thanks so much for your faith in me, that is, unless you count desperately flipping through soap mags in the check-out aisle at Target as cheating, which I don't, because I totally didn't learn anything about whether or not Krystal's had her illegitimate baby, Tad knows his own son is (unknowingly) (of course) playing daddy to the long-lost daughter he once thought died in utero, Babe's fake death has been brought to light, or Kendall is still carrying hottie Zach's child. Easter Sunday will indeed be a glorious day, because in addition to celebrating the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, I'll also be reprogramming my VCR to record channel six every week day at one o'clock eastern standard time. Let us rejoice and be glad.

On a related note, Carrisa asked me last week why I decided on AMC as my Lenten sacrifice, which was a perfectly valid question; after all, boycotting daytime television doesn't eliminate disease or help the poor or even make a difference to anyone but me. I really wanted to pick something, though, that hit me where it hurt, and if you had any idea how much time I spent catching up on episodes, lurking on message boards, and combing through character bios, you'd know that by the time Lent rolled around this year I was on the verge of obsessed. For my own peace of mind, I wanted to know that I wasn't as dependent on such a shallow form of entertainment as I thought, and when times got tough, I tried to remember how insignificant my sacrifice was when compared to what Jesus did for us, even though it was an insanely important part of my life. I love the history and the characters and the laughable plots and the inappropriate wardrobe choices made for Susan Lucci (how many times did she wear strapless dresses in November, girlfriends? How many?) and the guilty-pleasure escapism provided by the great and wonderful land of Pine Valley, but I had to prove to myself I could take a step back when that love got out of control.

How about the rest of you fellow Lenten observers? Are you happy with the choices you made regarding your own Easter sacrifice? (If in fact you gave anything up in the first place; I know not every Christian denomination does this.) How did you do? What did you learn?

P.S. Both Bethiclaus and David have decided to take the WLW plunge. Let's show 'em some love, shall we?

At One Point, I Even Liked Titanic

First things first. Deal or No Deal. It was on tonight. For two hours. And during the first sixty minutes? Firefighters. It was a blessed, blessed thing. (Although wait, my dad is a lieutenant for the Chi-town fuego department, so that might be weird) very nice. Even better was the twenty-four-year-old Hot Dog on a Stick employee who was pulled from her usual routine of squeezing lemonades and refilling ketchup bottles to win sixty-two thousand dollars. Apparently Shell had been with the hot dog place for nine years. She didn't have any children to support, and her arms and legs bore no evidence of track marks, so I'm not sure which events in her life led to the questionably long tenure, exactly, but I'm hoping her newfound wealth provides her with ample motivation to give them notice, buy a suit, and snag an interview with a more upscale establishment, like, I don't know, Barnes and Noble. Then she could afford a copy of Suze Orman's Women and Money and really make something of her life.

Secondly, you can all sleep soundly tonight, for yesterday I finally succumbed to the gods of the gag-me-with-a-spoon genre and watched The Notebook. My sisters love The Notebook. My friend Trina hung up on me when she found out I was watching it because she felt guilty about keeping us apart. And when Silly Hily learned via Google Chat that I found the movie for a measly four bucks last Christmas, bought it, and then returned it for a refund, she said--and I quote--"If I knew you in person and saw you on a regular basis, I would beat you the next five times I saw you." That was probably the kicker.

Two hours later, I was quietly sobbing over my corned beef and cabbage leftovers, because Jeez Louise, who wouldn't cry at the thought of a dying old woman suffering from Alzheimer's who can't recognize her own husband, a man who has nothing better to do than read aloud scribbles from a college-ruled, tattered journal? If Luke hadn't chosen to join me for the last ten minutes, I could've gone all out with the yelling and pulling out of my hair, but in an effort to maintain some semblance of dignity, I conjured up a scene from an early episode of Scrubs, the one where Bob the dementia patient randomly tackled various hospital staff out of nowhere while shouting, "Who am I?!" Did you guys catch that one? It was really funny.

