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

Plus one for the "Love and Marriage" category

Not sure where this relationship meme originated--I think Dooce or Facebook--and the rest of the Internet got over this weeks ago, but it's been so BABIES BABIES BABIES around here that I thought it couldn't hurt to change things up a bit.

What are your middle names?
Mine is Elizabeth; Luke's is Byron (thus revealing the inspiration for Nathan's middle name).

How long have you been together?
Together almost nine eight years (whoops, sleep deprivation equals shit-poor counting skills), married almost three.

How long did you know each other before you started dating?
A few months. In December 2000, I was a junior in college preparing for a semester-long internship with the town's only daily newspaper; the managing editor was out of the office when I arrived for a meet-and-greet, so Luke was assigned the task of giving me the job specifics. Despite already being in a serious relationship, I was instantly smitten. The bachelor auction took place the following April, and the rest is history. (Readers not familiar with my penchant for buying romantic affections can read all about it here.)

Who asked whom out?
Do you mean like boyfriend-girlfriend? There wasn't ever an official moment, but after the auction, we were seeing each other all the time, and then I went back to Chicago for the summer (the summer before my senior year, to be exact), and we were talking on the phone and e-mailing each other and swapping fun packages in the mail. My second weekend home, Luke drove from Rensselaer to visit me in Chicago, and we went to Navy Pier for dinner and afterwards walked along the strip. I was working there at the time, at a place called Popcorn Palace (all about the class, here, people), and I brought him by to meet my coworkers. Since we hadn't talked about our status yet, I was afraid to be presumptuous, so I introduced him as my friend. Once we were alone, I explained this to him in case he was insulted, but he wasn't. Instead, he grabbed my hand and said, "But when I talk about you to my friends, I'm going to call you my girlfriend."

(Are you melting? I am, just typing this.)

How old are each of you?
I'm 29; Luke is 35.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
It's probably about even. Even though Luke's brother lives in Indy with his family, we probably see them just as much as we do my siblings who live in Chicago, which is every couple of months or so.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Raising our children without the benefit of family or even friends close by. The last time Luke and I were out together without one or more children attached to our limbs was May 2008, during a weekend up north when we left Kara with Luke's parents and went out to dinner to celebrate our second wedding anniversary, a mere weeks before learning about our surprise second pregnancy. Technically, we were also alone when we drove to the hospital for Nathan's birth; if not for the c-section and the doctor's instructions to fast after midnight, I would have insisted we go out for breakfast, just to make the most of the occasion.

(Edited to add: I stand corrected; Luke reminded me that his brother watched Kara in August so he and I could attend an awards dinner for work. But still, not the most exciting way to spend a child-free evening.)

Luke and I didn't grow up in Indianapolis; this year will be our fourth in the area, and we haven't been very good about making an effort to meet other people. When we first got here, we spent a lot of time with one of Luke's friends and his then-fiancee, but they broke up a couple of months before the wedding. I tried staying in touch with the fiancee since we got along so well, but it was just too awkward, listening to each party badmouth the other and trying to determine who was right and who was overreacting, and I didn't want my relationship with her to sour Luke's relationship with his friend. Bummer situation all the way around.

Since then, we've pretty much kept to ourselves, which means our sole baby-sitting resource to date consists of Luke's brother and his wife, and they have their own busy lives, so we only call on them when we have specific plans; we haven't felt comfortable asking them to watch Kara (and now Nathan) just so we can go to a movie. Neither one of us wants to leave our kids with people we don't know, so that rules out a baby-sitting service. There are a couple of people at work around my age who have expressed an interest in helping out with childcare for date-night purposes, so I'm going to explore that more aggressively once I'm back; if those leads don't pan out, I'm not sure what we'll do. We really miss our couple time, not to mention hanging out with human beings who won't demand an umpteenth reading of Horton Hears a Who (Kara's latest literary obsession).

Did you go to the same school?
No. Luke earned a bachelor's degree from Purdue University in West Lafayette; I went to Saint Joseph's College
in Rensselaer for my undergrad and DePaul University in Chicago for my master's. Luke likes to talk about our kids going to school there someday and isn't a fan of small-school settings--not enough culture, limited curriculum, blah blah blah--but whose college sent congratulatory baby bibs for each one of our kids? That's right, so in your face, Boilermaker. 

Are you from the same home town?
No. I'm from the south side of Chicago, while Luke grew up in Merrillville, Indiana, about forty-five minutes away.

Who is smarter?
Hmmm. Luke can digest information quickly and easily, while I can find a new question to ask about movies I've seen eight million times (see: the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy). He also has more going for him in the common sense department. I would cateogorize myself more as a book-smart type of gal. But I also have a knack for organization and problem-solving. Those totally count as smart-people traits, right?

Who is the most sensitive?
I have cried over sharp glances, a sink full of dishes, and the last ten minutes of Terminator 2. So, totally Luke.

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
I can only answer this if by "as a couple" you mean "with our children," even though our restaurant choices would be the same either way. Our favorite place for the last year or so has been Red Robin. (Again, all about the class.)

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
As a couple, Philadelphia to visit Luke's friends. However, while working for Saint Joe's publications department (I was there three years after I graduated), I wrote a story about the college's Habit for Humanity chapter for our alumni publication, and the school paid for me to join the group on their annual spring break trip in 2004 to San Antonio, Texas. It was a pretty easy-going group, and the trip was open to non-members, so Luke came along, and we all had a blast together. To this day, Luke talks about wanting to become involved with Habitat. Hopefully we can soon get to a place in our lives where long-term volunteer commitments are possible.

Who has the craziest exes?
One of my exes stole a pack of Pokemon cards from my work. (Yes, he was over eighteen.) So probably me. But I mean that in the nicest way possible. (I really do.)

Who has the worst temper?
Me, hands down. I can count on one hand the number of times Luke has raised his voice to me or even been sarcastic in a mean-spirited way, while one sideways glance is enough to set me off.

Who does the cooking?
Ha! Have you seen my "Adventures in the Kitchen" archives? Luke Luke Luke.

Who is the neat-freak?
Oh, this is me. Luke is great about domestic maintenance overall--washing dishes, doing laundry, major chores like that--but for me, the devil is in the details. I'm the one who takes care of splotches on the stove, water puddles around the sink, dust on picture frames and book cases, and so on and so on.

Who is the most stubborn?
Also me. After receiving shoddy service from our flooring company right before moving into our house, I was the one charged with calling the manager and demanding a big, fat discount for our troubles. We were on the phone for thirty minutes, because the manager had a canned answer for everything, but I matched him point-for-point and wouldn't hang up until he had shaved half a grand off our bill. What can I say? I will not be ignored!

Who hogs the bed?
Neither of us, I don't think.

Who wakes up earlier?
It depends. Luke is the one who gets up with Kara every morning, so he wakes up when she does, usually between six and six-thirty. If I'm feeling ambitious about getting to work by seven, though, I'll get up as early as five-fifteen.

Where was your first date?
Our first official date took place the Wednesday after the bachelor auction at the Rensselaer Pizza Hut. (Don't judge; in a town of 5,000 people, it was either that or the China Garden.) We split a pepperoni pizza and breadsticks; later, I learned that Luke doesn't care for pepperoni, but he knew all about my finicky eating habits by then and was afraid to suggest anything else. Plus, he wanted to make sure we ordered something I would actually like.

Who is more jealous?
Me. When we first got together and shared our dating history, it was hard not to obsess over Luke's last serious relationship, as he and the girl were an item for years and even lived together for a short time; meanwhile, my ex-boyfriends were living with their mothers and bumming money for cigarettes. I couldn't stop thinking about all the living Luke had done before he met me and how mature that living had been, and how now he was with a girl who was barely 21, still in college, living in a dorm room. I felt more secure after graduation, when I was working full-time for Saint Joe, but the pay was peanuts, so I was still living on campus and eating in the school cafeteria as a means of saving money. It wasn't until I moved off campus and rented a house in town with a friend that I felt adult enough to be with him.

How long did it take to get serious?
Not long. The bachelor auction took place at the end of April; we exchanged "I love yous" in May. 

Who eats more?
Me. Food is my weakness; I use it to self-medicate when I'm feeling sad/tired/emotionally drained. Since I've been on maternity leave, there have been several instances of me polishing off an entire bag of Hostess Donettes in a single day (but not a single sitting, jeez Louise, I do have some limits). Meanwhile, Luke is down twenty pounds since moving to Indianapolis. It's a good thing he's the stay-at-home parent instead of me; otherwise, I could end up a stunt double for the mom in What's Eating Gilbert Grape?

Who does the laundry?
Luke, though occasionally I help with the folding.

Who’s better with the computer?
Luke. I can create simple Word documents, crop images in Photoshop, and check my e-mail. He manages all routine maintenance.

Who drives when you are together?
Luke, especially since having children. He won't admit to this, but I think he's afraid I'll kill them. I wonder why?

(Anyone else wondering why Luke is still with me? Clearly I have nothing to offer but cellulite and stretch marks.)

(Also, I see that evil glint in your eye. Hands off, bitches. Me and the babies, we need him.)

 

Your mother's a tracer!

The names, they were copied.

They were placed inside a hat.

  

And then three names were chosen by Luke, who was gracious enough to play my assistant while catching up on last night's episode of House.

In an effort to spread the wealth, I decided to break up the mega package into three separate prizes: the Jay and Silent Bob series, the two Clerks comics, and our dear Buddy Christ.

And the winners are...

 

 

Congratulations Gry, Dawnie, and Audrey! Gry, you get the Buddy Christ. Dawnie, the Jay and Silent Bob series is yours. Audrey, enjoy Clerks. Get me your addresses by Monday and I'll try to mail everything out next week. A big thanks to the rest of you who...um...wanted to take my stuff.

For those of you who couldn't care less about my nerdy contest, might I interest you in a belly shot of sorts?

 

Here I am at 23 weeks pregnant with Baby Brother, my two-days-shy-of-10-months-old daughter standing by my side. It's not the most telling angle, but it's the best Luke and I could manage under the circumstances ("circumstances" being a code word for "the child who insists on clinging to my legs for dear life the minute I walk through the door"). However, it's still enough to compare to my size at this point in Kara's incubation:

 

So far, the kids seem to be progressing at relatively the same rate. I had an ob/gyn appointment on Monday, where I learned that Baby Brother is spot on, measurement-wise, just like Kara was until we reached the final few weeks. (For more details about that visit, including my decision regarding whether or not to attempt a VBAC, check out my post on Parents.com.)

Edited to add: Whoops, there was one more photo I meant to post last night, because HELLO, adorableness:

I like to think Randy would cringe with pride

On Tuesday, August 26, my actual, non-Frema name was released in hardcover for the first time. Simultaneously, my pre-pubescent ode to Randy Wooten was immortalized forever.

Sarah Brown's literary masterpiece is now available to the masses, and the list of contributors is pretty effing cool. I'm supposed to receive a free copy in the mail, but I'm tempted to run out and buy one for everybody I know. Including dear Randy Wooten, because that's just good manners.

Anyway, even though the poem is terrible, even though 'lil Frema will never realize the consequences of putting her tragedy to paper, EVEN THOUGH I WAS TEN FREAKING YEARS OLD, I am insanely proud that my writing is a part of this book. The widget will be available in my sidebar for a bit, even though it clutters my template and I would much rather feature a smaller version of the cover picture and include the link that way. Just like my Parents widget. Except that I didn't actually create my Parents widget. Anyone care to help a sister out?

So, um, buy my book! And if you see Randy, tell him I said hi.

And the branding comes full circle

While preparing for BlogHer last year, I was inspired to order business cards for shameless self-promotion. Many of my online buddies went with Moo cards, charming, wee little things that were quite affordable, but I wanted something with a longer shelf life that painted a broader picture of my literary goals. I wanted a business card that screamed from the rooftops that I AM A WRITER.

Aside from my subscription to TypePad's services, it was the first time I had ever put money towards a writing endeavor, so I enlisted the help of a professional--an Indianapolis graphic design firm I work with for my day job--and I shared my dream for the end result. It was Jenny who came up with the idea of highlighting my constant tendency to scribble, and the final product includes the image you see in my new header. For those of you reading via RSS, here's what you're missing:

I updated my design to better compliment the new art (thanks to PB&J for allowing me to use it on the Web), and voila! My first new template in a year and a half.

I've been racking my brain for months on how to freshen this place up, and I don't know why it took so long to think of mimicking my fancy schmancy business card, but the light bulb finally went off, which means I now have a brand. A consistent brand that reflects who I am and what I do, and that brand is my writing style. Literally. That's my John Hancock up there.

Once again, this change couldn't have come at a better time. The more important this site becomes to me, the more I engage with the local blogging community (I just registered for a two-day BlogIndiana conference that takes place in August), the more I talk up the advantages of corporate blogging at work, the more likely it is to go public. It's inevitable. And when that happens, I want to make sure my best foot is forward and that I'm housing my work in a way that makes me proud, however silly some of it may seem. My previous design was the bomb diggity, but it served its purpose. It was time to move on.

Now, when I'm at my ten-year high school reunion Saturday night, I can give out this URL and not feel like an idiot. Though the dorkitude associated with bringing business cards to such a function will probably cancel that out.

The names have all changed since you hung around, but those dreams have remained and they're turned around

Well. I'd like to think you guys are ready to welcome me back with open arms, but after gauging your responses to Kara's recent posts, it appears my presence on this blog is obsolete. Luckily, I'm the parent, and this is not a democracy.

(Your mom's a democracy!)

Clearly, I'm feeling much better.

Ever since I posted that last entry, I've been debating when to return. As much as I love being a part of the blogging community and using this site as a means for creative expression, the way in which I was participating needed to change. I had gotten so caught up in posting for posting's sake that I forgot it should mean something to me. Tuesday night would roll around, and I'd want to talk about my upcoming high school reunion, but instead I posted a Weight Loss Wednesday because that's what I was supposed to do. So I did, even if I didn't want to. Thursday night would come, and I'd be inspired to write about the latest Clinton/Obama debate (first forty-five minutes equalled BOGUS), but instead I poured through e-mails about the return of Tragic Love Friday because tomorrow was Friday and that's what I was supposed to do. So I hatched up a few plotlines, even if I didn't want to.

You see the pattern, yes?

I wanted to return but wasn't sure how to break that cycle. I wanted to get back to the days where I blogged because I wanted to, not out of obligation. So I filed those questions away and focused on writing for Parents, trusting that when the time was right, I would know.

This past Saturday, I knew.

It happened at a conference here in Indianapolis, where local bloggers came together to provide insight on how to enhance one's personal and professional presence on the Web. I originally signed up to learn more about blogs as they relate to smart business practices but walked away with renewed energy for my own blogging vision and met some great people who will serve as blogging resources for me in the future. (If only I'd met Doug Karr and Chris Baggott before teaching my class! Missed Opportunity, you are a son of a bitch.) Like I said earlier, this blog is not a democracy. I like that it makes people happy, and I really enjoy the conversations, but ultimately, it's an archive of my life. A place where I can assign words to my feelings and explore new territories and reflect on what kind of person I want to be. And in order to make it worth my time--something I have much less of these days--I have to do it on my terms.

So I'm making some changes.

Effective immediately, I'm discontinuing all weekly features on this site. No more Weight Loss Wednesday, Brain Fest Friday, or Tragic Love Friday. I'll still write about health and wellness, but I won't let the calendar dictate when I do so. I'll still pose funny questions for us to laugh over, but I'll let them come naturally instead of forcing inspiration when it doesn't exist. And as for Tragic Love Friday.... What can I say? The whole idea of a part three started with readers volunteering to help, but when push came to shove, nobody had the time. And I completely understand. Hell, I don't have the time, and it's my damn story. A bunch of us came up with some great ideas, and hopefully, one day, I can do something with them. But until then, we'll have to make do with lil' Frema's original masterpiece, which I still think is pretty effing awesome, and if you haven't read it yet, now you know there's one more way to kill time at the office. You're quite welcome.

The new plan is to start including blog posts about topics that are important to me but haven't received much air time here in the past. Perfect example: politics. I am not a political guru by any means--ask me to name the mascot for the Democratic party and I will probably mimic a deer in headlights--but now that Luke and I are parents, now that we're laying down roots in Indianapolis, now that I'm old enough to appreciate how politics affect my quality of life--I'm determined to take a more active interest in our local and national elections. I want to figure out who I stand for and who stands for me. I want to ask hard questions and receive thoughtful answers from you. I've been afraid to tackle issues like that in the past because I am super sensitive and HATE the idea of someone judging me just because I hold a different opinion, even though I read posts from plenty of bloggers with completely different views and always appreciate seeing issues from other angles. As Doug said at Smaller Indiana's conference on Saturday, "Afraid of conflict? Don't blog." And not blogging? Is not an option.

I want to learn more about the opportunities available through blogging and make that learning process more transparent here. I presented a Blogging 101 session at a writing conference last fall. I studied blogging issues for a whole freaking semester! Why didn't I link to that PowerPoint? Why not post my syllabus? I don't know. But I won't make those mistakes again. 

I also plan to do a better job highlighting the writing I do for Parents.com. I'm not sure why I downplayed this before--I'm proud of the work I do for them, just as if I were freelancing for a print publication. Plus, I've found that with my friends who write for other Web sites, the more they link to those gigs in their personal blogs, the more likely I am to read them. I trust that's the same for you. If not? Um, that's OK, too. (Frema says through gritted teeth because total monthly page views play a key role in renewing blogger contracts. But no pressure. Am Zen.)

After experiencng a brief, emotional bump in the road, life is sunshine and roses again. I have a wonderful husband and beautiful baby girl who both have given new meaning to my life. I work for a company that (finally) challenges me creatively and compensates me well, thanks to a new supervisor and more structured environment. Dare I say I love my job now? That I like being both mother and breadwinner? Because I think I really do. I'm no longer resentful that Luke's at home with Kara instead of me. How can I be when he's so damn good at it? It's no accident we each ended up in the roles that we did. Even though I miss them something fierce when I'm away.

Anyway, the point is I'm in the perfect place to take this blog to the next level and make it more reflective of who I am today.

So that the answer to "What're you lookin' at?" continues to be me.

Happy Birthday to me, it's my special day

Hey, guys, what's happening. Kara in the house! Four months ago today, the doctors pumped my mother full of drugs and ripped open her stomach to bring me into the world. Hooray for modern technology! And Vicodin, according to my mom. Certainly merits a post, don't you think?

Let's see. What to report? I just learned to laugh, I spend hours at a time sucking on my hands, and I can finally last longer than two hours in between feeds. Go me!

I'm also the right size for some very peculiar onesies.

I've been told I got these from a special blog auntie who creates one-of-a-kind clothing for babies, clothing that references dated pop-culture icons who were all the rage thirty-seven million years ago. Take this one, for example. Who is this Kyle person? What isn't his fault? Did he scream his ever-loving head off in a McAlister's Deli and poop all over his clothes, causing his mother to Lose It in front of dozens of judgemental strangers who could only stare as he banged his legs against the cheap plastic changing table while sobbing over life's injustices? Because sometimes, dear readers, this cannot be helped.

Now that you mention it, though, Kyle is quite dreamy. Perhaps he would consider accompanying me to Babies R Us? Picture this: a dimly lit sales floor, my Baby Bjorn, a Baby Einstein serenade.... I get weak in the knees just thinking about it.

Is it hot in here? Goodness.

Moving on.

Now THESE guys I know! Jump, jump! Joey Joe will make ya, jump jump! Jordan Knight will make ya-- Wait, what? Hold on, my mom's calling me.

....

You mean to tell me this isn't Kris Kross?! Crap. But no worries. "Step by Step" is quite delightful. As are drug-free school zones.

This guy's OK, even if he is trying to one-up me for Best Hair. Clearly, I have the best hair. So what if there are bald spots above my ears? It's my new take on the mullet: Business on the sides, party on the top.

"Future Blogger" my tush. The time is now, baby! Momma, eat my dust.

Your mom admits defeat!

Hey, guys, Kara here. What's up? My mom's still on hiatus from non-paid writing (enter shameless plug for Parental Discretion Advised, where she's been a blogging FOOL), so she asked me to post something--ANYTHING--that doesn't imply she's about to throw herself under a bus.

How's that for starters?

Anyway, my mom. What a downer, huh? Why'd she have to be all, "Life is so hard, love me, pity me, cry for me, Argentina," when all she had to do was say, "Listen, peeps. I need a break. See you on the flip side...of your mom!" (Momma said nothing's better than a good "your mom" joke. Am I doing it right? I've got enough trouble keeping my dinner out of her pants without stressing over comedic timing, too.) She fully admits to being kind of a drama queen, and now that she's given herself permission to take it easy for a bit, she's a much happier person to be around. She doesn't cry when she goes to work anymore, and she actually feels a lot better about her job, and she and Daddy have even decided to stay in central Indiana and buy a house for me. They say it's "for the family," but really, it's for me.