Seriously, though, I'm a sucker for tales of gut-wrenching misfortune. Like the time a few years ago, when I was flipping through the channels at my parents' house and ended up using the belly of my sweatshirt as a hankerchief because there was a movie on Lifetime in which an entire town was reeling from a hurricane slash flood slash tornado slash any other natural disaster you can think of, and an elderly couple and their adult children were loading onto a small boat to head for safety because said natural disaster was on its way back any minute, and the mother said she couldn't do it, couldn't leave the house her father had built with his own two hands to be carried away by the ravenous appetite of the Earth, so the father decided to stay behind and drown with her, and the adult children floated away on their life raft, while the couple stood frozen with fear in their living room, clutching to each other while swirls of water danced around their ankles.

Even though my entire knowledge base for this small-screen masterpiece had been accumulated in fewer than eight minutes, my eyes were blurry with tears, and I felt like the spirit of the Lifetime Network had captured my heart and slurped out its essence with a straw, because the love, it was REAL, people. And the couple's impending death? Well, that just fucking sucked.

I also remember losing it over Go Towards the Light, another made-for-TV movie, about a little boy who was diagnosed with AIDS, and if you're looking for a good reason to hiccup into your pillow at two o'clock in the morning, just imagine a mother holding on to her son while he takes his last, ragged breath, encouraging him to--you guessed it--go towards the light. Go ahead, read the quotes. If you can make it to "My heart took a picture" with a dry face, there's simply no hope for you or that withered vessel you call a soul.

The Notebook was good. Young love and social prejudice always make for a fun time, and I adored Rachel McAdams's forties wardrobe, and Ryan Gosling's house rocked the casbah, and the sex scenes.... Well, let's just say I wouldn't mind replaying the extended versions in my head on those nights when Luke is out of town. Or running to the store for milk. But ultimately it was one predictable cliche, starting with Noah's insistence that Allie lay in the street with him because she needed to do something for herself for once, or something. Whatever.

I'm surprised that I wasn't more taken by the movie, but I think I'm drawn to snappier love stories, ones with sharper wit, like When Harry Met Sally or While You Were Sleeping. However, I do have a soft spot for How To Make An American Quilt, which documents the life of a young Winona Ryder as she prepares to marrry, gathering anecdotes from the women in her life about their own romantic hardships and struggles with love. Just like the old couple dying in the flood, I cried because the characters' histories felt so real to me, so true, and at the tender age of fifteen, it was impossible to fathom that one day I would have a love story, a history to share with other women, and my own lessons to share. Plus, Claire Danes was in it and I was hooked on My So-Called Life, so there you go.

C'mon, ladies and gents, have at it. Which flicks turn on your water faucets?

Priorities

Last night Luke and I were plowing through the aisles of Super Target, accumulating items scribbled onto our first shopping list of the month, and it was within the first ten minutes of our entering the store that my loyalty to The Spreadsheet was tested.

We were strolling through the electronics section searching for possible gift ideas for my brother-in-law when, through a series of red-and-white sales tags strategically positioned at eye level, the TV kiosk announced that every season of Sex and the City was available for an impressive twenty bucks a pop. I gasped and clutched at my heart over the wool of my pea coat, so excited that I thought Luke was going to have to fetch the eyeballs that had just somersaulted out of my head. My fingers reached up to caress the case for season three, as I already have the first two and the second half of season six (purchased in a frenzy almost two years ago when Luke's VCR missed the last ten minutes of the series finale on TBS); the unedited unfolding of Big and Carrie's extramarital affair could be mine, all mine, for the price of Women and Money, Suze Orman's latest book, purchased the night before at Barnes and Noble. Ms. Orman is constantly inspiring me with her frank approach to personal finance, and the gems I gleaned from her Money Book for the Young, Fabulous & Broke helped me to choose funds for my 401(k) account at work, and their average annual rate of return seems to hover around eight percent, thank you very much, thus cinching my undying devotion. Plus, I am a woman and I have money. It's like Suze wrote it just for me!

However, making a decision about the DVD was more difficult, because you see, Luke and I only allotted fifty dollars for miscellaneous spending this month, and my upcoming hair cut in Chicago will cost exactly that much with tip, so I was already kicking myself a little for buying the book but figured the difference could be offset through thriftiness in other areas of our budget. The cost of the DVD coupled with the hair cut would definitely leave March in the red.