I wonder if they'll get a decorator for my room? Sea life bedding is sooo 2007.

Life is very good. Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan found out they're having a baby boy, and I'm way excited to teach my little cousin how to roll over, which I just mastered yesterday, thank you very much. I also like to suck on my feet, which Momma thinks is gross, but she still listens to Hanson, so even at its best, her taste is questionable.

Anyway, she wanted me to let you guys know that she really appreciated all the nice comments you left on her last entry, and she loves you all very much, and she's working on getting her act together so she can hang out with you again soon. She's even working on a new blog design, which, praise Jesus, because really, Mom, that dumb Prada picture? The joke is over. Time to move on.

Until then, she said I could use her blog to post pictures once and a while, and I totally will, because it's not fair to withhold my adorableness from the masses. You guys live hard lives, being adults and all. Consider it my gift to you.

That said, feel free to return the favor. My birthday? Is December 17th. Baby Einstein CDs, froggie bibs, and spare toes accepted.

Brain Fest Friday: Killing two birds with one (tragic) stone

When I first brought up the idea of TLF part three, I'll admit, I was nervous. Without the charm and naiveté of 'lil Frema, how could this saga possibly continue? Is it worth it without the commentary? Did I have it in me? (Your mom has it in her!) And where on earth would I find the time to write pages of morally reprehensible fiction when I can barely manage to update my blogs?

Despite my concerns, I decided to go for it, and with the help of a stellar creative team, have pulled together some kick-ass storylines sure to keep both you and your mom on your toes. The first installment will be posted next Friday as planned, and I can't think of a better way to spend my (very little) free time than bringing these characters back to life. Literally, for some.

But first I want to pick your brain. Getting a feel for where you're at with these characters will add further direction to the group's ideas and give us all a refresher course in what makes this tale so darn tragic.

TLF fans, I'd be much obliged if you'd answer one or more of the following questions:

• Out of the entire series thus far, who is your favorite character? Why?
• Who's your least favorite?
• Which character would you define as the most tragic?
• Any loose ends you want tied up?
• What do you want more of in part three?
• What could you do without?
• Who is your favorite couple? (Answers can include dead characters and those of the non-romantic variety.)
• What you describe as the most defining moment in the series?

For those unfamiliar with the antics of the 90210 gang from hell, check out the reader recaps for parts one and two. If you're feeling really ambitious, read the entire archive. You won't be sorry.

Horrified, maybe. But not sorry.

Brain Fest Friday: I would never actually say these things about Luke's mom

Here it is, folks. The BFF moment you've all been waiting for.

Time to share our greatest "your mom!" stories.

My fancy for humor of the maternal variety came about sometime in college, when my biggest problems were deciding which pair of pajama pants to wear to my 8:00 class and just how late I could stay up playing Phase 10 and still be coherent enough to make it to said class. Anyway, once my friends and I started, we couldn't stop. Not one of us could get through more than two or three sentences without somebody tacking on the now-famous "Your mom!" phrase in front of the last part of what they said, placing special emphasis on the "mom"; think loud and high-pitched--the verbal equivalent to all caps. If you've never tried it, you should. It's applicable to any conversation and fun for the whole family!

Exhibit A

Luke: God, it's hot in here. Did you turn up the heat?

Frema: Your mom turns up the heat!

(Classic mom humor often includes a critical "Bow chica bow wow" element.)

Exhibit B

Luke: What do you want for dinner? I was thinking about making chicken.

Frema: Your mom's a chicken!

(Notice what I did there? I left out the verb and actually turned Luke's mom into poultry. Genius!)

Exhibit C

Luke: I don't know what I did, but my face hurts.

Frema: Yeah? Well, it's killing me!

(OK, so that last one wasn't about "your mom" at all, but really, who could resist that?)

You get the idea.

Anyway, one of my new favorite mom moments took place when I was almost nine months pregnant, when Luke and I were on a fantastic dining-out streak because I just knew my water would break while Luke was cooking stir fry and we'd have to rush to the hospital that very minute and no way was I bringing my baby home to a messy kitchen. Anyway, we were pulling into the Champps parking lot and Luke was trying to let me off at the front entrance, only I kept going on and on about how happy I was to be there and how I couldn't wait to order me some baby-back ribs, and he said something like, "Wow, you're sure excited about eating out today," and I started to reply, "Your mom likes to...." Only I realized I couldn't finish my sentence, because, well, you know. Dirrty.

We had a good laugh and never spoke of it again.

So, have at it, people! For those of you who don't have a shining "mom" moment? Tell me your favorite mom joke. Or skip these shenanigans altogether and give me your best piece of parenting advice over at Parents. Or get the scoop on my first day back at work and the pretty flowers I received from my thoughtful husband. Or do all of the above and earn a pretty gold star.

I suppose you could also sit back and do nothing, but at least it won't be for lack of options.

Your mom's a lack of options!

(See? So easy!)

Brain Fest Friday: In which I lament missing the Felicity bandwagon

The topic for today's BFF was originally suggested by David last week and seconded by you all in the comments section of yesterday's post, and I'm all about giving the people what they want, so there you have it. Song lyrics! Specifically, ones you can't get out of your head.

Mine come from a tender little film called The Waitress, in which a pregnant Keri Russell serves one-of-a-kind pie creations in a diner down south and dreams of an existence far away from her small-town upbringing and pighead ass wipe of a husband. Luke and I rented this when I was just two weeks postpartum, and I was captivated the whole time, both by Keri Russell's raw portrayal of Jenna and her beautiful head of hair. Seriously. It's gorgeous.

Anyway, halfway through, while gettin' down and dirty with her ob/gyn in the kitchen (they're sleeping together; did I not mention that?), she sings a song she learned from her mother as a little girl, "The Pie Song," and I've been singing it to Kara ever since. Even Luke's taken a liking, and if you think there's anything sweeter than listening to your husband lull your daughter to sleep with this, you'd be DEAD WRONG. He only remembers the first couple of lines, but still, so sweet.

It's the chorus I keep coming back to:

Baby, don't you cry
Gonna make a pie
Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle
Baby, don't be blue
Gonna make for you
Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle

Gonna be a pie from Heaven above
Gonna be filled with strawberry love
Baby, don't you cry
Gonna make a pie
And hold you forever in the middle of my heart

Take a listen and see if you aren't on iTunes by the end of the day.

What've you been stuck on lately?

Brain Fest Friday: Another contender was the whole "really thin pancakes" bit. LOVE that.

OK, people, here it is, today's BFF: Favorite excerpt of dialogue from a movie.

I know, I know; so many! And I won't even TOUCH When Harry Met Sally because the whole damn film is quotable, but two immediately come to mind:

Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery
Scene: Las Vegas casino

Casino Dealer (to Number Two): Seventeen.
Number Two: Hit me.
Casino Dealer: You have 17, sir.
Number Two: I like to live dangerously.
Casino Dealer [Hit for four]: Twenty-one. Very good, sir.
Casino Dealer (to Austin): Five.
Austin Powers: I'll stay.
Casino Dealer: I suggest you hit, sir.
Austin Powers: I also like to live dangerously.

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
Scene: Dinner at Applebee's

Ricky Bobby: Dear Lord baby Jesus, lyin' there in your ghost manger, just lookin' at your Baby Einstein developmental videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors. I would like to thank you for bringin' me and my mama together, and also that my kids no longer sound like retarded gang-bangers.

So, have at it! Together, we, too, can influence Netflix queues!

Brain Fest Friday: Don't worry, I didn't give him my flower

In honor of the recent passing of St. Valentine's Day, I thought it'd be fun to kick off the first official BFF installment with a topic related to dating blunders of old. Like once, when I was a freshman in college and coming fast off the heels of my gazillionth break-up with Nick, The Boyfriend Who Once Went For Three Weeks Without Calling, one of my gal pals suggested hanging out with her high school (male) friends the next town over, and her roommate and I took her up on it, and the night started out with us downing New York Peppermint Patty shots (believe it or not, vodka plus chocolate syrup once equalled AWESOME) and watching a horribly inappropriate pornographic film titled Hindfield, only since I wasn't a fan of Seinfeld yet I didn't get any of the jokes, but that's OK, because halfway through the movie one of the guys asked me if I wanted to see the glow-in-the-dark picture in his room, and I was like, "Alright," so we went into his bedroom, and I looked around and was like, "So, where's the picture?" and then I was like, "Oh."

What can I say? College Frema was a dumbass.

Also, you can't give away what you no longer have. Oops.

Still didn't sleep with him, though.

But enough about me. What's the lamest one-liner YOU ever fell for?

Got a burning question for BFF? Bring it on, peeps.

Moods, swinging of, even moreso than Jenna's

At the time of the start of this entry it's 2:08 in the morning. I should be catching some zzzz's, but instead I've chosen to burden the Internet with my tormented, sort-of-depressing thoughts. Lucky you.

The time has come for Luke and I to put our one-income-family plan into action. His last day of work has already been acknowledged by his department with a farewell lunch at Rock Bottom. I've been in contact with my supervisor and made plans for us to share a meal of our own before heading back to the office, to get up to speed on what I've missed and mentally prepare for what things will be like upon my return. It's no longer numbers typed into an Excel spreadsheet; it's our reality. Luke is a stay-at-home dad. I'm a working mom.

And even though there are still almost three weeks until I have to swipe my security badge at the lab's employee entrance, I feel like my maternity leave is already ending, because come five o'clock tomorrow, Kara and I will say good-bye to this special time we've had getting to know each other. I'm happy for my husband, but so bummed for me.

After Friday, things will be different. No longer will I be the primary parent with whom Kara spends most of her time. Gone will be the days of Luke walking through the door after a long day at the office and me greeting him from the living room couch, spewing happy words about the funny sounds the baby made that morning, cradling her sleeping body in my arms. No more singing "Peppermint Twist" while dancing around the apartment at eleven a.m.

It's not mommy guilt I'm suffering from; it's sadness.

I'm trying to be strong. I'm trying to get excited about shopping for work clothes and grabbing a shower before noon every day and talking to other adults again. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I don't want Luke to feel bad (happy birthday, honey!). I know that somebody's got to work and my bond with Kara will continue to grow and eventually it'll all get easier.

But IT EFFING SUCKS, just the same.

To keep myself from drowning in a pint of Ben and Jerry's, I'm hereby announcing the official return of Tragic Love Friday, if only to have something awesomely trivial to focus on in my spare (ha!) time. It won't run every week, or even every other week right now, probably just once a month until a solid plot's been established, but no worries, because you'll have Brain Fest Friday to hold you over between installments. We'll have our first official BFF session tomorrow, so be sure to tune in. In the meantime, I'm going out on a limb and setting a TLF season premiere for...(flips through Norman Rockwell calendar) March 28. Those of you interested in being part of the writing team, please e-mail me so I can add you to my newly created Gmail group, which should allow us to swap ideas in an orderly fashion. If you don't have a Gmail account, let me know and I'll send you an invite. Also, don't stress about your literary skills or lacking soap opera background; I'll be controlling the main direction of the story and do eighty percent of the writing, anyway, but from time to time I'm sure I'll need pinch-hitters, and who better than a TLF fan?

Whew. Just thinking about the tragic possibilities makes me smile.

Edited to add: Of COURSE Kara choose this particular morning to wake up at five o'clock making the cutest sounds imaginable. But how can I be mad at this sweet little face? Does she not kill with the adorableness?

Edited to add AGAIN: Luke's V-Day present to me? A TWO-DISC collection of love songs by Phil Collins. It doesn't get any better than this, folks. (Seriously. I'm beyond giddy.)

I guess we're all two nuggets short of a six piece.

At least in the common sense department.

Can I tell you how much I loved reading about everyone's verbal shortcomings? Your stories were so awesome that I only felt the tiniest bit guilty for not updating the rest of the week. I'm thinking this pick-your-brain fest needs to become a regular feature. Ever since the season-two finale of Tragic Love Friday, I've missed giving people something to consistently look forward to, so it's fun to imagine "What're you lookin' at?" as a landing spot for shits and giggles once again.

Unless...

Speaking of TLF, I've been thinking a lot about our batshit-crazy fivesome (well, foursome really, continue to RIP, David) and how much I miss their morally questionable antics. Back when I was still pregnant and clueless about how often my chest would double as a bassinet, I had high hopes for continuing the insanity in the form of a reader-inspired, online soap opera, setting up the initial plot outline myself and soliciting excerpts from all of you. Then Kara was born, and I kind of lost touch with reality for a couple of weeks, and now I'm mentally preparing myself to go back to work, and it's already hard enough to keep things fresh around here without wondering how many of you are groaning each time I post yet another baby picture. The pressure associated with reviving TLF just might do me in. But damn, how fun would it be to give part three a go? We could even assign a role to my latest celebrity crush:

(Stacy, I know you'd approve.)

Since it wouldn't just be a matter of typing out pre-written pages, I'm not sure how much time I'll have to devote to TLF, but I really think it's a worth a try, as long as you guys are still on board and enough of you are willing to share your literary talents with me--and of course, by "literary talent" I mean "smutty love scenes (with Matthew Fox! and Jenna! yes?) and V.C. Andrews-style storylines." We could rotate Brain Fest Friday (BFF!) and Tragic Love Friday so that we all have more time to dedicate to this very important and not-at-all-fluffy writing project.

So, what say you? Are you with me? Or should we just resign to being BFFs?

On a random note (except not so random because Matthew Fox is on Lost and what I have to say is kind of related to Lost), a couple of weeks ago I was mortified to realize that my hair, which hasn't been professionally tended to since October, had grown into such a state of disarray that I am now a dead ringer for Hugo "Hurley" Reyes:

Don't believe me? See for yourself:

Is time for haircut, yes?

Luckily, there's one gal in the Frema-Useless Clutter household who looks perfect just the way she is.

Hat courtesy of the lovely Isabel.

My beautiful baby is eight weeks old today, which means Luke and I take her in at one o'clock this afternoon for her first batch of shots. I may not be the patient, but already I feel nauseous.

Let's play a game.

We'll call it The Stupidest Thing I Ever Said Game. I'll go first.

As a freshman in college: "You wouldn't know a good man if he slapped you in the face."

Apparently I had a non-traditional approach towards finding Mr. Right.

Now you. And if you happen to be the type of person who never says anything dumb, ever, feel free to share the stupidest thing that was ever said to you. I'm all about inclusion.

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.

I still say the carrot-stealing bastard got what he deserved

This baby is taking her time.

I know, I know, I'm not even past my due date yet, but I can feel it. The Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to be coming so frequently two weeks ago seem to have disappeared almost completely, and I can practically hear my cervix taunting me with all the non-dilating it's probably doing. My 40-week appointment is scheduled for Tuesday at 9:45, and in my heart, I know that Luke and I will be there. Blah.

How 'bout we answer some questions today, eh?

Professor Art Nerd is dying to know:

Who is your favorite artist, or artistic period, or work of art? What do you like about it? (I'm not judging, honest, it's just a question I always ask)

Oh, Lauren, I'm sure my response is going to diappoint you, because while I have a huge appreciation of art, my actual art knowledge is scant. I can tell you I love the Saturday Evening Post covers created by Norman Rockwell, which will be gracing my calendar for 2008, and there's a matted photograph of autumn leaves in my living room that I purchased at a local craft show a few years ago when I lived in Rensselaer and worked at Saint Joe. Other than that? I'm useless. I love the Post covers because of how well the images reflect all the coming-of-age situations that seem to happen in a typical American's life, and fall is my favorite season, so the leaves photo reminds of me crunching through parks in my hiking shoes with Luke, something we used to do all the time. That's one of the things I can't wait to do again in my non-pregnant state.

What is the book you most look forward to reading to Freka?

Now HERE'S a question I can get behind, mostly because I was a reading fool as a kid, and one of the biggest things that excites me about having a daughter is being able to share my favorite childhood and young adult books with her. Baby-sitters Club. Nancy Drew (both the original hardbacks and the paperback Nancy Drew Files). Sweet Valley High. Anything by Judy Blume and Paul Zindel. It's not that boys can't read these books, but do they? No, not usually. And even though I tried, I could never get into the Hardy Boys; they were only tolerable when teaming up with Nancy, Bess, and George in those random mystery thrillers that came out every few months.

Anyway, to answer the actual question, the book I'm most excited about reading to Freka right now is the comprehensive collection from Beatrix Potter. When I was a kid, one of my aunts gifted us the entire series of stories, and my sister Samantha and I had a blast going through the little books. My favorite at the time was The Story of a Fierce Bad Rabbit, mainly because he got his naughty little cotton tail shot off at the end.

Brittany asks:

Have you ever had something stolen from you?

Hell, yes, I have. The neon-green scooter I bought with money I received for making my First Communion back when I was nine years old, and I'm still pissed about it.

That scooter was a big deal. I already had a bike; Samantha and I had received matching pink bikes from my Nana for Christmas the year before, each with their own names etched into the handlebar padding (mine was Pink Taffy). But still, I wanted a scooter. Don't ask me why.

A week or two after my First Communion celebration, my father took me to Toys R Us, and I picked out said neon-green scooter. He put it together for me as soon as I got home, and I fell in love. Between that and the bike, my feet almost forgot what it felt like to make physical contact with the sidewalk. (We were NEVER allowed to ride in the street, and I'm still amazed when I see kids that do. My mother would've killed me.)

The poor thing didn't last through the summer.

My parents might say part of it was my fault for occasionally neglecting to store the scooter in the basement like I was supposed to every night before going to bed. Our apartment had fencing around the yard, and a gate, but it was that criss-cross wiring stuff that anyone could easily climb over. Apparently, the temptation of the scooter just sitting there next to our staircase was too great for one of the local sticky-fingers, and one morning, it was just gone. I never saw it again.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure they stole my bike, too. Couldn't you just cry a river for poor 'lil Frema?

Unless she decides that blogs are bogus; that I CAN'T get behind.

First of all, mad props to Molly and her pinch-hitting for me yesterday when I was a mere fifty minutes away from blowing NaBloPoMo four days before crossing the finish line, thanks to a ill-timed power outage. I loved reading your guesses (though some more than others--I'm looking at those of you who chose dates AFTER December 10); keep them coming!

In the meantime, I'll keep the Q&A stuff coming with a goal of wrapping things up by Friday. Roxanne wonders:

What is one of your hopes/dreams for your new little one?

Oh, goodness, that's a biggie. There are so many things I'd love to see her do: find a passion. Excel in school. Treat her body with respect. Raise a family of her own. Give back in return for all that she's been given. Live a relatively debt-free life (though a few student loans and a reasonable mortgage won't kill her). Luke is hoping she'll attend Purdue and go on to become a marine biologist (hence the Sea Life bedding theme).

In the grand scheme of things, though, I just want her to be happy. I know she'll have hard times, I know she'll have to fall on her face every now and then, but as long as she's grateful for the path she's on, I'll do my best to be supportive and keep my mouth shut about her choices. 

What is one of your greatest fears for little Freka?

This may sound silly, and I'm sure I'll change my mind once she's here, but right now I don't have any fears. All I can think about are the various ways Luke and I hope to give her the best life possible, and how excited I am over imagining her experimenting with sports, reading her first Nancy Drew book, attending her first sleepover, and leaving out milk and cookies for Santa.

Katie asks:

If there was only one language that you could speak/write for the rest of your life, and English wasn't an option, which would you choose and why?

I took two years of Spanish in high school because everyone on my dad's side can speak Spanish and it's one of the most popular languages in the United States. However, my second choice would've been French, because how cool must it be to speak French? So yeah. French. 

What's your favorite cocktail?

I haven't indulged in alcohol since February, back when Luke and I knew we wanted to start trying for a baby, and I really haven't missed it, so my memories of drinking are distant. I do love a good amaretto stone sour, though, and red wine, mostly because it makes me feel grown up at parties.

Sorry for the brief answers, but it's hard to concentrate today, seeing as my doctor's appointment this morning revealed that I'm a centimeter and a half dilated and fifty percent effaced!

Hear that? My cervix is cooperating. Freka is showing (small) signs that she wants to ditch my uterus and meet her mom and dad. That's my girl!

Your mom has control of Frema's blog!

Howdy all! 

Molly here (ahem, shameless self plug, ahem.)  I'm taking a quick break from NaBloPaintMo over in my world to post for poor Frema, who is not only endlessly dedicated to the love of all NaBloPoMo, but also stuck at home gestating away without power, without Internet.  Thankfully, she is not without cheesecake.

At almost midnight, nearing the end of a month-long blogging spree, what's a girl to do?  Why she calls on her pal for a quick post, that's what. 

Of course, each time she calls, I answer the phone with an excited, "Areyouinlabor?"  Because friends, (I can call you that, yes?) I'm dying for that phone call already.  And I can tell that you are also.

So while Frema's in the dark, let's place a few bets.  What day and time are you calling for Freka's birth?  I'm calling December 6th, 8:19pm. 

The winner gets the baby.

Oh, wait.  She'll never agree to that. 

The winner gets the I Called It, Bitches title.  And THAT is something for your resume. 

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?

I was a good kid, I swear

For a while there, it looked like today's was going to be another bullshit entry--Luke and I woke this morning to find our wireless modem had no signal, and after a phone call to AT&T's tech support line, we learned it had indeed met its maker. At first we thought we'd have to wait a few days for a replacement and made plans to crash Luke's work (which is fewer than ten minutes away) and publish obligatory placeholder entries for NaBloPoMo, but since the modem had outlived the initial one-year warranty, we were free to hit to Best Buy and spend ninety dollars on a new one instead. Which we did, which is why I'm able to type at you from the work computer in my living room sated with Oreo pudding and Sara Lee cheesecake instead of an empty office building with no windows and probably no snacks.

Anyway, today was busier than yesterday--there was church to attend, Mexican food to feast on, errands to run, computers to reconfigure, and a little napping on the couch to do in between reading pages from The Big Book of Birth, a book I've really come to enjoy. It was tempting to post another quickie update, but you guys have been very patient and deserve better than the crap I've been slinging lately. It still might be crap, but at least not for a lack of trying.

...And on with the Q&A. Wilddreemer wants to know:

What is one thing you did as a child you hope your child doesn't do?

Take one of my shitty diapers and wipe the contents on the walls. Scoop handfuls of applesauce from the jar and eat it with my bare hands. Wet my pants during fourth grade math. "Accidentally" poke my sister with a nail file. Prank toll-free mental support hotlines under the guise that I was a thirty-something corporate professional whose husband just had been caught in an affair with his administrative assistant. Kiss boyfriends in deserted alleys to avoid getting caught by my parents. Scribble in library books. But the worst thing I ever done--I mixed a pot of fake puke at home, and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa--and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.

Wait, that last one was Chunk. My bad.

What is the one thing you are looking forward to doing most after finally having the baby, ie. drinking coffee, touching your toes, shaving your legs?

I've never been fond of coffee, I don't care much for my toes, and with careful (albeit uncomfortable) manuvering, I've been able to maintain normal leg-shaving activity, so those are out. So what I do miss? Sleeping on my back. Grooming my lady parts; hell, being able to see my lady parts without assistance from a mirror. Eating cold lunchmeat without fear of poisoning my unborn child. "Enjoying" my husband. Wearing clothes from New York and Company instead of Motherhood Maternity. I'm so excited about banishing my maternity wardrobe to a tupperware bin in our storage unit until it's time to do this all over again.

As much I as look forward to those things, though, I've surprised myself with the realization that, once this is over, I'll actually miss being pregnant. The first trimester sucked major ass--just thinking about all that morning sickness makes me nauseous--and with the exception of our ultrasound and some moderate fetal activity, the second one wasn't much to write home about, either. But the third trimester.... This is where I feel like I've really come to know my baby, experiencing her sharp jabs and gentle, wave-like rolls, rubbing my hands over the protuding shoulder or elbow or whatever the hell happens to be poking me at the moment. This is where Luke and I can talk to her and she can recognize our voices. This is where I know she's safe all the time, where nobody can get to her without my permission.

This is my first real glimpse at motherhood, and I cannot wait for the rest. 

Will be even more thankful when NaBloPoMo is over

...because tonight? I've got nothin'. At least, not for this site. I do mention a fun birth story contest on my other blog, though. Go read that one.

Drop it like it's hot? Not yet.

So I had my 36-week check-up today, and things are peachy keen. My overall weight gain currently stands at twenty-seven pounds (speaking of which, a woman at work actually had the gall to ASK for my "number," how ballsy is that?!), Freka measures in at around 37 centimeters, and my blood pressure, sugar, and protein levels are marvelous. I told my doctor about the intermittent cramping I experience in my fingers throughout the day, and she attributed it to swelling, which she noticed slight traces of in my face, hands, and legs--totally normal at this stage in the game. We discussed the logistics of my birth plan, talked shop about pediatricians, and laughed over all the conflicting advice I've received about the baby's gender and positioning of my uterus. Which means that no, I've not dropped yet, and in fact, I may not drop until right before I go into labor, but either way, it'd be a better use of my time to pay attention to the irregular contractions I've been having as of late. Good call, Doc.

In other news, a big thanks to all who took the bait for my Q&A teaser. Here's a burning question from The Ambitious Mrs:

Are there any traits about yourself or your husband that you're hoping your baby really will or will not inherit?

If we're talking physical traits, Luke and I are both plagued with poor vision and temperamental complexions, and I'd love it if Freka didn't have to bother with contacts, eyeglasses, and routine visits to the dermatologist. When I was a kid, my poor mother, who was blessed with beautiful skin, didn't know what to do with me; I often received instructions to lay off the candy and chips, and she wasn't above steaming my face with a hot wash cloth and squeezing out the blackheads herself to ward off my acne (are you gagging yet? Because I sooo was just typing that, God bless my mom's dedication) (your mom's dedicated!). It wasn't until years later that she recognized I could've used some medical attention, but at least my siblings have had a much easier time of things. Luckily, I'll be prepared to handle this with my own children, but if they could skip that trauma altogether, that would be fabulous, thank you very much.

By comparison, dealing with glasses and contacts isn't nearly as big of a deal, but I remember the types of frames I was drawn to a kid, so all I can do is pray that little Freka demonstrates better taste if she's subjected to the fate of her parents. Seriously, have you seen my blog banner? It was bad, folks. Really bad. But as Luke pointed out, my father--the one who took me to all of my appointments--was brave enough to let me choose my eye wear, and lil' Frema liked having that say. After all, it was my damn face. Doing the same thing for Freka is the least I can do, if it comes down to that.

Physical traits I hope she does inherit? My thick hair and Luke's ridiculously long lashes. A few inches of her dad's height wouldn't hurt, either. Man, would she be a knock-out.

In regards to intellectual traits, we plan to do everything in our power to encourage a love of reading in our children. I also hope they have a passion for education. And blogging, but all in good time, my pretties. All in good time.

Coffee talk, revisited

Except I don't drink coffee, and we don't talk. It's more of a read-and-type relationship we've got going on here. But whatever.

To help pass the time during NaBloPoMo, Jessica of Kerflop is hosting a Q&A series over at her place, and seeing as it's been almost a year and a half since I've done anything similar, I thought it'd be fun to see what my readers are curious about these days. But please, nothing of the "If you were a crayon, what color would you be?" variety, because those types of questions kind of make me want to pull my hair out strand by strand, and I can't imagine you guys would be terribly interested in the answer, either. On the flip side, remember that my parents-in-law read this blog; in other words, tread lightly with the sex stuff. Not that I'm saying it's off limits. Just use common sense, is all.

(Because women entering their ninth month of pregnancy are all about the marital love. Ha!)

Anyway, to avoid repeats, here are links to all the Q&A entries I've written:

Stripped, Part 1

Stripped, Part 2

In which I talk about my favorite childhood book

In which I touch briefly on past relationships

In which I blabber on about birth control and religion

In which I share my spinach dip recipe

In which I'm forced to contemplate a childless life

In which I reminisce about college

In which I reflect on my family

In which I'm given two reasons to babble about All My Children (with pictures!)

I'll accept questions until Tuesday before lunchtime and hopefully post answers to the first couple during lunch. Remember, the quality of this Q&A lies with you! Do not disappoint a very pregnant Frema!

Nothing tragic about this!

People, I have an announcement to make.

Lil' Frema is finally going to have her day in the sun.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from Sarah Brown, creator of Cringe Book, (finally!) informing me that one of my submissions had been accepted for publication. The cringe-filled masterpiece is currently slated for a March 2008 release date.

My winning literary donation?

Randy would be so proud. Or totally creeped out. Or maybe he'd just feel sorry for the little girl inside of me whose rejected heart never completely healed.

That last one is the most likely scenario, seeing as last month somebody found my blog by searching for "Randy Wooten" in Google. Whoops.

Anyway, while the contributors won't see a dime of the advance money, Sarah did say she could snag me a copy of the book, and if the book tour stops through my city, she'd love for me to participate in the reading, so that's pretty cool. It figures, though, that my first published work would be written by my childhood counterpart. After all, she was the true brains behind Tragic Love Friday. What will part three be like without her "e" after "stomach" and her intuitive medical expertise?

(Speaking of TLF, are any of you still chomping at the bit about doing a part three after the New Year? Do you have ideas for potential storylines? I actually have something in mind for Jenna, who I just realized went through the entire sequel without getting any nooky at all. That will SOOO change for part three.)

The one time I'm grateful she doesn't read my blog.

Once again, much thanks to everyone who provided suggestions for Ryan and Jason's wedding presents. In order to preserve what little sanity I have left, Luke and I decided to save the tangible items for their November reception/shower and go with a monetary gift to celebrate their actual elopement. I also ran to Victoria's Secret last night to pick out some pretty things for her to wear on her wedding night (smart thinking, Liz!). On the way to the mall, it hit me, really hit me, that I won't be there to watch my little sister get married. When I see her this Saturday, she'll be a single woman. The next time? She'll sport a new last name. She'll have taken vows to love and cherish another human being for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as they both shall live. And I WON'T BE THERE.

Dammit, I'm crying again. Luckily, rolled-up tank tops make excellent hankerchiefs.

It's probably safe to say that emotions will be running high at my baby shower this weekend. Expect lots of pictures (and possibly more tears) for Monday.

So as not to leave you on a completely depressing note, I want to get a feel for how many of you plan on participating in this year's National Blog Posting Month. I fully intend to hop on the bandwagon just like I did last year, especially since I was so freaking productive. Cheesy love song swap inspired by Lionel Richie! The birth of Tragic Love Friday! Yes, November 2006 was quite the month for Frema.

With everything going on in my life these days, I haven't been paying attention to this blog as much as I'd like, and since I have no idea how often I'll post once Freka arrives, think of NaBloPoMo as my early Christmas gift to the Internet.

Who's with me? 

Let's talk about cloth, baby

I hear there's a new de-lurking movement pulsing through the blogosphere today: The Great MoFo De-Lurk, in which those of you who cower behind the bland template of your feed reader are encouraged to visit the sites of the blogs you read and (gasp!) leave a comment. Now, I use a feed reader for blogs I'm still "getting to know" but rely heavily on my About page's blogroll to keep up with my favorite reads, so this concept isn't geared towards folks like me. However, if you're going to take the trouble to stop by these parts, the least I could do is give you something to talk about, right?

Right. So here it is: cloth diapers.

Whenever Luke and I tell people that we plan to use cloth diapers for Freka, we're usually met with a nose crinkle and a "Good luck with that," as if we're lofty idealists completely out of touch with the workings of the real world. And for the most part, I can understand where they're coming from. Why purchase reusable diapers when you can buy ones that go in the trash? Who wants to run shitty fabric through their big, shiny washing machine?

How about people who want to save money?

Though my husband won't be quitting his job until the end of my maternity leave, we'll actually be putting our one-income budget into effect the minute I'm hit with my first contraction since, you know, I'll be too busy caring for our child to bring home the bacon. This means we have to be very creative with our budget in hopes of working each dollar to the max. When it came time to draft our Excel spreadsheet, we looked at what the cost of using disposable diapers would do to that budget and nearly had a collective heart attack. Because of the Interweb, I was already familiar with some of the benefits of using cloth, but my near miss with death sealed the deal.

I talked to Luke about it, and he was totally on board, which was pretty important, seeing as he'll be the one in charge of all the day changings once I'm back at work. He was especially interested in doing a little something extra to cut back on the vast amounts of waste we humans dump into our landfills every day.

(Quick note here to acknowledge that the only reason cloth diapers are feasible for us as renters is the fact that we have a washer and dryer set in our apartment. No way could we afford to pay a professional laundering service. The whole point is to save money, remember?)

Yes, this move will require a little more legwork on our part. Yes, it might get a little disgusting from time to time. But hey, nobody said this parenting gig would be shit-free.

Still with me? Here's what I need from you:

Luke and I need to build up our supply of cloth diapers. We know we want to go with enough All-In-Ones (no messing with extra inserts for us, thank you very much) to last us the first few months, but we're not sure how many we need starting out or how varied the sizes should be (i.e., do we really need to buy the ones especially for newborns, or can we just go with the next size up?). We're also not sure where to search for the best deals or if we'll need any special accessories to make this work. Also, where in the hell do you stash the dirty ones until you're ready to wash them? I'm assuming the bathroom, but WHERE?

Readers without any interest in the type of fabric destined to grace my kid's ass: Can you offer any insights on the new Tori Amos CD? This is just as important as the diaper stuff, seeing as Luke and I bought tickets to her November Indy show! Yes!

Freka's going to love it. She's already partial to "Bliss."

Tragic Love Friday: Audrey to the rescue

Hey! Remember back in August when I solicited recaps for part two? And how nobody was up for the job and I was very, very sad about the lack of TLF love?

Well, happy days are here again, because Audrey of Sangria Lover came to the gang's rescue. She actually rescued me at the beginning of the month, but I've been too busy to format her Word entry within TypePad and I was adamant about posting it on a Friday because duh, Tragic Love FRIDAY, and anyway, now it's the end of the month and I hope she forgives me.

Because her recap? Is AWESOME.

Enjoy.

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Tragic Love Friday – The Sequel

I tried to keep it short and sweet, but there was A LOT of tragic lovin' going on these last few months! I also looked back at the Part 1 recaps for inspiration and loved Silly Hily's idea of including the best commentary from each chapter so much that I went ahead and stole it. Because TLF just wouldn't be the same without the commentary. And you know what else it wouldn't be the same without? The comments! So I re-read all of the hilarious comments and copied and pasted my favorites for each chapter here as well. I felt it was important to recap every aspect that makes TLF so amazing--Lil' Frema's writing, Adult Frema's commentary, and TLF Addicts' comments.

Prologue – Kayla

Kayla, Cassie, and Kyle arrive in Cedar Springs, Iowa via plane. Their car will arrive via u-haul truck, obviously.

Kyle is the result of Kayla being gang-raped by some security guards in prison, just a month after her daughter was taken from her to live with Jenna and Michael.

Katherine is the reason they're in Cedar Springs. Kayla's dick (p.i.) located Katherine, and the Kayla-Cassie-Kyle clan have come to … spy on her?

Kayla has a new last name and a new hair color. Kay is Clark Kent to Kayla's Superman, and Michael, as we will learn, is far too stupid to see past the metaphorical eyeglasses and recognize her.

Kyle has no idea about his half-sister or the circumstances of his birth. Kayla's painted a nice picture of a family-abandoning father figure for him to admire.

Kayla hopes for a brother-sister bond between Katherine and Kyle. Be careful what you wish for, sweetie.

Best commentary: "Don't cry!" my friend said. "It'll be OK, Kay. I promise. I feel the same way you do. I'm dying to see my niece." [You'd think these women would've sworn off exaggerated death references forever. Such poor taste!]

Best comment: Pink Herring. Here comes the incest! Woohoo! It's not a real soap until a long-lost sibling pair unwittingly falls in love, forgets to use protection, and then finds out about their parentage when the chick is already knocked up.

Chapter 1 – Katherine

At school, Katherine meets Kyle and immediately develops a not-so-sisterly crush on him. The feeling is mutual. Actually, Kyle is a big flirt, and Katherine is annoyed by this. Lucky for Kyle, Katherine is asked to tutor him because he's "a little behind." They make arrangements to "study" together.

Best commentary: He seemed satisfied with my response. "Fair enough. I'm sorry if I rubbed you the wrong way today." [And that wasn't even an innuendo!]

Best comment: Isabel. My prediction is that Kyle really wasn’t asleep in the back of the car. The kid is smart, don’t forget. He totally knows what’s going on. He knows that Katherine is his (half) sister and he’s into that kind of thing.

Chapter 2 – Jenna

Jenna works as a personal assistant in advertising. For a company that "wasn't really recognized as trustworthy and worthwhile." Her boss lands the big Folger's account, so naturally she has to do all of the work. With bitch Agatha's help.

Jenna and Michael have twins--Luke and Leigh. But they want another--one to name after Michael, preferably (because Luke wasn't good enough? Or Michael and Michaela just didn't sound as good as twin names?)--but they've hit some infertility struggles and their marriage is suffering a bit as a result. The lines of communication, they are not good.

Best commentary: [OK, in my line of work, I've seen managers fired after five MONTHS of non-performance, but what can I say? Lil' Frema hates to put people out of work. Killing off innocent babies is fine, but contributing to America's poverty population is not an option. For now.]

Best comment: May. I'm glad that lil' Frema has Jenna & Mikey still in love & nice to each other, despite the pressure of 3 kids, crappy jobs, infertility, etc... I mean, haven't they been through enough? (Answer - no, we still have more sequel to go! Yay!)

Chapter 3 – Kyle

It's time to tutor. Kyle invites Katherine over then does what every girl dreams of by asking her to help him unpack when they're done studying. Swoon! Then he goes and hides in the bathroom because he has no friends. Gee, Kyle, maybe if you invited more people over for manual labor…

Incestual flirting takes place. (I'm pretty sure I made up the word Incestual. Just go with it, k?) Kyle tells Katherine that she looks just like his (their) mother. Ew.

Speak of the devil, Kay(la) comes home and is surprised to see her long-lost daughter. Aunt Cassie meets her niece. Kyle gets suspicious, but is placated with an "it's complicated, you'll understand when you're older" brush off. Katherine stays for a k-lassy frozen pizza dinner. More incestual flirting ensues, and Kay does NOTHING to stop her children from getting involved in what is quickly becoming an inappropriate relationship.

Michael comes to pick up his "daughter," and we learn that he is incredibly stupid and cannot recognize [that murdering bitch] Kay.

Kyle goes to bed but doesn't fall asleep for "a long time." My guess is he was "contemplating the trials and tribulations of his complicated existence." *wink, wink*

Best commentary: [Geez, with all that time he spent contemplating the trials and tribulations of his complicated existence, he could have just masturbated.]

Best comment: Rachel. And, I am so glad that Michael is not teaching at my kid's school! He is definitely not the brightest crayon in the box. I'm pretty sure that if I dyed my hair blond tonight, um, my face will still look the same.

Chapter 4 – Michael

Michael and Jenna visit the fertility doctor to find out (who's at fault) what the problem is. Doctor has bad news--basically it's a really really bad idea for Jenna to get pregnant again. Her body can't handle it.

Michael tries to smooth things over by suggesting a weekend getaway. Jenna's far too busy with the Folger's account to mess around with romantic nonsense.

Michael later runs into Kayla who "conveniently" has a flat tire in his school's parking lot. Even though she's a "complete stranger" to him, he gives her a ride home and pours out his heart about his failing marriage.

He comes home and his son tells him to "Get some, Dad." He probably doesn't, though, even though he and Jenna are having a rare romantic moment at the end of the chapter.

Best commentary: "I hate it when that happens," I said, and she laughed. "I can't replace your stuff or turn back time [or even put two and two together to realize you're the same woman who tried to kill my wife fifteen years ago, even though "Kay" and "Kayla" are about as different from each other as, well, "Mike" and "Michael"], but I can give you a ride home."

Best comment: Isabel. I love how the doctor is named "Peters". The 13 year old boy in me giggled when I read that. Tee-hee.

Chapter 5 – Kayla

Kayla is loving that Katherine comes home and makes out with her son every day after school. Is developing a major crush on Michael. (Chandler: Could things BE any more inappropriate?)

Michael and Kayla run into each other at the grocery store and then decide to spend the whole day together. Except instead they go see a movie that night.

Kyle is sketching Katherine. Probably nude. Kayla lets it slide.

Cassie is, for once, a voice of reason and advises Kayla not to date Michael. She is ignored completely.

Kayla dresses for an 80s-themed date, despite the fact that she is living in 1994, and all but encourages Kyle to pursue his love for his sister.

Michael picks Kayla up and both have apparently forgotten all movie plans. They go to a bar instead. And talk about how crazy Jenna is losing her shit. He notices a scar from a past suicide attempt of Kay's and then takes her to … uh… Lover's Lane? Where Kayla describes how Kyle saved her from her botched suicide attempt.