There was one possible solution to this dilemma that would allow me to walk away with the book, the DVD, AND the hair cut: postponing the purchase of my salon-brand shampoo and conditioner and opting for a cheap knock-off brand to tide me over until April, at which point all budget lines would be replenished and I could blow the thirty dollars with a clear conscience.

(Yes, I realize how selfish I am for hoarding our miscellaneous dollars for frivolous indulgences, but Luke made out like a bandit for his birthday last month, and I have already directed the appropriate prayers to God asking for guidance in being a better wife. Together, the three of us have it covered.)

So, there they were, my two choices, each one threatening equally horrific consequences. Do I restock my ISO products and forfeit the chance to add to my sorely lacking Sex collection when I know damn well the next big sale might not be 'til I'm thirty-eight years old, or do I subject my hair to the pooptasticness of Garnier Fructis so I can spend my free time picking apart Charlotte's first husband?

It's unfair for any woman to find herself in the throes of such polarizing circumstances, and I hope it never happens to you, Internet ladies, because either way, such a woman is going to suffer.

But I know I made the right choice.

Sarah Jessica Parker would be so proud.

Of course it was all for naught, because when I came home and examined March's budget I found that seventy-one dollars and ninety-one cents had been unaccounted for. So I hopped over to Beauty First and bought the ISO refills after all.

(J/K, peeps. Totally waiting for April.)

While I had the camera out and about, for some reason I felt it necessary to document proof that I really am trying to be more budget conscious.

See that compact? I bought a new one last October, at a point when I thought this puppy was days away from crapping out on me, so imagine my surprise that the powder is still holding its own as I rub my cotton ball in circles over the metal face for ten minutes, determined to squeeze every last drop from a foundation that costs twenty-one fifty. If I wore make-up more often, it would've been retired to the garbage can around Christmas, but as I fight with various dermatological products to finally get my acne under control and weep over the massive afro poof that has become my hair, I haven't really been in the mood to subject myself to further prettification. I'm counting on you, Brenda, is all I'm saying.

Tragic Love Friday: Coming at you like a spider monkey

Well, our free two-week trial with Blockbuster Online is officially over. Our first monthly payment of ten dollars and fifty-nine cents was charged to our Visa on February 25th, but do you know how many movies we saw in February? Six. SIX MOVIES FOR ELEVEN DOLLARS. This is record-breaking for us, and reason enough to establish a permanent love affair with ordering films online.

It all started on the thirteenth when we received the eagerly anticipated Click (which was very good and even made me cry a little). After we'd had our fill of Adam Sandler shenanigans, we brought it to our local Blockbuster chain because online mailers double as coupons for free rentals in the store, which is how we came across The Illusionist (highly recommend), which in turn held us over until the first two episodes of Big Love arrived while Luke was away on business. That weekend we returned The Illusionist and used the Big Love mailer to score The Grudge 2, which I feel obligated to inform you was not a good decision. Meanwhile, our account had been credited with an e-coupon for a free rental just for signing up with BB online, so we redeemed it for A Sound of Thunder, another questionable choice but Edward Burns was kind of cute so it wasn't all for nothing.

On Tuesday we received Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, and that movie is so damn hysterical we had to watch it twice. Shake and bake!

"We could watch this every day for the rest of our lives without paying any late fees!" I informed Luke in a sort of awed wonder.

"Or we could just buy it," he said.

There is that.

So yes, this newfangled idea of renting online is working out splendidly, mainly because we're not limited to renting online and we keep getting coupons for additional rentals. Some of the thirty-five titles currently stored in our queue include The Departed, Lady in the Water, Adaptation (which I first watched for a screenwriting class in grad school and can't wait to see again), Proof, Fantastic Four, the first season of 90210, and The Notebook.

Speaking of notebooks (OMG, what a fantastic segue), we are down to the last fifteen pages for the first serial of Tragic Love Friday. Next week will showcase the final installment, and then it's on you guys to come up with a really hysterical summary for this tale of questionable morals and unbridled passion. Remember? Not only will you be performing a huge service for potential part-two readers, but you'll also score yourself an opportunity to relive the days when Brenda Walsh ripped holes in the knees of her jeans and Brian Silver's cousin accidentally killed himself wearing a cowboy hat (or something). What about that sentence isn't appealing?