After that oh-so-romantic discussion, they start making out. Then she stops things before they go too far (for now), and he takes her home.

Best commentary: Everybody did their own thing [did their own sister]
and
but only an idiot could miss the added sparkle that I knew could be found in my eyes. [Kayla, have you met Michael Spencer?]

Best comment: David McNelis. Kay is so gonna end up boinking Michael. But then at least Michael will be able to honestly say to Katherine, "Yeah, well I porked your mom!" and not be lying in the least. Won't he be happy to get that off his chest. :)

Chapter 6 – Katherine

Kyle asked her to go to the video dance, whatever the hell that is. None of the adults stop this from happening, naturally.

Katherine gets all gussied up with her suspenders and striped pants. When snooping around to steal her mom's perfume, she stumbles upon some adoption papers but doesn't realize they are her own.

Kyle picks her up, gives her a rose, and we end the first part of TLF 2.0 with Katherine dreaming about how magical the night will be. If only she knew what was in store for her… So long, innocence! So long, sanity!

Best commentary: [Oh, Jenna and Michael, please produce more children who you can ignore and leave alone to fend for themselves, with only a pizza to console them!]

Best comment: Rachel. Don't ring loud!

Chapter 7 – Katherine

They took a cab to the dance. How romantic. They dance. They kiss. And it's great, as only a kiss between siblings can be. Or maybe I mean weird and creepy. Not great.

Then they go outside and Kyle rapes her. It's not pretty at all. Katherine is understandably angery. But at least Kyle was thoughtful enough to leave her cab fare (prostitute fee?). Which she rips to shreds in anger.

Best commentary: It was sweet and passionate and tender. [And also against God's plan!]

Best comment: Isabel. My notes do indicate that I instantly thought of Brian Astin Green's character in 90210 dancing like a FOOL when you mentioned Kyle being a good dancer. Sweet.

Chapter 8 – Jenna

Katherine is losing her shit, but nobody seems to notice.

Michael misses the special dinner Jenna makes, so the hungery twins have to eat without him. Katherine continues to lose her shit.

Michael gets home late. They fight.

She slaved over the Folger's presentation and then the bitch assistant stole her materials and so Jenna got fired. Because that's what happens in the cold, harsh world of ad agency assistant work.

Best commentary from Frema: At home, I was surprised to see Katherine was already there. [I have a daughter? Cool!]

Best commentary from Jennifer/Pink Herring: "By now, Michael, you shouldn't need my help! You should be able to understand me!" [Honestly, Michael. I don't even know why we paid for all those mind-reading classes!]

Best comment: Virginia Gal. Is it wrong of me to think that the only difference between Michael's mistress (Kay) and Jenna's (her job) is that he is getting laid and she is getting laid off?

Chapter 9 – Michael

Michael comforts Jenna after she gets canned. Then thinks how old she looks and makes her go take a nap while he goes to tell Kay that he's in love with her. And then they get it on.

Best commentary: Just last weekend we put up her Christmas tree. [Because baby Jesus loves it when adulterers come together to honor his birth with flashing lights.]

Best comment: Lizarita. You're KILLIN ME SMALLS.

Chapter 10 – Katherine

Is pregnant with her half-brother's rape baby. Jenna is flippin' burgers at Burger King.

Katherine decides to take matters into her own hands and take a bunch of her mom's anti-depressants.
Lucas is starting to be affected by the tragic drama going down around him. Katherine tries to be a good sister for a minute before going to spend the night at Shannon's house.

Best commentary: I had to pee on a stick (provided by the box, how thoughtful). [Honey, that stick is the test. Peeing on anything else just means you're weird.]

Best comment: Sant. I like how Lucas went from being raunchy hormonal to a shirt sleeve sobbing 6-year old in no time flat.

Chapter 11 – Katherine

Shannon's house is where she pops the pills to pop her baby out of her stomache. All the while she's having hallucinations of her little daughter, whom she affectionately names Katrina before blacking out. When she comes to, she finds herself in Shannon's bathroom, covered in blood and shit (quite literally). Which she proceeds to rub on her face. She feels okay, but something is still swimming around inside of her. (Excuse me while I add to the vomit in the room.)

Shannon is a saint and washes the bathroom. Three times.

Best commentary: "Kath, you were pregnant. You lost your baby." I nodded. [Um, how would Shannon know this? Katherine's only a few weeks along, and unless there was an arm or toe bopping on the surface, there'd be no way for a teenager to diagnose this as a miscarriage.]

Best comment: Molly. Beatings and vomiting and rubbing dead baby pieces on faces, oh my!

Chapter 12 – Kyle

Kayla reveals that she's pregnant. Cassie punches her. Frema celebrates the return of batshit crazy. Kayla and Cassie duke it out.

Kyle is a little freaked out that his whorish mother is pregnant. He almost feels bad about what he did to Katherine, but then talks himself out of it and convinces himself that it was her fault for being such a tease. He hates her. And also is in love with her.

Best commentary: [This is where the "Anything you can do, I can do better" part of today's title came from, because God forbid something good or bad happen to anybody without this woman jumping in with a one-upper. Jenna gets pregnant? Kayla gets pregnant AND carries the baby to term. Jenna gets married and enjoys a committed, monogamous relationship for over a decade? Kayla steals him in two weeks. Biological daughter is raped? Kayla gets knocked up by said daughter's father. Kayla wins, every time!]

Best comment: Molly. The kitchen scene with the sisters was awesome. I loved that they kept beating on each other like wild apes.

Chapter 13 – Jenna

Christmas morning starts with a good ole marital fight. Michael has huge balls; I'm not sure how he shops for pants. Jenna accuses him of having an affair. They hear the twins sobbing and find the twins, whose Christmas has been ruined forever, comforting Katherine who is having a conversation with Katrina.

Michael and Jenna start throwing punches in front of the kids. Katherine tries to intervene and gets kicked in the stomache. Her stomache "rumbles and bursts," breaking the water of her still-swimming fetus. Jenna realizes with horror that her little girl is pregnant and Michael calls the paramedics. The twins continue to be traumatized.

They get to the hospital and Michael immediately calls Kayla. Balls = huge. Michael lets it slip in front of Jenna that Kay(la) is preggers. Jenna quickly proves she is smarter than Michael (doesn't take much) and realizes that Kay is, in fact, Kayla. Kayla tries to claim Katherine as her own, but Jenna won't allow it.

The doctors deliver Katrina via c-section and it barely resembles anything human. Still, Katherine caresses her baby (better than rubbing shit on her face, at least!) and apologizes for hurting her.
Katherine has to stay at the hospital for a week, so Jenna takes her family home--except Michael, who chooses to stay with Kayla.

Best commentary: [Talking to the spirit of your dead fetus. One of those pesky side effects Planned Parenthood failed to include in their brochure.]

Best comments: (Chapter 13 was pretty long and there were too many great comments to pick just one!)

Silly Hily. Oh the irony (and confusion) here. Jenna, who's baby was killed by Kayla, kills Kayla's baby's baby. Is she going to take out Kayla's new baby as well? Can she make it two ladies and gents? We shall see.

Kathie. Because, when would be a more appropriate time to introduce your wife and your mistress than when your daughter was in hospital having a miscarriage that isn't entirely not your own fault? It's like Michael thought "Hey, I'm up shit creek without a paddle here, I might as well get it all over with at once...". The man either has ginormous balls, or is clearly insane. Or both.

Isabel. Dr. Frema, will you deliver my next child? You've got mad medical skillz.

Chapter 14 – Kyle

He is reeling from everything he's learned. He raped his sister. Aunt Cassie isn't his aunt. His mom's gettin' it on with Katherine's dad.

Kayla tries to explain. She sums up TLF part 1--baby killing, baby-daddy killing, prison rape, and all.
Kyle admits to raping his sister. Naturally, Kalya understands and, a rape victim herself, isn't mad that her son is a rapist.

Best commentary: [You'd think the fact that she was pregnant herself would have caused her to show more remorse for killing an innocent life that hadn't even been born yet, but no, she still mourns the jackass who couldn't keep his dick in his pants.] [I'm sorry, David, I didn't mean it. Love you! Mean it! RIP!]
and
[But you're still grounded! No sex for a week.]

Best comment: Angela. Kyle: Momma, the thing is... I raped my sister, just like what happened to you, I'm so sorreeeeee! Kayla: Oh, it's okay sweetie, that doesn't shock or horrify me as a former rape victim whatsoever, let's go eat cookies and sing kumbaya!

Chapter 15 – Kayla

Kayla pays a visit to the Spencers. Completely ignores Jenna. Has a chat with Michael--he's pissed about the betrayal and stuff.

She's making her rounds, so she heads to the hospital next. Katherine apparently can't get a nurse to keep her clean, as she's lying in a pool of blood in her hospital bed. And she's pissed at Kayla, too. Abandonment issues and all that.

Best commentary: He filled up a part of me [snicker] I thought I'd closed off."

Best comment: Silly Hily. "Grow up...not everything revolves around you." ???? Oh no bitch didn't!

Chapter 16 – Cassie

She and Kyle have a little heart-to-heart in which Cassie earns zero character development. They mostly talk about how upset and hurt Kayla must be feeling.

Best commentary: "He hit her?" Kyle looked angery. [Really. Forcing a woman into sex and impregnating her with your child is one thing, but slapping one is quite another!]

Best comment: Virginia Gal. Kyle: "If I had known Katherine was my SISTER..." Though I do feel better that he's sorry because Katherine was his sister, does that mean he wouldn't have been sorry if he'd done that to another girl?

Chapter 17 – Michael

Katherine comes home on Frema's birthday and promptly demands to see her adoption papers and photos of her parents. Michael despairs about how much weaker than Kay(la) his wife is. (Bastard.) Then he realizes that he's in love with both Kayla and Kay--all of her. He immediately tells Jenna. The entire Spencer family goes to pay Kayla a visit.

Best commentary: [Michael, you sonofabitch. A woman forced to bear the brunt of her HORRENDOUS mistakes, at least two of them made at the expense of YOUR OWN DAMN WIFE, hardly makes her admirable.]

Best comment: TasterSpoon. Poor Jenna. First the Folger's presentation, now this.

Chapter 18 – Katherine

On the way to Kayla's, she goes through a roller coaster of emotions but ultimately forgives Kayla and Kyle. No commentary.

Best comment: Fraulein N. Has Katherine been taken over by a pod person?

Chapter 19 – Kayla

Kayla is spiraling into deep depression. She's alone at the house. She grabs some pictures and goes to the garage, which she drenches in gasoline. She gets in her car, puts some Beethoven on the radio, and tosses a match out the car window.

Best commentary: "God, bless them and keep them safe," I whispered, closing my eyes. "I can't do it anymore." [Especially now that you're going to burn in Hell.]

Best comment: Silly Hily. And poor Jenna. She's still left all alone. Kayla not only kills her baby and her baby daddy and then takes her husband away from her but then she goes and kills herself as to get to David first. So, now she's got first dibbs on him, too.

Chapter 20 – Kyle

Sees the flame in the distance and runs to his mom's side. Kayla has passed out (and probably already died) due to inhaling too much smoke. He starts to try to save her but then remembers when he saved her from her botched suicide attempt when he was only 11. He "had saved her from death, only to let her go through more pain."

He apologizes and promises that he won't let her go to heaven alone, then joins her in the car.

Best commentary: "I won't leave you go to Heaven alone." [Oh, Kyle. You'll have to set your sights a wee bit lower. Maybe Purgatory will have you.]

Best comment: Isabel. When I just had to verify my comment, the code was "Kye". I think it was Kyle contacting me from the dead.

Chapter 21 – Cassie

At Kayla and Kyle's funeral, she recalls the scene when she arrived at the burning house. An officer starts to tell her about "the corpses," but Michael insists that she hear the news from him.
When the Spencers arrive, Jenna runs to get help while Michael stays and makes sure the twins witness the whole traumatic scene.

Back at the funeral, Cassie pays her respects. And maybe makes me cry a little. Then she and Katherine walk away from the graves, hand in hand.

Best commentary: We stayed behind until all the others were gone [what others? Her gang rapists?].

Best comment: Pink Herring. The bodies were burnt beyond recognition? No mention of compared dental records? FAKED DEATH!!

Chapter 22 – Jenna
4 years later

Jenna and Michael divorced but managed to stay friends.

Cassie's mom got AIDS from being a slut early in life, so Cassie and Katherine moved to Illinois to take care of her.

The twins are 16; Lucas is failing in school but excelling at painting creepy portraits of Katherine. Leigh has completely dropped out of school and dates a lot of worrisome boys. Stellar parenting, Jenna.

Michael comes over for dinner. The end.

Best commentary: I could see she was unhappy, so I didn't make her go, which didn't go over well with Michael. [Seeing as he's a FUCKING TEACHER, I would guess that no, Mikey wasn't jumping for joy at that.]

Best comment: Silly Hily. Can I just say that I was so hoping there would be a BIG twist, like her "visitor" in the end being David or something. What? People come back from the dead all the effin' time on Soaps.

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How are you guys doing without a weekly dose of TLF in your life? Are you adjusting or drumming your fingers impatiently for part three? Be honest. I can take it.

Maybe.

In Blogs We Trust

And I thought explaining blogging to ten undergrads was difficult.

Try selling the benefits to forty budding writers with varying degrees of Internet experience.

This afternoon I made the trip to Saint Joe for the second time this week to host a fifty-minute workshop called "Why Writers Should Blog," one of several offered through an all-day writers conference held on campus. I committed to presenting back in January, before the freelancing, teaching, and pregnancy gigs came along, and for the last month I've been kicking myself for not trying to worm out of it. I spent a good three hours putting my PowerPoint together--three hours that could've been spent sleeping, crying over my chipped pedicure, or diving headfirst into a pint of Ben and Jerry's--and several days stressing over my public speaking skills, which still leave much to be desired.

It's not a happy accident that I write for a living.

Once I took my place behind the podium, though, I realized how excited I was to brag about the blogging community. It took a few minutes, but I eventually felt myself relax, to the point where my voice stopped trembling over every third word and my face regained its natural, non-burning-red-oh-my-God-is-it-just-me-or-is-it-HOT-in-here pigment.

I felt adequately prepared to handle all the questions that came my way, though one in particular took me aback. Some were especially concerned about copyright protection for online works, wanting to know how they could prevent others from plagiarizing their content. "Anybody could come along and copy and paste what I've written," one person said. "Right?"

Well... yes. Yes they could.

I tried to explain that the blogosphere is a community based on trust, and when it comes to issues like that, we have each other's backs. I said that when cases of plagiarism do crop up, it's usually because a reader discovered it and brought it to the original author's attention. I pointed out that you can be equally suspicious of the individuals in your local writers group, and it's up to you to decide whether or not the benefits associated with publicizing your work outweigh the risk of any unethical use that may occur.

As I drove home, I thought a lot about my experience with the Internet. When I started blogging, I had no desire to post the Great American Novel or improve on my fiction. I started blogging because I liked taking incidents from my own life and turning them into stories all their own. My first year was a bit rocky in terms of finding my voice, but I did find it, and I'm quite proud of (most of) what you see here. I may not be peddling my entries to publishers, but if someone tried to claim them as their own, I'd be pretty effing pissed. So I can certainly understand why some are hesitant to give the blog thing a try.

But I think as people become more familiar with the blogging community, most of us worry less about public inappropriateness and instead revel in the joy this social networking tool adds to our lives. At least, I do. Blogging has been so, so good to me. It gave me a chance to find myself as a writer. It motivates me to keep producing content when I'm heartsick or sad or confused. It provides a way for me to document incidents in my life that I wouldn't otherwise hold on to. Most of all, it allowed me to find friends in corners of the universe I've never even seen, friends who empathized with me through struggles with religion and impatience with my biological clock, who delighted in my engagement and marriage and big baby announcement. You guys laughed at my omelet story and inability to properly use a meat thermometer, and you shared your personal experiences with prenatal testing and maternity leave. You climbed on board the cheesy love songs bandwagon and even came to my aid when I begged for your copy of a trashy tabloid because it featured a shirtless picture of an old friend. (Thanks again, Lauren, so much, and all those who e-mailed with links to Jason's MySpace page or an image of the actual article. You really are the best.)

I communicate with some of you more frequently than my "real life" circle of friends, most of whom don't even bother to read what I post online, not understanding this little hobby is sometimes the only thing keeping me sane, because no matter what I bitch about, I know at least one of you will understand. I shudder to think what would've happened if I'd let fear of the unknown keep me from sharing my life and my work with you. There'd have been no Tragic Love Friday, that's for sure--a tragic thought in and of itself.

Life is moving along at a lightening-fast past these days, and I don't always have the time or energy to update this site as often as I'd like. But selling the pluses of the blogosphere today reminded me just how important this space is to me and how much I value all of you. It would take a lot more than fifty minutes to convey how much.

BlogHer '07: The rest of the story (part one)

OK, so I've already talked your ear off about how fabulous it was to meet my bloggy-blog friends at the BlogHer conference in Chicago last week. However, let us not forget that it was, indeed, a conference, meant to educate Web geeks on various tricks and trends of the blogosphere. And I was ready to be educated. After blogging for almost three and a half years, I've found my niche. I'm done with fiction (except TLF), and I dream about being the Internet's version of Dave Sedaris (except not gay).

Anyway, I had a clear list of objectives regarding what I wanted to gain from the conference sessions:

• Get a better feel for the business ramifications of blogging. While I plan to stay away from ads and other money-making ventures on this here site, my Parents blog does provide me with income, and I'm open to pursuing similar opportunities with other companies. In those instances, I'd like to know how to market my image and handle my taxes.
• Learn how to increase traffic to my blog. Hey, if I didn't want readers poking their noses into my deepest thoughts, I wouldn't have a Web site, right? Plus, I'm not technically savvy at all, so receiving pointers from an expert or two certainly couldn't hurt.
• See the inner workings of the blogosphere. How are communities formed through writing online? How do they change? How do people change once they belong to one? And how long does it take before the participants move on to the next one?

As you can see, I had high hopes for these sessions. But I've always loved attending conferences, and now that I'm no longer in school, I's gotta get my nollige any way I can.

Here we go.

DAY ONE

(Breakout #1) Business of You: Self-Branding and Self-Promotion

The write-up for this one talked about "exploring how to think of yourself in what might be a new way...and how to use both online and offline media to promote your work." Bring it on, I thought. I already knew about branding from working in communications, but I wanted to make sure I was doing everything possible to present a consistent image on my blog.

I'm sorry to say I was deeply disappointed in this session, especially because it was the one I was most excited about. There was simply no structure. I waited for somebody to turn on the projector, for some sort of formal presentation that gave everyone a starting point from which to work with, but no. Nobody ever defined what branding was or why it was important. There were no examples of Web sites or bloggers who were doing this successfully, no handouts to summarize important notes. Basically, the panelists stood up front and took questions from the audience, questions that often had nothing to do with each other and skipped all over the place, making it hard to follow a logical train of thought. I also didn't like how discouraging some of the experts were about dabbling in different topics. Apparently if I want to have a popular blog, I need to pick one topic and stick with it, and judging from my ginormous list of categories, I suppose I've resigned myself to permanent C-list status. But Dooce is the master of miscellaneous, and she's one of the most financially profitable bloggers out there, so obviously that's not a hard and fast rule.

Despite the lack of actual content, I did scribble a few gems onto my notepad, my favorite one being "the importance of being authentically interesting and interested." If you want to get anywhere in blogging, you can't robotically comb through Web sites and leave generic comments like, "Your blog is so funny! Visit me at blahdeblah.com." If you want to talk at people, set your sights on print media. If you want to participate in conversations beyond your demographic and you're genuinely curious about what others have to say, that's when you turn to blogs.

In hindsight, I wish I had attended the Identity session titled "The Life Stages of Online Communities." Anybody go to that?

(Breakout #2) Technical: Find Out Why Bloggers Care About Web Standards

This session promised to provide information on how to make your blog easier to navigate for people with disabilities. Kerflop had mentioned the importance of following web standards on her blog a while back, and the subject's piqued my interest ever since. Also, my company works very closely with a local organization that finds jobs for those who are blind or visually impaired, so I see firsthand the significance of making sure your Web site is accessible to everyone.

Anyway, the speakers definitely made good on their promise. Did you know that thirty-eight percent of people with some sort of disability are online? Afflictions range from visual impairment and colorblindness to not being able to use a mouse. There's no way I can list everything I learned, but here are some of the biggies:

- Don't make a link open in a new window without warning. For those with impairments or disabilities, this makes it difficult for them to get back to their original starting point.

- When composing text for a link, don't be lazy and write "click here." For those who can't (for whatever reason), they have no idea what you're referring to.