Some of you expressed concern over the guidelines I laid out, but really, don't pay them any mind. Just summarize the story as you remember it. If I receive multiple submissions, which I REALLY hope I do, I'd like to feature them all, so if you miss something, chances are another reader will pick up the slack. You're also allowed to team up with other bloggers to present The Mother Of All Summaries, but then it's up to you to figure out what to do about the DVDs, because dudes, I love you, but not enough to contribute seventy dollars of 90210 goodness to the World Wide Web when I'm stuck renting it all online.

Here we go, my pretties. The second-to-last installment. Cherish it while you can. 

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN - JENNA (CONTINUED)

"You're sure you want to do this?" Michael asked, once again in the driver's seat.

"Positive."

A few hours had passed since I made my decision. We were just about 3 miles from the Illinois border. The area was deserted.

"Stop here," I cried suddenly.

"Why?"

"I - I don't want to go back yet. Give me till tomorrow. Then I'll give her back."

Michael pulled over and parked near a cornfield. He squeezed my hand. "It'll be harder if you wait," he said softly. [That's what my first boyfriend said when he wanted to have sex!] "Just give me till tomorrow," I pleaded. He nodded.

I fed Katherine some formula, then Mike and I ate a little lunch. "I'm proud of you," he said out of the blue.

"Why?"

"I know how hard giving Kayla back Katherine [Awkward Phrasing, how I've missed thee!] will be for you. It won't be a great experience for me, either. I've grown to like the little tyke." He smiled at the baby and tickled her under the chin. She squealed with delight.

"I'll be alone again, Michael." I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm around." My friend gazed at me with such intensity, I had to look away. "So much has changed in such a short amount of time. It's scary when you think about it." I yawned. "I'm so tired."

"So am I. Why don't you sleep in the backseat with Katherine, and I'll sleep at the wheel."

"No," I argued. "You've been driving for hours. You sleep back here, too." His face flushed. [I thought you'd never ask!] I felt myself turn red, also. "I mean...if you could just hold me, protect me. That's what angels do," I teased. [But do angels help emotionally unbalanced women kidnap children from maximum-security correctional facilities? Now's not the time to quibble over job descriptions, Jenna.] He smiled shyly and made himself comfortable in the backseat, while I snuggled against him. Katherine was asleep in my arms. It would have made a pretty picture.

I closed my eyes and let sleep take over me.

[This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky.]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - KAYLA

I was pacing back and forth in my cell when the officer who was handling my case, Officer Kujak came barging in. [This name sounded so authoritative to me at the time, kind of like Columbo or McGyver. A Kujak could carry his own show, don't you think?] "We have news about your baby, Evans," he informed me.

I felt my body come to life. "How is she? WHERE is she?"

"A woman spotted a car that matches the description of suspect Jenna Meddows."

"In Illinois?"

"No. Wisconsin."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Is she alive? What's being done?"

"The witness didn't think about the car until she heard about the kidnapping on the news. She was already back in Chicago by then." Kujak checked his watch. "Me and 3 other squad cars are on our way any minute. I've got to notify the Wisconsin police."

"No!" I cried. "If she sees police, she might panic and hurt Katherine." My shoulders sagged, and I felt like crying again. "She's got a butcher knife."

"OK; you might be right. Now I've got to go." [Members of the law are so easily influenced by the flawed yet seemingly reasonable logic of civilians! This kind of exchange happens in Lifetime movies all the time.] He turned to go. I grabbed his arm desparately. "Wait! Take me, too."

"Are you crazy?"

"Maybe. But I have to be there when you find my baby. Please! You can cuff me, gag me [hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me], whatever!" Kujak grabbed my arm and cuffed my hands behind my back. "I'll see," he said.

We were gone in 5 minutes. Please don't hurt her, Jenna, I thought as we drove to Wisconsin. If my baby's OK, I can forgive you. "How long until we're there?" I asked. He checked his watch. "It's 4:00 PM now. We should be there by 6:30."

I couldn't get there fast enough.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - MICHAEL

I woke up from a fitful sleep at around six. I had gotten up twice to change and feed Katherine, letting Jenna sleep. She needed it more than I.

[Jeez Louise, she's had the kid fewer than twenty-four hours and already she's a lazy mother. Michael's like a single dad, only with no actual children!]