- Visual captchas exclude those with poor vision from commenting on your blog. Use a text-based one if you can (I know Movable Type offers this option, but I'm not sure about TypePad).

- When posting images, make sure they're properly labeled. You can do this by clicking on the "Edit HTML" window of your post draft and editing what appears in quotes after the "alt." Make sure the text relates to the picture so those who can't see it can still follow along.

Go to www.webstandards.org and www.allaccessblogging.com for more information.

(Breakout #3) Technical: Technical Tools to Build Traffic

This session is a no-brainer; it divulged precious information about how to bring more traffic to your Web site. I loved it and took tons of notes, too many to share here, but the entire presentation can be found at www.elise.com/blogher, as well as additional resources. This session rocked. I can't wait to set aside enough time to actually put these tips to use.

In case it wasn't obvious, both of the technical sessions I attended more than fulfilled my expectations for objective number two.

(Breakout #4) Identity: The State of the Momosphere

I may not be a mommy blogger, but if the Parents.com gig continues to go well, I very well might be one soon, and I wanted to hear what others have to say about the mom culture online. This was another Q-and-A session, but that made sense, considering the subjectivity of the topic. There were three panelists, one of them the great Cheeky Lotus.

I have to say, the dialogue that took place during this session was really interesting, even if I didn't agree with everyone's opinion. A lot of attention was paid to the monetizing aspect of mommy blogs, whether it be posting ads, freelancing, or reviewing products and services for a fee. Some argued that a woman's time is valuable and deserves to be compensated, while others speculated that the reason many people are uncomfortable with mothers receiving this kind of attention from businesses is due to the fact that, traditionally, "woman's work" has been more sacrificial in nature, and critics just aren't used to viewing moms in a more professional light. Yet another person said blogging about your children is no different from blogging about crafts or food, which I strongly disagree with. Is an apple pie going to grow up in ten years and ask you questions about a story you posted when he was still in diapers? I didn't think so.

That's not to say I think mommy blogs are sell-outs. I don't. But let's not pretend that writing about your kids doesn't have the potential for major consequences down the road. As I get closer to the end of my pregnancy, I constantly worry about how I'll portray my life as a mother online and how much I'll reveal about my baby. It'll be important for me to remember that my words and pictures will be available to millions of strangers around the world, and it's my job to protect her integrity, which is just as if not more important than sharing the joys and pitballs of being a parent in today's world. I love telling my story but would hate exploiting hers. Luckily, I've seen a number of bloggers balance these aspects of their lives beautifully, so I'm hopeful I can do the same.

If you attended any of these sessions, feel free to add to what I've said. Tune in tomorrow for Day Two.

Say hello to your friends

Oh my God, people. I am so tired.

This overwhelming sense of fatigue started when I woke up on Thursday--after going to bed at two o'clock in the morning--to update blogs, pack, clean, and shower before heading off to Chicago and has stayed with me ever since. My life battery, she's losing juice fast, and in addition to catching up on work and blog writing, there are seven episodes of All My Children taking up space on two VHS tapes demanding my undivided attention. There's also a husband who I missed very much and would like to spend some quality time with before I take off again this weekend for a family camping trip. Hopefully I can recharge before then.

But you didn't come here to listen to me bitch and moan, you want the 411 on BlogHer! (At least, I hope you do; if not, you're in for one boring week.) There's so much to talk about that one post couldn't possibly cover everything, so today I'll talk about the social aspects of the conference, while my next couple of entries will zero in on the sessions themselves.

Where to begin? I was so nervous on Thursday about meeting so many of the people I've connected with over the blogosphere. I feel most at home behind a computer, where I can craft my words carefully and Photoshop my acne, and I was afraid about not meeting everyone's expectations. But when Molly and I arrived at the W Lakeshore and caught Isabel, Stacy, and Lizarita chatting it up outside the glass doors, I felt myself instantly relax. I may not have met these people before, but I knew them. It was going to be OK.

For our first night in town, we all had dinner at Navy Pier and entertained each other with conversation. It was wonderful--no stumbling over words, no fawning all over ourselves, just talking like friends who hadn't seen each other for a while. Looking back at all the hustle and bustle that took place over the three days I was in Chicago, I so appreciate that we were able to sit in Charlie's Ale House for two hours and just be. And the spinach dip? Totally a bonus.

Left to right, starting from the back: Carrisa, Lizarita, Lizzy, Molly, me, Isabel, and Stacy

 

On Friday morning, though, the anxiety flared up again as I rummaged through my suitcase, wondering if I'd be dressed alright and how I'd make out interacting with actual strangers. When Molly, Lizarita, and I stepped outside to wait for the conference shuttle and I noticed all the skirts and heels, I thought maybe it wasn't such a great idea to don shorts and a tee shirt. I even had a sweatshirt tied around my waist, like I was a high schooler going away to summer camp. However, once at the Pier, I breathed a sigh of relief over seeing the wide variety of dress attire. And I'm pregnant, so comfort totally trumps sophistication. Right?

My big moment of geekdom took place after the last session of the day, "The State of the Momosphere," for which Lena of Cheeky Lotus, one of my favorite reads, was a panelist. After the moderator wrapped things up, I grabbed my camera and made my way to her like a groupie with a backstage concert pass to one of her favorite bands. I told her how much I loved both of her blogs and managed to give her one of my business cards without making a fool of myself. I also scored the picture you see below. I'm surprised Lena was even able to look me in the eye, what with all the oil patches radiating from my face.

Afterwards it was time for a cocktail party on Navy Pier's rooftop, where we all spent a couple of hours visiting. I was tired, hungry, and desperately needing a shower, but it was a great time. I talked to a few bloggers I never expected to meet, like Zoot! We bonded over Harry Potter, Christopher Pike, and our complicated history with Catholicism. Lucky for her I was able to swipe an oil-absorbent sheet at my cheeks and forehead first.

Another group shot, this time with the addition of Jackie, a fellow Saint Joe alum, and Angela of CPA Mom fame. They're the ones making a Molly sandwich.

Saturday was a little easier to get through, as there were only three sessions instead of four. I had lunch with my contact from Parents.com along with Emily from Not That You Asked and Lindsay of Surburban Turmoil, who also write for the Parents Web site. It was nice to talk about how the gig was going for everyone, and our editor assured us that the site's glitches will be ironed out soon, so those of you who've experienced trouble registering or commenting, please don't lose heart. Your call is very important to us.

Cool Moment for Saturday: Jessica of Kerflop came up and introduced herself! I've read her site since the birth of her daughter and commented a few times, but I had no idea she knew who I was. That rocked.

There's so much more I could say, but I'm not sure it's necessary. Some folks will roll their eyes over all the BlogHer posts and write the conference off as a hierarchial rah-rah love fest disguised as personal and professional development, but that wasn't my experience. I had a great time meeting everyone I came in contact with, regardless if they knew my blog, and nobody asked me to kiss their ring or curtsy before I spoke. I wish I'd been able to branch out a bit and meet a wider variety of people, but I also wanted to make sure I spent time with the bloggers I'd already established relationships with. Who knows when we'll see each other again?

But at least there'll be an "again." Freka can't wait to meet all her new friends in person.

Do you think the camera caught Lizzy by surprise? Fear not, Liz, this shot's much better:

Jumping on the 10 Seconds Bandwagon

I'm growing out my bangs. I miss Deal or No Deal. I don't like my stomach rubbed, pregnant or not. AT&T and Sofa Express are currently on my shit list.

I think every little girl should look up to Nancy Drew. Atlas Shrugged is one of my favorite books. Tragic Love Friday is nowhere near the same caliber, but if you were into Flowers in the Attic or any soap opera, ever, this is so your cup of tea.

I recently scored my first paid blogging gig, HOORAY FOR ME.

I wish I knew how to make that Technorati tag work so BlogHer could show me some love.

BlogHelp

At this time tomorrow, I'll be packing up my car and preparing to drive to northwest Indiana, where I will pick up my party companion and head into downtown Chicago for three days and two nights of eating, networking, and conferencing at BlogHer 2007, where I will learn about the ins and outs of self promotion, increasing traffic, and technical tricks that will probably make my head spin. I'll meet online friends I've been talking to for months--in some cases over a year--for the first time. I'll introduce myself to bloggers I've never heard of and others whose writing I absolutely adore. I've got a fun maternity wardrobe and savvy business cards and comfortable shoes for traipsing up and down the length of Navy Pier. Packing will be a snap. I'm ready.

But so, so nervous.

Last year I complained about the entries that followed in the wake of BlogHer, noting that the posts seemed to be solely comprised of pictures marrying women and alcohol, links out of context, and inside jokes the rest of us outsiders weren't a part of. I vowed that if was able to attend in 2007, I would do a better job of sharing what I believed to be the most appealing aspect of the conference: the ability to market yourself and learn more about the trends underlying this fascinating, still-new form of expression.

I'm nervous this goal will be overshadowed by a desire to impress strangers I may never see again.

Don't get me wrong; I'm so excited to meet my online buddies, hear their voices, dish out hugs, and take tons of pictures. I hardly consider them strangers. But I'd be going to this thing even if I didn't know another living soul. I have a class to teach, Web sites to polish, and a lot of information to learn. I want to learn it. I want to see how far I can push myself in this genre, because as much as I love TLF, fiction is no longer my bag, baby. I'm lucky enough this year that Luke and I can afford for me to go and the conference is only a three-hour drive from home, in the very city I grew up in and still love, and there are no children to worry about (yet, oh my God). The last thing I want to do is get so caught up in socializing that I miss out on something that might one day enable me to maintain a full-time writing career from home.

Below is a list of the sessions I plan to attend. The sessions are grouped into different "tracks," which are featured in parantheses.

Day One
10:45 - 12:00: (Business of You) Self-Branding and Self-Promotion
1:30 - 2:45: (Technical) Find Out Why Bloggers Care About Web Standards
2:45 - 4:00: (Technical) Technical Tools to Build Traffic
4:30 - 5:45: (Identity) The State of the Momosphere

Day Two
10:30 - 11:45: (Business of You) Blog to Book and Back Again
1:30 - 2:45: (Business of You) Professional Blogging: Ways and Means
2:45 - 4:00: (Business of You) Professional Blogging: Business Considerations

Aren't the topics wonderful? There are so many to pick from, but I think I'll glean the most insight from these.

Anyway, there's a lot to do before I leave. I have to pack, pretty my toenails, update my Parents blog with two more entries, and prepare this here site for my absence. I plan on posting a little somethin' somethin' tomorrow will even attempt to a TLF post for those of you unable to join in on the Chi-town fun. However, if TypePad goes wonky and the entry never publishes, you can't say I didn't try.

The extent of my Spanish is limited to Tu mama lleva botas sin calcetines*

Frema: Hey, I just received an e-mail from Blogger--in Spanish, no less--and it lists your URL along with my old blogspot one. I have no idea why.

Silly Hily: That has to be one of the strangest things I've ever read.

An e-mail...from Blogger...in Spanish...with my URL and your old one?

But what does it all mean Bazzle?

Frema: Yes, with both of those URLS.

:)

I have no clue.

I've been thinking of deleting my Blogger blog since it's now obsolete. This is another good reason why.

Silly: No doubt. I would.

Frema: The thing is, I really want to know what it says.

Silly: And I guess you wouldn't know what the e-mail means b/c hello, you don't speak Spanish.

Frema: Right. I took two years in high school, so I can make out a few words, but that's it.

This would make a good blog entry.

Silly: Are you going to post the e-mail? Maybe one of your readers can translate.

Frema: I think I'll ask for translators to help. But not post it. Who knows what it says?

Silly: What's the word for bitch in Spanish? I can't think of it right now. Just make sure there's none of that in there.

Punta. I think.

Frema: Thankfully no such word appears in the text.

Silly: Whew.

* Your momma wears boots without socks. I gave birth to that gem my sophomore year. Genius!

Secret But Awesome Freelancing Gig Revealed

Last night I was finally given permission to unleash my Secret But Awesome Freelancing Gig to the Internet masses, so unleash it I will. Yippee!

Remember back in April when Amalah mentioned my pregnancy on Mom's Daily Dose? Well, my readership increased a bit because of that, and one of those readers just so happened to be an editor for www.parents.com, the Web site for Parents, American Baby, and Family Circle magazines. She approached me about writing a pregnancy blog (and when appropriate, possibly a mom blog) for their site, which was set to relaunch with a new format sometime in July. After some back and forth, the deal was sealed, and as of July 1st, I can officially call myself a freelance writer.

I will be posting three times a week at Parental Discretion Advised about the nitty-gritty details of my gestating experience, most likely on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday because I'm anal like that. There's five posts up there right now, the latest one published just last night, which is perfect, because while you're getting acclimated to the new blog, I'm going to take a few days to speed-read the second book I need to finish for my class, which will hopefully allow me to jump on Harry Potter's book seven bandwagon before any spoilers are revealed. Everybody wins!

Some notes to keep in mind for the new site:

• Parents.com relaunched with a new format last Thursday, and there are still various formatting kinks to work out. The color scheme is wonderful, but the blog headers won't be ready until next week, and right now the text margins are non-existent; things like that. So please bear with us as we work through those issues. If you yourself experience any problems, feel free to let me know and I'll pass them along to my editor.
• Since I plan on featuring this gig on my resume, I've ditched the Frema alias and decided to use my full name. I'm also attempting to keep Parental Discretion Advised free from any mention of my personal blog, so I ask that you please do the same. I'm sure eventually the two will formalize their commitment to each other, but until then, they're perfectly comfortable with an occasional romp in the sack over here.
• In order to leave a comment, you must register with Parents.com. I know it's an extra step, but if you enjoy commenting here, I would encourage you to do so "over there." We've had some great discussions about various topics on "What're you lookin' at?" The new blog wouldn't be the same without the benefit of your experiences.

And the most important one (to me, anyway):

• I am not shutting down this blog. I will continue to update this blog on a regular basis. I will continue to talk about pregnancy. TLF will continue to rock the house.

I don't think I can adequately communicate to you how important this silly little Web site is to me. I've spent the last three years fighting writer's block, hammering out my feelings on a wide range of issues, and building up a readership that I love and respect (yes, you). I have no intentions of abandoning everything I've created here. Last week I wrote four entries for Parents.com and five for this site. While not indicative of my future posting schedule, I hope it shows you that my dedication to one blog will not affect my passion for the other.

So far, the Parents.com blogs are amazing. The roster includes published authors, travel writers, and magazine editors (and one gal I already list on my blogroll; congrats, Emily!), and I'm really glad I didn't know that before I started writing, because crafting the new material would've been even more nervewracking than it already was. But I think I've found my voice, and I'll continue to finetune it, just like I do here. In the meantime, thank you all so much for listening to what I have to say, and being so supportive, and helping me to create an atmosphere that made it possible for me to expand my professional horizons.

Especially your mom. I couldn't have done this without her.

Four Questions and a Spoiler Request

A couple of weeks ago, Silly Hily posted a five questions meme on her blog and invited those who were interested to volunteer for some as well. Since Hilary is one of my favorite bloggers, I thought, what the hell? Plus, with the exception of Tragic Love Friday, it's been Baby Central around here, so I thought it would be welcome relief from play-by-plays of how often the toilet water splashes my face when I throw up.

Here we go.

1. Let's get the serious question out of the way first: Do you think NBC went overboard with the VA Tech "package" that the killer mailed them?  I mean, do you think we really needed to see that sick, sick "man" pointing a gun at us through our TV or newspaper?

This subject has already been covered in depth by other bloggers, so I don't have anything original to add, but I will say that the station played right into the gunman's hands. This kid knew the media would eat it up, and eat it up they did. I think the newspapers were even worse, though, with their treatment of the photos on the front cover. There's nothing like pulling off the wrapping of your daily paper and coming face-to-face with a gun.

2.) If you were on a deserted island right now and could only have one of the following three things, which would it be:

- A package of Saltine crackers
- A 12-pack of Sprite
- Your mom! (snort snort)
- Bonus: Something else ('cause those were just funny to me). What?

Seeing as Sprite and Saltines have done absolutely nothing for my nausea, and also seeing as my mother can barely stand to leave the confines of my parents' building, let alone hop on a plane to a tropical paradise, the bonus wins, hands down. If we're talking food, grapes have been a primary source of nourishment, Snickers ice cream bars rock my socks off, and Ramen Noodles is the only brand of soup I'll eat right now, much to Luke's chagrin. Non-food items would include the PeaceFrog pajama pants I throw on the minute I get home and my copy of Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself, which I picked up last night. I've kind of sworn off the pregnancy books lately, and it's been nice to distract myself with some young adult fiction. Judy Blume is one of my favorite children's authors because she does such a good job of really nailing the emotions and thoughts of pre-teens. I remember reading this particular book, coming to the section where Sally is sent home with lice, and feeling amazed that other kids were going through this same thing. My siblings and I were exposed to lice on a number of occasions in grade school, but I had never seen that topic addressed in a book before, and I have yet to see it since. If I ever wrote a young adult book, I would want it to be as honest and real as this one.

3. Since I gave you a bonus on that last one, it's time for you to give me a bonus (and the rest of the Internet for that matter). You have already given one TLF spoiler (two pregnancies, neither make it full-term, neither Jenna), how about another? Pleeeeeease (seriously, I'm begging)? I'm a spoiler whore, what can I say.

Who am I to hold back on an adoring TLF fan? We're almost halfway through the sequel right now, and the plot is finally starting to pick up speed. Remember in last week's entry, when I mentioned that the characters will go on to do horrible things to each other? Well, Jenna does one of those horrible things, but it's not to Michael or Kayla or Cassie. Instead, she sends Katherine to the ER, where a shocking discovery is made.

How's that for a spoiler?

4. If Luke came home tomorrow and said y'all had to transfer to another city because of his job, which city would you want him to say (other than Memphis because of me and Elizabeth...duh)?

This is an interesting question, because before Luke and I found out about our upcoming addition, we'd been talking in great length about returning to the Chicagoland/northwest Indiana area to be closer to our families. We still want to do that, but plans are on hold until the baby arrives and we're in a better position to explore our options. So part of me wants to say someplace like Valparaiso or Chesterton so we can make that dream come true.

However, the more adventurous part immediately thinks East Coast, either Vermont or Connecticut. But I don't think I could handle being away from everyone we love for longer than a few months before I would totally lose my shit, which makes me glad this question is hypothetical.

5. You and Luke are looking at houses. Fill in the blank:

"We found a house we sort of liked. I mean it had the right amount of bathrooms and bedrooms and was in a good school district but I was SOLD when I saw it had..."

I never grew up in a house. My entire life before college revolved around apartment living, so the idea of owning a home has always been appealing to me. Not that my parents aren't homeowners themselves--they bought the building they live in now when I was ten years old--and I learned from Sex and the City that it's possible to own a space without buying the entire property, but there's something about a home that radiates a sense of permanency. I rented a house with a roommate in Rensselaer for about eight months, and I loved being able to roast Smores in the backyard, greet trick-or-treaters with bowls of candy, and rake the leaves on a sunny autumn day. I loved having enough space to exercise to Richard Simmons videos in my living room. I loved the huge windows letting in all that light.

(Stay with me. I do have a point.)

In that house, the features I loved most were the hardwood floors in the bedrooms and the built-in bookcases in the recreation area, which David and I nicknamed "the fun room." It was the first time I'd ever lived in a place with hardwood floors, and I thought it added a certain touch of class to the place. And the bookshelves? Well, it was pretty damn nice not having to waste money on non-assembled crap from Wal-Mart and then spend two hours connecting all the pieces together, only to have the back fall out on you and shelves bow in two months later.

There was also a laundry unit located off the kitchen, and two bathrooms. Do you know what a family of seven could've done with two bathrooms? That was pretty nifty, too.

If my answers didn't put you to sleep, read on to see how you can score your own rockstar interview.

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." (If I don't have your email address already, either leave it in the comment or email me at [your e-mail])
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Our school is so cool

One of the features I like best about Gmail is its ability to capture all related e-mails in a single thread. It is this capability that has encouraged me to keep conversations in my Inbox for months after they've ended, including the following one I had with Isabel last April that started with one simple comment about strip club etiquette and turned into the most detailed Sweet Valley High dialogue the blogosphere has ever seen.

Frema's stellar comment:

Pat's wife is shoving dollar bills down another woman's panties and he's complaining about her technique?

Just proof that nothing is EVER good enough for men.

Hola, Isabel wrote:

No, she leaves them on the stage in front of her. Which also bugs him. But I didn't know how to work that into the post. I was dying when The King was telling me about this last night. Because seriously, how can you complain about anything when your wife will go with you to a strip club!?

I finished Deceived last night. And it's going to be so hard to save the last 2 books for the hospital!!

Isabel

Frema to Hola:

Well, imperfect wife though she may be, she still goes to strip clubs. Pat has a reason to praise God every day of his life.

I kept checking your site this morning, wondering if there would be an Amalah-style "we're off to the hospital!" e-mail! You will let us know before you leave, won't you? :)

I'm reading Out of Control right now, which focuses on Aaron Dallas's rage problem due to his parents' divorce. I love how they'll drop hints of the next book's topic in the last 10 pages of the previous one. For example, in Too Much in Love, we see Aaron yell at someone for stepping on his foot at a party on the second to last page. By page six of the next book, Aaron is already described as unlikable and (wait for it) out of control. Fabulous.

Hola to Frema:

I know EXACTLY what you mean. Because in Deceived, Steven's sick girlfriend, Tricia, ends up in the hospital in the last few pages and we wonder if she'll live. Oh my gosh...will she live? I can't wait to read about it. Actually, I can wait. Because I don't have that book.

Frema to Hola:

Tricia does die. But by number 24, Steven tucks her away in a special part of his heart and goes after Cara Walker, one of Jessica's friends. I like Cara better. Tricia (what little we saw of her) was too much of a goodie-goodie.

Also, I have ALL of my SVH books from childhood still stashed in my parents' basement. So I'm sure that ninety percent of the books I bought at Half-Price Books are ones I already own. But who cares? Also also, Luke would kill me if I brought any more Sweet Valley stuff into our apartment. Since our wedding shower, we've been bursting at the seams. A happy problem, to be sure. :)

Hola to Frema:

Oh the goodness that is SHOWERS!! I'm glad you've received tons of stuff. You totally deserve it!!  Hooray for weddings!

Steven and Cara? I had no idea. I thought Cara was sort of a skank, like Jessica?!

Didn't they make a SVH TV show?  I never saw it (because it came out when I was too old for that stuff). Did you see it? (Have we talked about this?!)

Frema to Hola:

She starts out skanky but undergoes a personal transformation after her parents' divorce. She ends up being a pretty good mix of fun but friendly.

Yes, they did make a show, but I was kind of old for it, too, and I thought the actors they chose to portray the characters were terrible. However, I continued to read the books well into college, just because I was that addicted to the storyline. I remember the supersized number 100, A Night to Remember, when Jessica and Elizabeth were both running for prom queen, and Jessica spiked Liz's punch to make her lose face. Turns out that Liz and Sam, Jessica's first and last long-term boyfriend (that I know of), got into a car together, with Liz behind the wheel. There was a horrible crash, and Sam was killed. It took Jessica a few books before she would confess to spiking the punch. In the meantime, Elizabeth was facing murder charges and Jessica dated Todd.

I know WAY more about Sweet Valley than any human should. But I am not ashamed!

Hola to Frema:

Yes you do.

I never got past maybe number 18.  And I didn't know Jessica had a real boyfriend.

Okay...so did they EVER talk about SEX?

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I don't know why I never answered Isabel's urgent question. Probably because she went and had herself a baby. However, now I will say that yes, dear friend, they did talk about sex. In Steven's Bride, number 83, Cara's mother takes a job in London and she and Steven decide to get engaged. Jessica throws Cara a bridal shower and gives her tons of trashy lingerie, and Cara blushes at the thought of doing the horizontal tango with the boyfriend who's never so much as unbuttoned her blouse. And FYI, they do not get married. Cara moves to London with her mom, and Steven mourns the loss of another girlfriend. Don't worry about him, though: he eventually goes with his female college roommate. I'm sure Ned and Alice loved that.

Tell us we're not the only dorks who love the Wakefield twins and the matching lavalier necklaces they received from their white-bread, stylishly middle-class parents. Also, there were people besides my sister and me who played the board game, right? RIGHT?

Tragic Love Friday: The Idiot's Guide (and Some Random Jack Handy-Type Deep Thoughts)

When I unveiled Tragic Love Friday during NaBloPoMo, I had no expectations for the outcome. Mainly I wanted to hop on the "I have a weekly feature" bandwagon without putting in a lot of extra effort and poke fun of my adolescent persona at the same time, a little person with a flair for the dramatic and a passionate yearning for love, specifically the love acts she read about in her V.C. Andrews novels.

My biggest fear? That people wouldn't like it. That people would dismiss even the idea of the story as childish and amateur and not worth the four minutes it would take to read each post. I paid special attention to the comments section, looking for specific names and wondering if their absences equalled a lack of interest. As the conclusion to part one drew near, I played around with writing a comprehensive synopsis outlining the characters and major plot points, hoping to entice my non-TLF-reading buddies to at least give the sequel a shot. (Then I got smart and finagled you people into doing my dirty work for me. Thanks again, Internet!)

Whenever a person does anything creative, it's hard not to become attached to it and want others to do the same. That piece of work reflects blood and sweat and tears and effort, makes a statement about what you value. When somebody rejects it--for whatever reason--it's hard not to take it personally. Because it is personal. Even if it's silly, it's part of who you are.

It wasn't until today, though, while combing through three uniquely fabulous TLF reviews, that I realized getting caught up in who's not paying attention does a serious disservice to the ones who've joined you for the ride.

Make no mistake, I'd love to get more readers for Tragic Love Friday. I harbor wild delusions about book agents and script writers stumbling across this small-town Web site and pestering me for full-time work so I can quit my day job and become important and famous. But until then, I'll be focusing on how happy I am that anyone reads this blog, period. If you love TLF, that's wonderful. If you don't, that's OK, too. (Not wonderful, but OK.) It's nobody's job to fawn over every damn word I post. (Well, except maybe Luke's, and even he's stopped following TLF.) Just the fact that you guys keep coming back here leaves me humbled and eternally grateful.

Hmmm. That was pretty deep for a Friday, huh? I'm going to shut up and my reviewers do their thang.

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SYNOPSIS NUMBER ONE
by David McNelis

(Which I inwardly refer to as "No He Did Not Just Write A Freakin' HAIKU About TLF")

David was stupid
and he slept with two best friends
Consequences felt

His sister was nuts
and plotted to kill Jenna
by running her down

Kayla was to help
since she got knocked up as well
David was fertile!

Mike stood by the side
A real invisible man
in love with Jenna

Jenna wasn't sure
what the hell she was thinking
when she stole Katherine

But she was distraught
from being made to go "POP!"
by her friend Kayla

And since her David
was struck outside the DQ
by Kayla and Cass

She took the biggest
butcher knife in the hiz-ouse
to snatch a baby

Frema had crafted
A super-max with babies
That let Jen in

Pick up the kiddie
and stash it inside her shirt
Blind security

Let's go to Iowa
And dumb Mike comes along, too
Map reading be damned

Wisconsin it is
With sunglasses and kissing
Police do close in

After being on
the hood of Whitesnake's (Mike's) car
Confessions too late

Prisoner transport
across state lines just to see
a baby is safe

A year has gone by
and the baby starts talking
A one-year-old talks!

But now it must leave
To Jenna's arms it will go
and Michael's arms, too

They had a wedding
and a Paris honeymoon
Do not go to jail

Five years down the road
Twins, a teacher, and Jenna
Living in Iowa

Tragic Love Friday
takes a hiatus for now
See you here next time!

-------

SYNOPSIS NUMBER TWO
by Silly Hily aka The Hilarazzi

(Before she wrote this, Hilary printed out every page of TLF because she didn't want to "leave something important and vital out." I am in Internet love with her.)

Part I

Chapter 1

We are introduced to most of the gang on their last day of school. Only the summer separates them from their senior year of high school. They have all the knowledge and wisdom in the world. They are adults. (Come on, isn't that what we all thought at that point in our lives.) Jenna and David were maybe forced to grow up before the others. They are expecting a child together. Cassie, David's sister, was excited to be an aunt. Kayla on the other hand was a bitter bitch. She had been David's girlfriend for a year and a half. Kayla asked Jenna to talk to David since they were having problems. They broke up though and in the process of Jenna consoling David, they fell in love. Fast forward three months and Jenna was knocked up...by David. You'd be a bitter bitch, too. Oh, and did I mention that Kayla and Jenna were, and I stress "were," best friends? Kayla's family was like a second (or first) family to Jenna, since her parents were often away. Jenna had another best friend to rely on though. His name is Michael. He's that guy friend that every girl wants. The guy friend that you can talk to and will always be there giving you great advice and a healing, strong hug. They are a Will & Grace pairing, only Michael is straight.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets):  "After a while, though, the sparks that left Kayla's and David's romance came into our friendship." [Obviously that's not the only thing that "came."]  [Ba dum bum ching!]

Chapter 2

Cassie and David have an adult conversation at the kitchen table while drinking coffee. Didn't you do that with your siblings at 17? We learn that their mom is a slut and is also never home (these poor kids). We also learn that Cassie is very protective of David. She doesn't want him to marry Jenna because he feels he has to. David swears that he's marrying Jenna because he loves her, but Cassie knows better. Cassie doesn't like Jenna because of what she did to her best friend, Kayla. She's the bitter-best-friend bitch. David is a smart young man. His only problem is keeping it in his pants.  He works at McDonald's as a cashier and is looking forward to making a lot of money during the summer. Money he can put away for him and Jenna to start their life together and raise their baby (what a responsible baby daddy). The baby that they find out is a girl. The two sort through names like Candy (David, are you wanting her to make a living as a stripper?), Michelle, Mary, Mary Ellen, and Mary Anne before finally deciding on Mary Katherine.

Mama Slut goes out of town leaving David and Cassie some money. David is stressed about work, the baby, etc. etc. so he snatches $50 of the $200 (thanks Mama Slut) and calls Michael to go hang out and drink some beer. After having one too many, David opens up about all the problems him and Jenna are having.  Michael ever so slyly implies that maybe David is still in love with Kayla. All of a sudden, she is all he can think about. He wonders why he ever broke up with her. Which brings me to...

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): [Nothing says "I love you" like breaking up with your soul mate and boinking her BFF.]

Chapter 3

Still drunk, David ended up at Kayla's house. She wasn't able to sleep and was just fixing her some warm milk (how does anyone drink warm milk?), something David observed she only does when she's bothered or worried. Kayla's parents are home (finally, someone who has visible parents) but they could obviously sleep through a tornado, or their own doorbell ringing, or their own daughter doing the nasty. Yes, that's right, David and Kayla got it on for the first time. (Cause that's how Kayla rolls. She waits to have sex for the first time after David has become her ex and knocked up her best friend.) David even told Kayla that he loved her. They fell asleep in each other's arms only to have David be gone by sunrise. Cassie notices the next day that Kayla is a complete wreck about something and continues to be on Kayla's side. David ends things with Kayla (again) for good. (He just wanted to pop that cherry first.) Kayla vows to save David from Jenna. To SAVE HIM!

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "You didn't hurt me on purpose. You're in love." [That's the way...it should be...] (In which we all carried on the cheesy Wilson Phillips song in the comments section. It was great.)

Chapter 4

David gets a promotion at McDonald's. Yippppeeee. David has super sperm...Kayla finds out she's pregnant. Good thing you got that promotion, you baby daddy times two you.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): There are sooo many good ones from this post (Dec. 22, 2006, go back and read if you can) but if I had to pick one it would be: "When are you two getting hitched?" "A week or two after the baby's born." [This seemed so logical to me at the time, but now I'm all, "What's the rush? The kid's already a bastard."]

Chapter 5

Kayla tells David she's pregnant. David tells Jenna. Jenna punches David. Jenna calls Michael for comfort and support. 

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "Jenna, wait! Let me explain!" [I think you covered just about everything but positioning, buddy. She gets it.]

Chapter 6 & 7

Cassie turns into a complete psycho and suggests that Kayla "get rid of" Jenna. Cassie devised a plan to to hit Jenna with a car. It would simply be an "accident." David reconciles with Jenna. In the middle of the Dairy Queen parking lot, Kayla drives the car into Jenna while Cassie sits in the passenger seat. (What, she's not going to jail for murder. She only came up with the plan. Kayla has to do the dirty work.)

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "You need to get rid of her....then David can give you everything you and your baby deserve." [Um, I was just going to suggest getting a lawyer and suing his ass, but murder works, too.]

Chapter 8

Whoops. Wrong person killed. David pushed Jenna out of the way. HE was the one killed, not Jenna. However, Jenna landed on her belly and Mary Katherine didn't survive. Kayla and Cassie were arrested two days after the "accident" (read MURDER). We learn that Cassie is in a state of shock over her brother being killed (duh, it was HER idea to do this in the first place) and that's about the last we hear of her. Kayla is a wreck as well (duh, way to kill your baby daddy). Jenna is full of hurt, sorrow, pain, and anger (duh, baby daddy dead? Check. Baby dead? Check check). I'll never understand how Jenna says that she can forgive Cassie because she was just trying to "save her brother...to protect him by trying to kill me." Tha hell?

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): Jenna after finding out she had lost the baby The bulge I had loved to touch so much was gone. [There is a double entendre here somewhere, itching to break the surface, but I'll refrain out of respect for the dead.]

Chapter 9

Cassie is sentenced to three years in prison with possible parole after a year and a half. Kayla gets six years. We fast forward seven months. Michael goes to visit Kayla and ends up going off on her for hurting Jenna so much. As he's leaving, Kayla asks Michael to tell Jenna that she's sorry and would like to see her face to face. Kayla delivers a baby girl and decides to name her Katherine Marie (after her dead half-sister. She honestly thought that would be a good idea. Yeah, she's a dumbass. Kayla that is, not either baby.) Jenna calls Kayla for the first time and Kayla gushes about her baby (again, she really has no clue).

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): I felt guilty as I talked about Katherine. "Yeah, A little girl. She's adorable." [Motherhood is so rewarding and fulfilling and I've never experienced such unselfish love in all of my life! Not that you would know anything about that. My bad.]

Chapter 10

Michael gushes and gushes over Jenna. He loves her, has for years, and always will. Jenna calls him for a ride to the prison to see Kayla. 

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): As I went home a few hours later, I thought about everything that had happened in the last 7 months. David had died, and so had Jenna's baby. Two of my friends were sent to prison for their murders. It was a lot to handle. What a summer this turned out to be.  [I could've had a V-8!]

Chapter 11

Jenna visits Kayla in prison. She sees the baby and learns that her name is Katherine. At this point she becomes outraged and feels that she could give Katherine a better life than Kayla ever could. Frema put it best by saying "Poor Jenna. Girl done lost her mind." Yes, but really, she's been through a lot and totally has every right to lose her mind. And lose it she does. Learning from Kayla's mistake of no disguise, she cuts and colors her hair and steals Katherine right from underneath the nose of prison security (or clearly, lack thereof). She hits the road, planning on making one last stop before she leaves the state (with NO carseat).

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): The deskman looked surprised as I walked slowly, my arms wrapped around my belly [a baby's limb poking through the sleeve of her coat...]. "I have to go," I gasped. "My period is really heavy this month." He reddened. "Go on," he said, waving me away. [Ah, the old menstrual card. Well played, Jenna!]

Chapter 12

Thank God Jenna stops by Michael's house to say good-bye because she was as prepared as Anna Nicole's will (read: not prepared at all) for taking Katherine away for good. Michael stole some money from his parents and hit the road with her. We also learn that when Michael gets fed up, he hits. Other than that, he's Jenn's hero.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "Michael? Michael, what's going on?" I heard my mother call from upstairs. "Nothing, Ma," I called back. "It's just the T.V." [Nothing, Ma. Just smacking around the woman of my dreams!]

Chapter 13

Kayla is informed that her baby is gone. She's interrogated by the cops. It doesn't take her long to realize that Jenna is the kidnapper.

Frema's best commentary: [Also, Lifetime? Feel free to approach me about a movie script at any time.]

Chapter 14

Michael and Jenna take turns driving through Wisconsin to get to Iowa. (Shut up. Frema was a damn good writer at the tender age of 14, you can't expect her to be good at geography, too.) Jenna has time to do a lot of thinking and realizes that she misses Kayla and their friendship and knows that by taking Katherine from her, she's hurting her. The two turn around and head back home. Jenna can't cross that state border yet though. She wants just one more day with Katherine before giving her back to Kayla.

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

Chapter 15

Kayla is informed that a witness has spotted Jenna and Michael in Wisconsin. Kayla persuades the cops to take her with them to retrieve her daughter.

Frema's best commentary: "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!"

Chapter 16

Michael FINALLY gets the balls to tell Jenna how he feels. She doesn't believe him and simply thinks he's lonely. Before she has a chance to realize that the feeling is mutual, the cops have their car surrounded.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): I grabbed her shoulders. "You have to know!! I need to know!" [OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!]

Chapter 17

It's all over. Jenna and Michael are caught. Katherine is returned to Kayla and the security (yeah right) of the prison. She decides to not press charges against the two, claiming to understand why Jenna did what she did. Jenna finally realizes that she's in love with Michael.

Frema's best commentary: "If you don't have any plans for the rest of your life, I thought that maybe we could get together..." [Oh my gosh, I'm cringing, you guys. CRINGING. Forgive 'lil Frema for the cheesiness.]

Chapter 18

One year later, Michael and Jenna are married. Kayla's year with Katherine is up though and her parents won't take her (shitty ass grandparents). She asks Jenna and Michael to take her.

Frema's best commentary: There was a small reception, then we flew to Paris, where we stayed 2 weeks. Her parents paid for the expensive trip. Out of guilt, I guess. [Geez, wasn't the counseling enough?]

Chapter 19

Katherine is taken from Kayla. Yes, I totally cried. Shut up.

Frema's best commentary: "Ma-ma! Ma-ma! No-no-no-Ma-ma!" Her face was blotchy, and her arms reached out to me. Her little body shook with sobs. [Mothers in the house, are you still with me?  Hang on, it's almost over.]

Chapter 20

Five years later Jenna and Michael have spit out twins of their own, making them a family of 5. They are living in Jenna's dream place. Florida? New York? No, Iowa. Michael is training to be a teacher and Jenna stays home with the kids. I'm wondering how this is financially possible and want in on the action so I can stay home so easily with my kids. All seems perfect. However, Kayla will be released from prison this year. Hell-oooooo sequel!

Frema's best commentary: [Ah, Jenna's mothering skills haven't changed one bit. Have fun dangling over cement and wood chips, foul-mouthed toddlers! Also, TWINS. Did you expect anything less from Michael's sperm and Jenna's uterus?]

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SYNOPSIS NUMBER THREE
by Molly

(Mad props to Molly for slipping in her very own "your mom" joke!)

The Tragic Love Friday series began to unfold back in November, when Frema decided to share the soap-like multi-triangular fictional work of epic proportions, written by none other than her young, romance-craving teenage self. The story involves main characters David, the double-duty burger-flippin' baby daddy; Kayla, the first love then dumped then knocked up then turned vengeful murderer baby mama number two; Jenna, the once friend of Kayla and fiance of David, baby mama number one who ends up not only with dead baby but dead boyfriend all in the same day, eventual wig-wearing prison baby kidnapper of baby mama number two's baby and then in the end happily married to her good baby stealing buddy, Michael; Michael is the bitch-slappin' best bud to Jenna, who hangs around and baby naps while he bides his time waiting for the piece of ass that turns out to be his eventual wife; and last but not least, Cassie, who is much like seaweed to the story--she's David's sister and gets wayyyy too involved with his girlfriends, eventually plotting with baby mama two to kill baby mama one.

The plot of the story is thick and juicy, just like your mom, and full of unexpected awesomely dramatic twists and turns. And as a bonus, it's loaded with Adult Frema's hysterical commentary on the writings of 'Lil Frema. So without further adeiu, I present to you a different sort of summary, in the quips of Adult Frema:

"Obviously that's not the only thing that came!" "The condom, David. The condom is what went wrong." "Yes, Kayla. He love you long time. For about eight minutes."

"Um, I was just going to suggest getting a lawyer and suing his ass, but murder works, too." "But you're still pregnant, so you win!" "I suppose when you kill your ex-best friend's unborn baby and soon-to-be husband you can afford to be generous with forgiveness. Also, is anyone else flashing to mental images of Glenn Close and dead bunnies?"

"I see you've dropped a quarter down your panties. Let me get that for you!" "Ah, the old menstrual card. Well played, Jenna!" "Clever strategy, Jenna. The police would never think to search for a missing baby one state over!"

"Sweetie, if Katherine hasn't eaten since she left the prison, she's probably dead. No need to rush."

"OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!" "Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me"

"This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky." "Bitch is gonna make ME cry!" "Ah, Jenna's mothering skills haven't changed one bit. Have fun dangling over cement and wood chips, foul-mouthed toddlers! Also, TWIINS. Did you expect anything less from Michael's sperm and Jenna's uterus?"