I got out of the car and stretched. The sky was shades of pink and blue. Such a beautiful setting, such a sad situation. In the car, my love stirred. I saw her sit up and blink her eyes sleepily [probably rolling Katherine onto the floor in the process]. I went to take the baby from her [See? He knows she can't be trusted] and motioned her to join me. She sat on the hood of the car, hugging her legs to her chest. She was so beautiful. I sighed. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I lied, a lump rising in my throat. Tell her, tell her! my mind was shouting. "A lot of things are going to happen after Katherine's returned," I commented. "We'll be put in prison."

Jenna shook her head. "Only if Kayla presses charges against us." [You know, because the state of Illinois has no qualms with you stealing babies from their facility. One less mouth to feed!]

"You don't think she will?"

"No. She knows why I did it. She'll forgive me."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. She looked thoughtful; thoughtful and sad, too. "I can't go home. Things are too different."

"Where will you go?"

"Far away from here." She laughed bitterly. "My parents will hug me, write me a huge check, and then I'm gone."

"You can't go," I whispered. "I'll miss you." [Please don't go, girl. Never ever go away....]

She smiled. "I'll miss you, too."

"Jenna." I mustered up all my courage. "I - I love you." [Go, Mikey, go! You can do it!] She looked surprised, then said, "I love you, too, Mike. You're my best friend."

"You don't understand. I love you, Jenna. I'm in love with you, and I need you here with me." I was so scared, I could have cried. How would she react?

[Oh my gosh, I'm so nervous for him! My heart is pounding like crazy as I type this.]

Jenna shook her head. "You're just confused. You can't love me."

I secured Katherine in jackets and blankets in the backseat, and I left the car door open [so someone else could kidnap her?]. Then I grabbed Jenna's hands and gazed into her eyes intensely. "I do. I think I fell in love with you the first day I met you. You're the first thing I think about in the morning, and the last thing at night. It hurt so much when you were pregnant with David's child, because I wanted you for myself."

[Um, thanks for being happy my baby is dead?]

I leaned closer until her face was inches from mine. "I love you so much it hurts," I whispered. "I can't live without you now." Ever so softly, I kissed her lips. My hand reached to caress her cheek, and I kissed her again, only with more passion. She responded slowly. Soon, she was in my arms. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of my neck. I kissed her forehead, and her eyelids. [That last part was creepy. I don't want anyone kissing my eyelids.] "I would die without you," I whispered in her ear.

I shouldn't have mentioned death. She stiffened and pushed me away. "No," she cried. "This can't happen. You're my best friend."

"I can be more," I said, hurt by her resistance. "I want to be more. Can't you see that?"

"You're just lonely for someone," she insisted.

Tears sprang to my eyes. "Don't you love me, even a little?" Jenna started to cry, too. "I - I don't know." I grabbed her shoulders. "You have to know!! I need to know!"

[OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!]

[Also, I don't know why I put so much emphasis on "you" and "I" in the above paragraph, when really "have" and "need" were the ones who warranted extra attention.]

"I don't know," she sobbed. "Even if I do, I can't get involved with you. Love hurts too much! David said he loved me, and then he went to Kayla!"

"I'm not David! I'm Michael; I'll never hurt you!"

"Raise your hands where I can see you! This is the police! I repeat, put you're hands where I can see them!" I turned around and lifted my arms above my head. During our conversation [read: hottie make-out session], policemen had slowly surrounded the car. Jenna, looking terrified, did what I did.

It was all over.

-------

And now it's all over for me. Except for two more quotes from Talladega Nights, because really, so hilarious.

"Dear little baby Jesus, who's sittin' in his crib watchin' the Baby Einstein videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors, I would like to thank you for bringin' me and my momma together, and also that my kids no longer sound like retarded gang-bangers."

"I wet my bed until I was nineteen. There's no shame in that."

Hakuna Matata, bitches!

(OK, three quotes. Go see this movie!)

Oh, What a Beautiful Wednesday

Oh, what a beautiful day!

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 137.8
CURRENT WEIGHT: 135.6
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 10.6

I knew a loss was coming. After pledging to stop binging for Jesus exactly seven days ago, I've been stepping on the scale every other morning in anticipation of Weight Loss Wednesday, looking for proof that my efforts weren't in vain. Apparently my Lord and Savior is a more effective motivator than being able to button my pants.