Can't wait for the dramatic sequel!

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Clearly these are excellent write-ups that make it impossible for you to keep dry underpants. Clearly it is a monumental task to select a winner.

Therefore, once again, you're doing the hard part for me. Tell me--either in the comments or via e-mail--which reviewer should receive the first season of 90210. All three rockin' authors have earned their very own Love, Betrayal and a Baby Original Mixed Compact Disc Soundtrack, featuring songs to be determined by Silly Hily and me. And yes, David, "Invisible Man" will totally be on there as Michael and Jenna's theme song.

We are going to have big fun with the sequel, friends. BIG FUN.

Read 'em and weep. Or laugh. Or think. Whatever.*

* See updated thoughts below.

This weekend, I continued with my new Saturday-morning research ritual and registered for accounts with Bloglines and Google Reader, enabling me to easily track sites outside the confines of my blogroll and experiment with RSS feeds so I can pretend to know what I'm talking about in class this fall. The goal was to mostly focus on blogs that boasted reputable followings on the Internet but conjured up in me a sense of detached fascination, either because I felt distanced from the content or the layout of the blog itself. Sometimes both. Or neither, sometimes I'd come across an entry that truly touched me, that caused me to lift my fingers off the keyboard and lace them together while sifting through parts of my brain that had been jolted awake, and yet a good two weeks could pass before I felt compelled to visit again. I don't know why.

What I do know is that the relationship between a blogger and a reader is just like any other; both sides have to overcome various preconceived ideas in order to understand each other, ideas about appropriate subject matter, language, religion, hell, even color scheme. Chemistry plays a role as well, because there are times when a blog falls short of even your most basic literary criteria and still, it sucks you in. Maybe it's the cheerful manner in which the writer responds to your comments. Maybe her brother looks like your husband. Maybe you're just that nosy. No matter what your hang-up, one of the marks of a successful blog is its ability to take you through all that background noise and call attention to its core.

But don't think the burden of proof is all on the blogger's shoulders; I think there's such a thing as a successful reader, too, one who's not so hung up on fonts and column sizes and picture quality, one who's willing to look beyond the first couple of posts just to make sure he/she doesn't miss out on something really spectacular.

Apparently I have several layers of superficial judgments to work through, because in the last few days I've been struck by how many of my newish finds, once so intimidating to me, seem more accessible through the standardized layout of a bare-bones feed, allowing me to forget about their sophisticated navigation and larger-than-life branding persona and concentrate, really concentrate, on the core.

Meanwhile, I'm falling in love with my favorite reads all over again, revisiting entries that caused me to look at a slice of the world from a different, often funnier piece of pie, or simply appreciate another human being's ability to tell a good story, whether or not that person has ever identified himself/herself as a writer.

All of that to say: Wanna see a couple of posts I like?

I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK.

Holly's reminiscing about her grandmother at Nothing But Bonfires

Linda's inside look at the workings of a funeral home at All & Sundry

Mrs. Kennedy's open letter to her downstairs neighbor at Fussy

Danny's unfortunate use of a crotch trimmer at Dad Gone Mad

Amy's non-packing packing diary at Amalah

Matthew's refining of the cliche at Defective Yeti

Liz's journey from social worker to librarian at Quiet in the Stacks (you should also check out the cell phone exchange with her husband because really, so hilarious)

Stereolabrat's hardcore coffee preferences at Stereolabrat

The evolution of Scrabble at The Show with Ze Frank (bonus video blog; also Luke's new favorite time-waster)

Lena's musings on age and marriage at Cheeky Lotus

Molly's thoughts on her husband's big 3-0 at Lost A Sock (at her former Blogger stomping grounds)

Isabel's experience with division of labor post-baby at Hola, Isabel

Jessica's under-bite tale at Kerflop

Heather's labor story at Dooce

You're quite welcome.

Now it's your turn to give Momma some sugar. Which blog posts do you find yourself coming back to time and time again? Any recently strike your fancy for the first time? If somebody were to ask you for the best example of online writing, where would you point them to?

Amalah's doing this over at Club Mom, but I swear, the idea was festering in my head all weekend. Seriously.

Edited to add: Don't be surprised if you check back and find new links sprinkled into this entry, because by the time I published this post it was two-fifteen in the morning and dude, that's pretty damn late to remember every single gut-buster.

Edited to add again: Culotte's comment really struck a chord with me, because she's right; my choices primarily come from blogs that most of the Internet is already pretty familiar with. That's not to say they're not wonderful reads, but according to Technorati, there are 70.1 MILLION blogs out there, and yet the same thirty to fifty mainstream sites receive the bulk of the praise.

Part of the problem is accessibility; you can't search for a new blog the way you can a book. In that situation, I can search the online catalogs available at Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble or simply walk through the doors of any bookstore and scour the shelves myself.

The Internet doesn't have a reliable method for cataloging personal sites. If I'm interested in "picking up" a new blog, there's no database to tell me what's currently available, no comprehensive way to provide information on up-and-coming bloggers. My choices are to either google the word "blogs," which results in 356 million searches, or search by topic--again, another crap shoot, even with Technorati, since there's no way to successfully weed out unrelated results.

This collective mess is the main reason I hope the convenience of RSS feeds don't eventually trump the traditional blogroll, because blogs need other blogs to survive.

Communists, that's who.

Since being asked to teach a blogging class for Saint Joe this fall, I've been on the lookout for material to share with my class. And I've not been disappointed. There was the "10 Things Your Blogger Won't Tell You" article in my first issue of Smart Money magazine, a subscription Luke scored free of charge thanks to his generous accumulation of Coca-Cola bottle caps. The Indianapolis Star recently featured an editorial from a doctor who cautions readers about taking stock in medical advice from bloggers hopping on popular treatment bandwagons without conducting the necessary research. I've stumbled across books on blogging I didn't know existed, and I've taken a new interest in resources and features that normally wouldn't have inspired a second thought.

Like Technorati. I've seen those "Technorati Tags" featured at the foot of someone's entry every now and again, and from what I can gather, it functions as a search engine specifically for the blogging community, monitoring updates and tracking links made from one blog to another. Before I accepted this teaching gig, that level of understanding would've suited me just fine; however, now that I'm charged with introducing ten to twenty undergrads to the most current trends in the blogosphere, I can no longer allow myself to turn a blind eye. So this morning I registered for a Technorati Profile that will enable "spiders" to capture my blog and make the contents searchable to the masses. Part of that process involved posting a link to my profile on my blog, which is the only reason you're seeing an entry from me this fine Saturday afternoon. Because I posted my Tragic Love Friday entry so late in the day yesterday, it's only received six comments so far. I hate the idea of posting a new entry when the previous one hasn't received its fair share of "air time."

Technorati says I can delete this post once they've officially "claimed" my blog, so I may do just that. But probably not, seeing as at this point I've already spent a good thirty minutes online, and dagnabbit if I'm going to let it all be for naught.

Next up: widgets; video (the ones from my wedding don't count, that was all Molly); podcasts (what are your thoughts on hearing Luke perform the theme song I wrote for my short-lived Chicago Chicks Club?); RSS feeds; maintaining a list of blogs to share with my students that vary in style, content, and popularity, the majority of which will probably never earn a spot on my blogroll.

My students better appreciate this come August.

TLF fans, please don't forget about your latest fix. This week is really quite fun. Plus, there's a contest! To win free things! And who doesn't like free things?

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.

We're sending help immediately, Mrs. Fletcher

Yesterday, as I was packing up my journals and trying to get over the embarrassment of exposing my teenage desperation to the World Wide Web, I noticed the stack of faded notebook pages sitting on top of my filing box, pages that had immediately come to mind the first time I heard about the Cringe Book. I kept my journal entries "private" as promised, but I did submit several poems that highlight my ability to talk about a variety of important subjects.

The importance of optimism (and my inability to accept Randy Wooten as the boy of my dreams):

The proper way to implement religious metaphors:

And a very merry day to you, too!

How to work popular advertising into deep and meaningful verse:

The dark side of important family/social-justice issues (also, examples of words to rely on when you can't think of anything that rhymes with "sick"):

And lastly, proof that it IS possible to listen to Jewel's Pieces of You album one time too many:

All of these were submitted to the book for Sarah Brown's consideration. I'm confident they'll inspire a happier kind of cringing than my journals did, cringing that won't thrust a desire to slit one's wrists upon the masses.

It's Important to Share Exquisite Pain with the Ones You Love

I don't think I'm cut out for this whole Cringe Book thing.

This morning I ditched the office again so I could continue to sift through journal entries documenting my tortured past and submit the most awkward ones for possible inclusion in a book that'll be publicized on a national level. And when I first pulled those books out, it was fun. I'd shriek with delight over each memory and eagerly shove a diary into Luke's hands so he could read passages aloud in his best little-Frema voice. Oh, the days when life's biggest problems included agonizing over which New Kid to pine for!

However, as I moved on to my pre-teen years and straight into full-blown adolescence, it became harder and harder to laugh.

I've written enough about Nick--The One Who Went For Three Weeks Without Calling, the boy who happily accepted my offer of virginity before I took off for college, the guy I obsessed over for FIVE YEARS--on this Web site that the following entries don't need much backstory. The first one was written on February 6, 1996, almost four months after we broke up for the first time.

See how "grade" I was doing? So what if I was afraid to leave the house in case I missed a potential phone call? Who cares I was creating elaborate schemes to make secret contact with the boy who plainly told me I needed to be with someone else, or that I included phrases like "exquisite pain" in my vocabulary?

We got back together that June, but by August we were fighting again. Break-up number two involved confessions of drug use, theft, and contact with another girl in a nearby suburb, with a big "Fuck you!" from me as he fled the scene as fast as his legs could carry him. By spring of my senior year, we were dancing around each other again. We went to prom. We did the Deed. And in between, there were missed phone calls, week-long absences, and awkward conversations about "where this is going." Just like before.

So when I read the entry below, written just days after admitting to my part in our Horizontal Tango (in such detail that I made myself blush, and I wrote the damn thing), I really do physically cringe.

Page 2:

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl! I can't believe how stupid. I was preparing to spend the rest of my life with someone who chipped away at my self-esteem time and time again just to rid myself of religious guilt. Because God would've much preferred me to commit to a man prematurely rather than just call a spade a spade and let him go. Classic flawed logic--like when I was debating sex in the first place and thought we shouldn't use a condom because the Catholic church is against artifical contraception. A+, Frema. Well done.

I read these entries and can't decide which is worse: that I let myself get so wrapped up in a relationship before I was ready to stand behind my beliefs or that one day I might have a daughter who feels the same way and I will have to watch her suffer the same way my parents watched me. I was so angry with them, especially my mother, who I often yelled at for not having enough trust in me to make good decisions, right before I ran to Nick's house and spent four hours on the smelly mattress in his bedroom pretending to watch Die Hard. I was in control! I knew when to stop! And when I finally gave in completely, I still believed I knew what I was doing. It was my body! My choice! Who was she to tell me what to do?

I think about having similar arguments with children of my own when they're that age and I'm petrified. I'm in awe my mother was able to restrain herself from popping me in the mouth.  I wonder how many nights my father had to comfort her to sleep because I was so quick to declare my independence, so cocky as I threw her teenage pregnancy in her face and informed her how much smarter I was, how I was determined to live a different life than the one she'd panned out for herself. I acted like her advice couldn't possibly have value because I didn't want to admit how self-destructive it was for me to insist on staying with Nick, refusing to "give up" even when he wanted me to. As wrong as he was for me, he wasn't a bad person. He gave me plenty of outs, and if I'd told him to stay the hell away from me, he would've done it. It was me who kept going back, enticing him to come back, making excuses for his behavior so I wouldn't have to think about life without him.

I'm glad I gave this Cringe Book a shot. I'm glad that I'm twenty-seven years old with a wonderful husband (who celebrates his thirty-third birthday today, Happy Birthday, sweetie!) and insanely understanding parents. I'm glad I wrote these entries because the act of putting my feelings to paper was sometimes the only way I could get a handle on my emotions. But I'll also be glad to pack these books up and retire them to my closet again. Refusing to share them out of context with a mass of strangers (I refuse to think of you guys as strangers) will be the Valentine's Day present I give to myself.

Tragic Love Friday with a Side of Cringe

When Dooce first brought Sarah Brown's Cringe Book project to light last month, I instinctively knew I had to be a part of it, or at the very least try. I received my first combination-lock diary for Christmas when I was nine years old, and I spent the next ten years documenting the highs and lows of my tortured existence through prose, poetry, and song. Discussion topics ranged from my passionate (one-sided) love affair with a local parishoner at Sunday morning Mass and who will be forever known as Church Boy to the day my cousin threw shreds of toilet paper at the bathroom door while I sat defenseless on the john to the first time a boy's tongue found its way into my mouth. I was the Queen of Cringe; to confine those gems to the pages of my college-ruled notebooks and hardcover journals would be a crime against the blogosphere. So I pulled out my tupperware bin containing the chronicles of my past and jumped right in.

I expected to laugh at the reliving of celebrity crushes, pre-teen angst, and my first French. But I didn't expect to feel so sad.

It's those high school entries, covering a time where I was struggling to grasp what love was, what friendship was, what it meant to nurse a broken heart, that get me the most. It's through those entries I'm transported back to November 14, 1995, to the abandoned field outside the 35th and Archer Elevated train station where Nick broke up with me for the first time; to August 9, 1998, when my mother and I had a two-hour blow-out because she'd found my diary and learned that I'd had sex. I wrote about everything in such detail that I can't help putting myself back in those shoes, during a time period where I had no clue how to set boundaries or stick up for myself or get through a bad day. I'm not just cringing; I'm cradling my head in my hands.

However, I can still see the merit in sharing a few of these stories, because as painful as those experiences were, they were also universal, and they're still funny, because I was so damn My So-Called Life-ish about everything. So I'll continue to delve through these masterpieces and attempt to share some in time for the February 14th deadline.

As if this post weren't tragic enough, it's time for another installment of TLF. Try not to sigh over the Angela Chaseness of it all.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN - JENNA (CONTINUED)

I went back to the prison and straightened things out with Kayla the following day. We talked for a while, and I asked a lot of questions about Katherine and the setup of the prison and infant wing. She answered each question in detail. I revealed very little about myself. [Just because Kayla killed Jenna's baby and was prompted for intimate details regarding the facility's security enforcements and her daughter's feeding schedule doesn't mean J's bonding attempts are anything but sincere!]

Just yesterday, a woman brought in Katherine to be fed. [I like the wording of that line, as if eating were an occasional pastime, like going to the park.] Kayla avoided my eyes as she fed and fussed over the child. I studied closely the way Kayla treated her baby; the way she soothed her cries and made her smile. It still hurt to see the baby, but I promised myself that I wouldn't cry. She'll be in your arms soon, I told myself silently. [OK, Jenna's inquiry on how to obtain expressed breast milk was a little odd, but still. BFFs!]

After I left prison, I went to 'Barb's Beauty Palace' and had my waist-length hair cut so it rested just above my shoulders. I considered getting it dyed while I was there, but I vetoed the idea. A woman there could identify me too easily. I went to the local drugstore and bought baby wipes, baby bottles, formula, a couple of baby toys, and a bag of diapers. [And she's worried about her hair color raising suspicion?] I picked up red hair dye for myself.

At home I applied the dye to my hair. The box said it had to sit on my hair for a half hour. During that time, I packed a suitcase for myself. It contained 2 changes of clothes, some toiletries and, as an afterthought, the largest butcher knife in the house. Just in case, I told myself. [You know, like if the baby tries to talk back or call the cops.] Then I set my alarm for 10:00 P.M. and fell asleep with dreams of the future in my head.

[It wasn't until the mention of hair dye that I remembered my mental image of Jenna changed at this point from Finola Hughes to a young Laura Leighton, aka Sydney from Melrose Place. I thought she was absolutely stunning. Also, God I loved Melrose Place.]

* * *

RING!!!!

I hit my alarm and fell out of bed. It was time to get ready.

I hopped in the shower for a while. I got out and put on black jeans and an oversize black sweater. I brushed my hair and let it fall on my shoulders. I gazed into the mirror.

The changes in my hair made me look drastically different. The red hair looked natural, and the color brought out the green in my eyes. I looked like a new person.

I put the suitcase in the backseat of my car, then went back inside. I grabbed my jacket and threw bags of pretzels into a small plastic bag. [In case you didn't notice, I was obsessed with recording every. single. detail. of my characters' appearances and actions. I'm surprised I didn't outline the intensity of their bowel movements.] I slipped black glasses on my face for the finishing touch. I ran into the car and turned on the engine, giggling. I felt (and looked) like the Terminator.

[Growing up, my entire household was in love with Arnold Schwartzenegger and his portrayal of America's favorite cyborg who rocked the casbah with his black leather jacket and once steriod-induced pecks. My mother taped the first movie for us when it aired on cable, but it wasn't until I was an adult that I realized she had conveniently paused the recording during Kyle and Sarah's romp in the motel. I did think it interesting that they went from making out to tying their shoe laces, but it was the eighties, for cripe's sake. What did they know about editing?]

It was 11:30 when I reached the Prison, and I wasn't smiling anymore. My heart was pounding like crazy. What was I doing? How could I even think about taking someone's child?

Because her mother took mine. [This line was originally written as follows: "Because her mother doesn't deserve her. I could give her a better life, a life that she wouldn't spend visiting her screw-up of a mother behind bars." I'm not sure why I scratched it out.]

With newfound determination, I took the butcher knife out of the suitcase, pressed it to my side, and quietly walked into the prison. [If the guards ask, I'll just tell 'em I was making a sandwich! Who doesn't eat their turkey on wheat with the crusts cut off?]

The jail was brightly lit up, and a small man stood at the desk. He looked old, like someone's grandfather. I discretly slid the knife blade-up inside my jeans, covering it up with my sweater. [How does one "discretly" shove a sharp object down their pants? No pun intended, of course.] Limping, I walked up to him. "Hi," I said, smiling weakly. "I'm here to visit Kayla Evans."

He gave me a smile. "It's late, young lady," he said kindly but firmly. "Can't it wait?"

I managed to squeeze a few tears. They clouded up my vision through the glasses. "Oh, please," I begged. [She's still wearing the glasses? Some anonymous woman comes staggering into jail after hours wearing all black and security isn't the least bit alarmed? Jenna must have some grade-A boobies.] He softened [or should I say hardened?] and held on to my arm lightly. "OK. Let's go." He had forgotten to search me, and for that I was grateful. [Another missed opportunity on behalf of a lust-filled man.] He glanced at the metal detector. "I don't need to turn that on to check you, do I?"

"Oh, no sir," I said, shaking my head innocently. "You can trust me."

[In one of my Nancy Drew books, Nancy took on a suspect's identity and weasled out of signing a credit card slip by feigning a hand cramp. Which means this scenario is totally plausible in fiction.]

We went up a flight of stairs, and we started to walk down the hall towards Kayla's cell. A guard was at the end of the hall, his back facing us. "You should go back to the desk. I can go the rest of the way," I whispered.

He smiled. "OK. Bye now." I tiptoed quietly towards the guard until the deskman was out of sight. Then I walked quietly back to the stairway and made a left turn. I found myself staring into the window of the prison's nursery.

The nurse sat in a chair inside by the door. She was snoring, and her head was against the door. [Your tax dollars hard at work, everyone!] There was no one else.

I opened the door slowly and slipped in.

There were about 20 babies, but I spotted Katherine right away. I gazed at her in her bassinet and my heart swelled with happiness. I gently picked her up and held her to me. She started to stir. [Apparently these babies are all on the same schedule. Prison IS strict!] I covered her with my jacket and zipped it up. Cradling her as if my stomache was hurting, I exited the room and took the stairs two at a time.

[Can you picture it? The concealed knife and now-suffocating baby jiggling around in Jenna's coat as she makes her great escape? I could totally see this happening on Melrose Place. Totally.]

The deskman looked surprised as I walked slowly, my arms wrapped around my belly [a baby's limb poking through the sleeve of her coat...]. "I have to go," I gasped. "My period is really heavy this month."

He reddened. "Go on," he said, waving me away. [Ah, the old menstrual card. Well played, Jenna!]

I ran into my car and scrambled inside. I wiggled out of my jacket and wrapped Katherine securely in it. Her eyes gave me a curious stare.

I took off my glasses and gazed at the baby in my arms. I covered her face with kisses. At last! The baby I had dreamed of having was with me. I placed her on my lap, and putting one arm on the baby and using my free hand to drive, very slowly started to pull away from the curb. In 15 minutes, I was right in front of the Illinois Cematary. [Yes, just one for the whole state. Apparently people aren't accustomed to dying in Illinois.] I couldn't enter; the gates were locked. I just stared at the gravestones beyond and whispered David a tearful good-bye.