There's so much to talk about, and I've been meaning to blog every day since Monday, but for some reason the words aren't coming like I want them to. I've been pleasantly surprised at my ability to exert self-control, to step away from that bag of salt-and-pepper potato chips, box of Git 'Er Done™ chocolates received from well-meaning neighbors, and coveted package of Thin Mints before doing serious damage to my waistline and self-esteem. (This is good news for Luke, who gave up cookies for Lent. Poor Luke!) (Also, how evil are the Girl Scouts for scheduling their deliveries after Ash Wednesday?) The progress hasn't been huge--turning down a third slice of pizza is grand, but it's still pizza, and dude, two slices!--but I'm happy. To make my ten-pound goal more attainable, I'm setting several mini-goals to help me get there. For example: next week I'll aim for an even 134 on the scale. If I'm successful, I'll have lost my first five pounds since moving forward with this whole "Fitness Schmitness" attitude last November. (Well, it would've been five pounds; either way, I'm counting it as a big deal, seeing as my lowest weight thus far's been 135.) And if that happens, there will most definitely be a picture, which might be scary for all of us, seeing as I'm three weeks overdue for a hair cut. March 10th can't come fast enough.

In regards to my Lenten commitments, I've been doing well in that department, too. Last Tuesday I deleted the Monday-through-Friday recording of All My Children from my VCR and took my New American Bible down from its dusty spot on my bookshelf, placing it on top of the cheapie plastic filing cabinet next to my nightstand (on top of Christopher Pike's Spellbound, which I found at Half-Price Books for a quarter and am just now reading for the first time, OMG) so that I'm more likely to pick it up before bed. So far I've touched on the first couple of chapters in Genesis and the beginning of Matthew's gospel (including the introduction), and for the first time, I feel like I'm really thinking about the life Jesus lived and what he went through before he died. Also, with all the religious exploration I've done in the last year, I'm more interested in studying this Good Book as a historical text. I used to think the Bible was just the Bible--one universal table of contents, one agreed-upon translation--when really each denomination embraces a particular version and all of these versions have nuances unique to their sect and oh my gosh, it's a miracle Christianity survived when we all can't even agree on the same damn manual.

Anyway, let's move on to the AMC thing, which, let's face it, is probably what you're really most interested in. Logistically speaking, the not-watching part of it hasn't been hard; since I'm not taping it, and I don't have cable, and not having cable means not having SOAP NET, there's no way to cheat on that one unless I make the twenty-five minute commute back home to plop on my couch and catch up on Zach and Kendall's progress with the Satin Slayer (seriously one of the dumbest storylines this show has ever done but I still want to see Alexander Cambias, Senior brought to justice) in real time. And since making two round trips to work five times a day would put a serious damper on my gas budget, there you go. No AMC.

Giving up the message board, however, hasn't been as simple. Before last Wednesday, I was checking that puppy at least three times an hour, reveling in the latest batch of spoilers and enjoying discussions on controversial plot points, like whether or not Krystal carrying Tad's baby and passing it off as Adam's is just as detestable as her helping Babe keep Bianca's baby for ten months, allowing Bianca to believe that Miranda drowned in a river minutes after her birth (close, but the "your baby's dead" thing still wins). I enjoy reading episode threads maintained by various posters and the lively commentary they provide. Those people have no idea who I am, but lurking on that site has been a fun way to stay connected with a show that in 2004 fast became my favorite form of escapism.

As fellow AMC junkie Dawnie can attest to, committing to a daily program is no easy task; forty-five minutes a day isn't too bad, but when you miss Monday's episode, you spend the length of a movie catching up on Monday and Tuesday. Miss Monday and Tuesday and you're going to start your Wednesday two hours and fifteen minutes in the hole. "I'll just skim through the scenes with JR and Babe and Tad and Krystal and ignore the rest," you think, but suddenly it's twelve-thirty in the morning and you're wondering what the hell happened to your evening, and hey, at what point did your husband go to bed without you?