"I'm so sorry, David," I said, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I'm sorry I lost our baby, and I know that by taking Katherine, I'm making things worse. I know it's wrong, but .... I don't want to be alone." My body was shaking. The baby started to cry. "Dont cry, baby girl," I whispered in a soft but trembling voice. I rocked her in my arms for a few minutes, and she went back to sleep.

A few minutes later I was on the road again, heading for my last stop before I left Illinois for good.

[A few lines down from that last sentence is the following post-script: "When Jenna leaves with the baby, let her pass Cassie and try to talk to her. Next day, Cassie goes into fits of hysteria." For fans wondering about the wherabouts of TLF's favorite batshit-crazy mental case, this is the last mention of her until the sequel.]

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We're nearing the end of Part One, folks. Only twenty-seven pages to go until we find out how the first segment of this tragic tragedy ends. Anyone brave enough to make a wager?

Office Space: No Longer Just A Category Heading

There are a million things I should be doing right now, like figuring out the Index feature in Adobe InDesign. However, since I work best under pressure and my deadline for turning in a fully revised clinical directory is still a whole twenty-four hours away, I figured I could give myself a well-deserved break and show you my office, at the request of Isabel, who was kind enough to photograph her own space earlier this week.

I've been in my current position for about a year and a half, and when I first started, I was in a cubicle in a corner of the administrative part of the building. It was freezing. There was a door behind my desk that allowed the renters next door to help themselves to our bathroom when their pipes froze. People would often forget I was there and turn the lights out promptly at five, and since I was too lazy to get up and turn the lights back on, I brought in my own lamp from Wal-Mart so that I wasn't hypnotized by the brightness of my computer screen.

Since that time, a ton of new employees have signed on, requiring the construction of several new offices scattered throughout the admin side of the lab. When that happened, my cubicle was taken apart to allow space for two new offices. Did I get one of those new offices? No. But I did get one on the opposite side of the building, much closer to the printer, PLUS I got my own window, so really it was all for the best.

Here it is, my humble corporate abode:

 

When I'm not scrambling to finish an article for the Web site or a layout for one of our company newsletters, this is what the surface of my desk normally looks like. Right now I'm working on the directory, so it's a little more top-heavy than I prefer, but I did organize my papers into managable little stacks before shooting the picture. You never get a second chance to make a first impression.

Let's break this down a bit.

That Christmas tree's been fully decked since November of 2005, when I first brought it to work. After the holidays were over, I could never muster up the energy to take all the little ornaments off, so I just moved the thing over to my filing cabinet until last Thanksgiving, when I positioned it on my window sill, where it remains to this day. The red bows and striped candy canes are perfect for Valentine's Day, don't you think? As for the snowflake cut-outs taped to the monitor, they're perfectly acceptable until the first day of spring, so I'll thank you very much to keep your nose out of my seasonal-decorating affairs.

You'll also notice the CD collection that's slowly making its way towards my cheapie Wal-Mart boom box. Current discs include such artists as Fiona Apple, Liz Phair, Norah Jones, the Carpenters, and a slew of cheesy love song CDs.

I'm showing you this picture because it includes the best planner in the whole universe: the AT-A-GLANCE Weekly Professional Appointment Book. I was introduced to it when I first started working at Saint Joe and will never use another model for as long as I live. Each work day is assigned its very own column, which accounts for every fifteen-minute increment between the hours of seven a.m. and nine p.m., and even the weekends have a little face time, so I can record my trips to the college for alumni board meetings and visits back home. Not only do I keep my appointments in here, I also scribble down notes from my day so I can remember how I spent major blocks of time. Just talking about it gives me a warm, tingly feeling.

You can also see that I love me some Post-Its.

See those beautifully colored stickies covering my dry-erase board? I receive them often from my darling husband, who knows paper products turn me on more than a bouquet of carnations ever could. I almost cried the day I ran out and tried in vain to request the exact same kind from my purchasing manager, because those fun Post-Its can really be kind of expensive, you know? But I ended up with the traditional (boring) yellow ones everyone else has instead. Blah.

Luckily, I have my pens to comfort me through such hard times.

My passion for writing utensils is nothing new. There are pens stashed throughout Luke's and my apartment--at both computer stations, on the night stand, in my craft box in the closet--in my coat pockets, in my purse, in the back pocket of my jeans. I'm a freak and I like it.

What I really love about this picture, though, is the box in which the pens are kept.

My sister Donna gave this school box to me when I was a freshman in college and she was four months shy of turning six. Next year it'll be ten years old. She used to make a lot of things for me to keep in my dorm room; my closet doors were covered with her drawings, and my book shelf at home still holds a rainbow-colored clay snowman person she created just for me. She was so young at the time, and it was really traumatic for her when I left for Saint Joe. Her eyes always filled with tears when my dad's Suburban pulled out of Halas Hall's parking lot, and I was required to wave at the car until it was just a tiny dot on the road, to call her the night I returned to Rensselaer after a weekend visit because she couldn't go to sleep without hearing my voice. Nowadays I'm lucky to see her for five minutes when I'm in the city because she's fourteen and has a full life that no longer includes waiting on the porch to see my car pull in behind the garage. But it wasn't always this way, and things like this box will always remind me of that.

These last two pictures are unrelated to my work space, but they do relate to work, and the incident in question just happened about an hour ago, so I couldn't NOT share.

One of my coworkers, who's quite lovable but also very quirky, collects hats. As in, if there's an abandoned baseball cap lying in the street, he'll pick it up, take it home, and run it through the wash until it's "good as new." Last year he gave me a hat he found on a park bench that reminded him of me. Today, it was one that's sure to be a collector's item. He can feel it.

Nothing shouts "money maker" like Mr. Pibb. God bless him.

Cheese-To-Cheese Resuscitation

Well, if it isn't our favorite R&B African American easy-listening musical artist, back for one more round of cheese!

Lionel is proud to present the

Internet Swap Master Play List. (PDF / Word)

Even though compiling this list was a huge pain in the ass because I had to copy and paste about thirty-seven hundred million lines of text from e-mails bearing the musical selections of our lovely swap participants and alphabetize all of them according to song and then only half-jokingly harass those who forgot to send me their lists (there are still a couple of people who never got theirs in), it was well worth it. Otherwise I never would've learned my dear friend Brooke saw wistful, romantic undertones in "In The Ghetto"; perhaps the troubled relationship in question is between the single-mother family and dilapidated neighborhood keeping them down?

There are a ton of great songs on this list, so I invite you to check it out. Several were included on more than one compilation, which are indicated with a number enclosed in parentheses so you can fully appreciate how treasured they are by the Internet. "Everything I Do (I Do It For You)" was picked FOUR times! That's a whole lotta Robin Hood love, people.

When I first unveiled the swap in November, I talked about voting on the Cheesiest Love Song as a way to wrap things up. I still think we should do that, as well as mention any songs that might've been overlooked, your personal favorite of the bunch (cheesy or not), and one you were overjoyed to discover for the first time. Mine are as follows:

Cheesiest
I want to say it's a tie between "All Out Of Love" and "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)," but I think Air Supply wins. And not because I like them; I actually think their music should be banned from the face of the earth. But they meet the majority of Frema's Cheesy Love Song requirements. Whiny male vocals? Check. Excessive use of dramatic verbiage? Check. Inclusion of the "you feel like home" cliche? Check. Elevator-music style background singers? Hell to the check.

Overlooked
Where the hell was "I Will Always Love You"? In fact, the only one who paid any sort of homage to the former Mrs. Bobby Brown was me. I thought for sure at least one song from The Bodyguard or even Waiting To Exhale (shoop, shoop, anyone?) would make the cut. Luckily, you all were redeemed by your generous servings of Phil Collins and Gloria Estefan and the fact that at least half of you included a song from the great Richie. With not one repeat!

Personal Favorite
"Always" by Atlantic Starr. I can't help it. No matter where I am or what mood I'm in, by the time the chorus makes its second appearance, I'm chasing all of the rain away with the best of them.

Delightful Discovery
"Samson" by Regina Spektor, courtesy of Katie's "Katie Loves Love, Even When It Ends" mix, which has found a permanent spot in my CD player. There's something haunting about this not-even-remotely cheesy song that touches me, not like the middle-aged coworker at Royal Concept Video who put his hands on my teenaged waist while I was counting down the cash register, but more like the boy in fifth grade who kept three of my classmates from beating me up after school because my club's newspaper was better than theirs.

A big fat thank you to everyone who participated, especially Dawnie, who helped me iron out the logistics. I love you more than my luggage.

What Am I Still Doing Here?

When reviewing my entries for last week, I was proud to see that Hey! I posted five days in a row! I totally need do to that again! So yesterday afternoon I slaved over a post that was intended to honor Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, but the Internet was acting wonky and I forgot to copy and paste the text into Word before hitting "Publish" so I ended up losing the whole damn thing. Which is OK with me in the end, because the post was fine, but it didn't feel like ME. So here is something more ME. Crap! In the form of chunky paragraphs without transitions!

Friday

The BMV mix-up was resolved in eight minutes, with profuse apologizing on behalf of the branch. It was implanting my post that took an hour and a half, what with my sobbing hysterically every time the drill attempted to secure the metal screw through my bone. It all started on Wednesday, when I accompanied Luke to have four cavities filled (because the HSA debit card is in my name and practitioners like to be compensated for their work) and warned both the doctor and hygenist about my tendency to get a tad "anxious" in the chair, suggesting it would benefit all parties involved to nail a nitrous oxide mask to my face for the entire procedure. The doctor just laughed and assured me I wouldn't feel any pain, he'd thoroughly numb the area and anyway bones don't have nerves so I shouldn't feel a thing.

I laughed, too, and didn't give it much thought until Friday morning, when they called me in after a thirty-minute wait, during which I reflected on the hell I experienced in Rensselaer when they attached a permanent crown to my badly cracked tooth and thought once again that nitrous would best calm my ultra-sensitive nerves. And once again, I was silenced with promises of no pain. It wasn't until the doctor had pumped my gums with Novocaine three times in an effort to stop my hysterical chest heaves that he began to second-guess his decision, but it was too late. I was afraid of the drill and the size of the screw, and everyone's attempts to comfort me just resulted in more tears because being the center of attention when I'm upset is embarrassing, and when I'm embarrassed, I cry, and the vicious cycle repeats itself until I'm home, where I can unabashedly surrender to my hysteria and then move on with my life. Until I remember all the caring and sympathy and cry again.

The doctor called me at home later that afternoon, when the pain had turned into a dull, bearable throbbing, and apologized for the miscommunication; a nice touch on his part, and I hung up feeling pretty good about the whole situation, soothing myself with the knowledge that I had a six-week time frame before my next appointment, during which I could pray for selective amnesia.

Saturday

Molly of Lost A Sock fame and I joined forces to drive to Chicago and attend Dawnie's 27th birthday bash at Dave and Buster's, marketed as Chuck E. Cheese for adults. Dawn and I "met" each other through a CD swap organized last spring and have been e-mailing back and forth since then, but this was our first meeting, not to mention MY first time meeting a blogger in real life, so by the time we parked Molly's Ford Explorer (an adventure in its own right) and made our way through the crowd to find Dawn and her friends, I was ready to wet myself.

There wasn't much time to talk, but it was a fun night. Hopefully we can do it again before BlogHer. Also, don't you like how Molly and I used mental telepathy to coordinate our outfits?

 

I risked my life to take this photo by pretending I wanted a shot of Molly scoring tickets from Pirate's Revenge, but it was totally worth it because this woman looked like she'd had one too many Appletinis and was concentrating harder than a gambler in a Las Vegas casino. She must've been sitting in front of that "Wheel of Fortune" station for at least thirty minutes. Of course, Molly and I dropped twenty bucks apiece at the Skeeball lanes (where we almost had to rumble with a couple of bitches who claimed we were taking their place in line, even though they were gabbing it up a good five feet away), so who am I to judge?

WARNING: the following two paragraphs contain spoilers for 24. Fans not in the know should proceed at their own risk.

Sunday

The first two hours of 24's season premiere. I spent most of it yelling at the television because after six years, don't these people know Jack's super powers can't be thwarted by a twenty-month stint in a Chinese prison? Watching him bite flesh off a terrorist's neck was pretty disgusting, but I nearly lost it when the Muslim American teenager labeled a terrorist by some hillbilly redneck actually turned out to be a terrorist, causing me to change my Gmail chat tagline from "Tragic Love Friday: now with more tragedy" to "Twenty Flop." Way to break down ethnic stereotypes, FOX.

Monday

Two more hours of 24. Two more hours of yelling at the TV and lamenting Curtis's totally out-of-character personality change and subsequent death. However, the nuclear explosion was cool, so I changed my Gmail tagline to "Twenty Forgivable."

I also lost a crown while brushing my teeth.

I got the crown in June 2004; the following January I received a root canal on the same tooth, which is how the hole started (he had to go through the crown to get to the nerve), until it got bigger and bigger and eventually it was so big I could feel it with my tongue. My dentist and I had previously talked about replacing it since the hole leaves the tooth underneath susceptible to decay, so I'm not heartbroken, just baffled as to why the crown chose MLK Day to make the break.

Tuesday

As soon as I finish this sentence, I'm going to the dentist so he can make the crown situation all better; I could've left an hour ago but didn't want to go another minute without updating this blog. I'm nothing if not dedicated. And stupid.

Apparently I Am A Big Fan Of Run-On Sentences

Shamelessly stolen from Liza, this meme asks you to post the first line from the first entry of each month of 2006. A year in review, blogger-style, another opportunity to shriek over my Sweet Valley High collection, and a little sumpin' sumpin' to hold you over until TLF. Awesome.

January 2, Belated Apology: The last three days have been a whirlwind of activity centered around cake testing, tuxedo shopping, invitation choosing, and birthday celebrating.

February 2, Figures...: ...that as soon as I wipe my hands clean of the whole meme thing because surely I have more sophisticated witticisms to share with you, the biggest inspiration to wannabe professional "blobbers" everywhere posts her first one.

March 1, Stewing: I have two incomplete drafts on two very different topics, topics that have absorbed the better part of my brain for days, but the right words haven't come yet. (Posted just hours before my Mommy Freak Out Of The Year.)

April 5, Shower The People You Love With Teenage Literary Drama Actually Geared Towards Pre-Pubescent Girls: Finally, the moment you've all been waiting for: the reveal of those individuals who fought long and hard for their chance to receive a small piece of Heaven that is Sweet Valley High.

May 3, Now You Know Where My Witty Sense of Humor Comes From: OK, so it's been a few days since I've posted, but between deciding which table is worthy of getting Jason Chambers at the reception and going back and forth with Luke as to whether a wedding party dance is really necessary and explaining to my brother that "Blow Job Betty" is not so much an appropriate song choice, there's been NO. FREAKIN'. TIME.

June 2, Oh Yeah, I Had A Honeymoon: I'm sorry, Internet.

July 3, Beachy Keen: Instead of working on my company's employee newsletter or the bajillion other things I have on my to-do list, I took the day off to savor a four-day weekend.

August 2, In Frema's Shoes, Part The First: Before Luke moved in with me last year, I knew I had to make some changes to my then-current state of living.

September 3, I guess the "watch what you say" disclaimer was a tad unnecessary.: Wanna know the perfect way to avoid embarrassment in the wake of an upcoming family reunion?

October 3, Bringing Stupid Back: After more than a week of soup, spaghetti, and take out, yesterday I decided to prepare an actual meal.

November 1, A Domain By Any Other Name...: Well, the name. my. BLOG! contest is officially over, and now I'm left with the momentous task of selecting a winner, eventually dumping Blogger, and moving on with the rest of my online life.

December 1, Tragic Love Friday: In the last week, I've fallen into bed past midnight almost every night after laboring over the creating and burning and addressing and mailing of seventeen super-delicious cheddar-cheesy CDs, avoided resuming regular healthful activity, inhaled half a Pizzeria Uno deep dish, and suffered from one nightmare in which the ghost of a little girl visits me in my dead grandmother's apartment to warn me about the end of the world.

That about sums it up.

Weight Loss Wednesday

Oh, how I love my new little Web site. For this Web site I would spoon in the mornings and blow out my hair and whisper dirty, inappropriate things I've never even uttered to my husband. TypePad and I, we are a match made in Heaven.

I almost love Weight Loss Wednesday just as much.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 137
CURRENT WEIGHT: 135
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 10

When Luke read the numbers off the scale for me this morning, I rejoiced over a one-pound loss; it wasn't until typing this entry I realized last week's weigh-in was 137 and not 136 like I mistakenly thought, which means FOUR POUNDS have melted off my carcass since last month's Thanksgiving pig fest. And if I hadn't gone to Steak 'N Shake after retrieving Luke from the airport last night, it totally could've been three. But it was so worth it.

Perhaps even more impressive than the loss is that I've been able to do it while continuing to boycott the gym. My work projects aren't disappearing as quickly as I thought they would (really, do they ever?), so my return probably won't happen until sometime next week, right before Luke and I dash off to Merrillville and Chicago for the holidays, resulting in yet another week-long hiatus. So far the month of December has been anything but fitness-friendly, but somehow I'm still managing to produce respectable results. It's a Christmas miracle!

But enough about me. You want to hear more about the blog, don't you? At least, Kristie does. She posted a comment to yesterday's entry asking for more information about my decision to switch from Blogger to TypePad. It's a good question, too, especially with the launch of Blogger Beta, which allows users to customize their templates without having to dig through various lines of HTML.

I guess it comes down to your own personal comfort level. For me, ever since I started reading Amalah back in 2004, I've wanted a TypePad account. I liked that she had separate pages reserved for biographies and links and archives, and I liked that her blog didn't look as cookie-cutterish as some others I'd seen. If subscribing to TypePad was what it would take to create something similar, so be it. Plus, I had an embarrassingly hard time with Blogger. In addition to the frustration that often accompanied uploading pictures, I couldn't figure out how to create a banner with the proper specifications and was unable to customize little things like the color of the border of my profile picture because I couldn't locate the code. Even with the introduction of Beta, I'd had enough.

Compare it to dating a guy who constantly forgets to do little things like open your car door and chat with your mother before you take off for the movies and remove the cigarette out of his mouth before he tries to French you good-bye. Even if he promises to change, are you really going to pass up the opportunity to go out with someone who will not only ditch the cigarette but promise to never smoke at all? You have to shell out fourteen bucks a month to keep him clean, but still. Another case of "It's so worth it."

And so far, it has been. I was pretty confused in the beginning by all the different screen windows, but Lost A Sock had recently gone through this whole process herself and thankfully dealt with my vast bank of Stupid Questions with a patient and gracious hand. Since then, I've learned that many of Amalah's template options aren't standard TypePad features at all but clever CSS code she wrote her own damn self, but one thing at a time, my pretties. One thing at a time.

Now Luke Can Finally Have His Wife Back

Welcome to my new spot on the blogosphere! I've spent the last two months with my @$$ glued to the computer chair, importing entries, updating links, and reloading pictures so that I can move on with my life free from the shackles that bound me to Blogger for two and a half years. (If you come across entries that still feature Blogspot links, please let me know so I can smack myself in the forehead.) (And then fix the link.) I've also wasted numerous hours on numerous crappy banners until finally settling on the half-crappy one you see now. But I made it with my own two little hands, so in your FACE, Photoshop Elements!

You can also see I got m'self a new URL. Janet of A Slice of Pink is the big name. my. BLOG! winner, so Janet, drop me an e-mail and we can discuss the fabulous prize package soon to come your way. A package that will probably include a copy of my cheesy love song CD because I am going to milk that puppy for all it's worth.

(Funny story about the e-mail: Three months ago I started to register for one of TypePad's thirty-day free trials but stopped the minute they asked for a credit card number; apparently, though, the site had already captured my information, because when I registered for real, msfrema was "already taken." Thus, mrsfrema was born. It was kind of a pain but not a horrible way to go, seeing as I'm now a married woman. What a difference an "r" makes!)

Overall, I'm really happy with the look of the new site (though I might've gone a tad overboard with the categorizing) and hope you continue to hang out with me as your schedule permits. I don't have a lot of friends, and you don't want to be the one responsible for me crying into my pillow at night, do you?

[Edited to add: I just noticed that the comments have been wiped out from all but one of my Tragic Love Friday posts. CRAP.]

[Edited to add again: Problem solved! Turns out the little dashes I inserted after each TLF excerpt threw something off in the importing process. All I had to do was remove the dashes and reimport the entries.]