So this boycott, it's been a good thing. Though I was flipping through the entertainment section of the paper yesterday and accidentally glanced at the weekly soap update. Nothing was revealed I didn't already know, but still, it was enough to peak my interest. AMC, what have you done to me?

In other news, today is the last day of the first month of Luke's and my new budgeting system. More details tomorrow.

Giving You the Best That I Got, Which Isn't Much Today

In snippet form:

This morning I saw my general practitioner for the second time in seven days to see how the urinary tract infection I've been suffering from all month responded to the antibiotics. While everything appears to be in tip-top shape, I'm still running to the bathroom every eight seconds, so he prescribed a second round of meds to treat any lingering effects. UTIs are nothing new to me; I've gotten at least one a year since my sophomore year in college, most likely due to the fact that I don't get thirsty very often, I'm afraid a liberal intake of fluids will result in bathroom overload, and I hate the logistics of leaving my office, marching down the corridor, and going through the whole depants-pee-handwash routine twelve times a day. Of course, this eventually guarantees that I'll leave my office, march down the corridor, and go through the whole depants-pee-handwash routine twelve times a day, only with a sharp pain in my bladder and a heightened sense of urgency. My plan, she's not working so well.

During my visit, the doctor and I talked about how Luke and I plan on actively trying for children soon and discussed the importance of finding an ob/gyn now, so I have time to interview different practitioners and determine which one will be the best fit. Besides abandoning artifical birth control last year, this is the biggest step I've taken to acknowledge that I (hopefully) (some day) will become a mother. For some reason, it's freaking me the eff out. Any suggestions of questions to ask when putting these MDs in the hot seat?

My much-anticipated Big Love season one, disc one DVD came in the mail on Tuesday and I popped it in last night, as Luke is away on business and completely uninterested in watching the life of a closet polygamist unfold on the small screen. Thirty seconds into the opening credits I already loved it, knew it would be a work of art, and spent the next two hours learning about the marital interworkings of Bill and Barb, Bill and Nicki, and Bill and Margene.

Storywise, it's fascinating, watching this man juggle three different families and serve as a referee of sorts in the family's interactions with each other. It's also disturbing; Margene, his youngest wife, can't be older than twenty-two, and the way they communicate reminds me more of a father/daughter relationship (minus all the sex, of course) ("Oral is moral!") instead of one in which each partner is on equal footing. (One might argue that women involved in plural marriages aren't looking for equality, but that's a post for another day.) And I can't help feeling for Barb, who spent ten years of her life with a man in a committed, monogamous union before talks of a second wife began. How betrayed she must have felt; how heartbroken she must have been to know her husband was interested in adding another woman to their family.

I don't know if watching this show will be a good idea for me in the long run, but I plan on plowing through a few more episodes, maybe even the entire first season, before I make a final decision.

BlogHer '07 is fast approaching, and updates regarding theme, location, and seminar topics are showing up more frequently in my Gmail inbox. One tiny fact that has yet to be revealed: the freakin' cost. When perusing the list of upcoming conferences, I noticed that BlogHer's business extravaganza in New York City is running for a whopping six hundred and ninety-nine dollars. The hell?! What middle-class Jane Doe can afford to drop a grand in conference and travel fees at a moment's notice? I'm hoping and praying the Chicago shindig is more reasonably priced, seeing as the majority of women who blog either do so without the benefit of financial compensation or generate meager sales from ad revenue and/or shopping paraphernalia. With Luke and I working so hard to get into a house this summer, I can't in good conscience do anything to jeporadize that. However, the possibility of not going makes me very, very sad. Maybe I can talk to Saint Joe about shouldering some of the costs--you know, for academic research!

When the nurse weighed me this morning, I registered at an even 133, even with my clothes on. So apparently I lost four-point-eight pounds in twenty-four hours. I could get used to (delusions like) this.

Yesterday I realized that, whenever I say my blog title in my head, I'm totally doing a throw-back to Biff from Back to the Future, in the scene where he grabs the fifties version of George McFly by the collar in their high school cafeteria and snarls "What're you lookin' at, butthead?" to an onlooking Marty McFly. That'll be a fun story to share at dinner parties.

A Winter and Financial Wonderland

Indianapolis currently has its undies in a bundle over the snowfall that began late yesterday and is expected to shower the state's capitol with five to twelve inches of snow by tonight. Last week three inches of the white stuff turned my twenty-five-minute work commute into an hour-and-a-half nightmare, so I've decided to boycott the office today. Which means I can lounge around in my Peace Frog pajama bottoms, catch up on Monday's AMC, flip through the bajillion books* that have accumulated around my nightstand, and cringe over childhood and adolescent ramblings from days of old. Also possibly do The Track to "SexyBack." On a snow day, anything is possible.

I will also be recovering from Saturday's unveiling of our January Visa statement. A whopping two thousand six hundred and forty-one dollars and fifty-one cents worth of statement. Somebody grab me a bucket, because just typing this challenges my ability to keep the butter-and-jelly English muffin I just wolfed down--well, down.

Some of the charges are legitimate, like the five hundred bucks for my implant because my health savings account was short and the hundred and forty smackers I shelled out to update my plates a whopping year and a half after my move to this circular city. We also purchased a new digital camera, a camera we were eventually going to buy anyway but were "inspired" to do so last month after Luke's work one was damaged during his trip to California, because who isn't motivated by an employer's potential wrath over a cross-country business trip's lack of productivity?

These were costly necessities. However, I'm positive that the five hundred and eighty-five dollars we spent at Super Target between January 2nd and February 1st weren't all for milk, chicken, and vegetables, because otherwise I'd be much more depressed over Weight Loss Wednesday. That is the same number I write on our RENT CHECK, people. With all those "groceries" lying around the house, you'd think we avoided restaurants like the plague, but we still managed to rack up two hundred and eighty-three dollars and sixteen cents on activities of the eating-out variety. I'm truly embarrassed over how careless we've been with our money, because even though we cover our bills and remember to "pay ourselves first," that's no reason to be wasteful.

It used to be much easier to commit to a budget. Before Luke started working, I would diligently write out our expenses for each pay check two months in advance and estimate how much we'd have left for miscellaneous items like a parent's birthday or routine oil change. When Luke landed his job, we electronically deposited his entire check into savings with the hopes of paying off the Cobalt by spring. However, after penny-pinching for almost a year, we thought it might be fun to allot ourselves some play money and transferred a small portion of his take-home pay into our checking account. Then we went to the dentist and learned it would take the price of an arm and a leg to pull out Luke's wisdom teeth and accommodate some minor gum surgery and replace my extracted molar and botched crown, so we re-designated our funds to funnel half my check into the HSA and half of Luke's into checking to offset the difference. Because we're paid on alternate Fridays, we were suddenly getting checks every week, and because I'm not very smart, I stopped budgeting expenses and just paid the bills as they came in, not stressing over twenty-five dollar trips to the Original Pancake House until we had to withdraw the entire amount of this damn bill from savings. We spent that. damn. much.

On Sunday night, Luke and I sat ourselves down and, for the first time, actually did the math to figure out how much house we can afford on one income and what kind of down payment we can realistically expect to cough up by August in order to make a purchase by the end of the summer. We created a monthly spreadsheet template to track our spending and categorized our receipts into envelopes labeled for each week of the month, making them easier to record. We signed up for Blockbuster Online's ten-dollar monthly plan to provide ourselves with cheap entertainment. We're still jabbering on about buying a state park pass so we can hit the trails once all this damn snow stops falling and the long underwear can once again find a permanent home in our chest of drawers. And once again, we thanked God for being blessed with the financial means to correct our mistakes and move on with a smarter attitude.

Now, if you're so inclined, please suggest some movies we can add to our Blockbuster queue, even though we've made close to twenty selections already, because seriously, it's so much easier to pick a movie online than it is in the store. We can stand in front of the New Release section for a good half-hour, hemming and hawing over this title or that, because we so rarely rented movies before that we experienced a debilitating case of performance anxiety; who knew when we'd have another opportunity to spend four dollars on the first disc of the first season of Big Love**?

* Don't get crazy over all those pregnancy books. They've been handed down to me by Molly, who's very encouraging on the baby-making front.

** My pick, not Luke's. I'm strangely fascinated by polygamy.

*** This doesn't relate to anything, but did you know that the first season of She-Ra (Princess of Power!) is out on DVD? I'm so adding this to the queue.