What are you looking at?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also, I heard "Summer in the City" on the radio today, and it made me think of Sweatin' to the Oldies and how much I love Richard Simmons. Just in case you were wondering.

After four plus years of blogging, you'd think the stage fright that used to accompany each blog post would be gone. And when I was writing regularly, it was. There wasn't a lot of pressure on any one entry because the frequency of posts balanced out the crap.

Now, though, it's a wonder if I update more than once a month, so even though I'm coming up with ideas all the live-long day, I don't follow through with most of them because I think, Is that something I want sitting on my front page for three weeks? And usually it's not, so my blog collects dust, when in fact all those little nothings could have equalled a semi-interesting collection of pseudo twitters, and then you wouldn't have to click on a blog that's been dormant since the first of the month.

Anyway, with this entry, I'm not going to overthink flow or grammar or even quality, because I received three totally awesome e-mails from blog readers this weekend alone, not to mention the outpour of support I've gotten since announcing baby Number Two's impending arrival, so I'm totally feeling the love for the Internet, and it almost makes me wish I'd bitten the bullet and gone to BlogHer this year, except there's no way I could afford it and the idea of traveling to California is too intimidating and what business do I have going to a blogging conference when one of my blogs is treated like an ugly step-sister?

(I really should have said Cinderella, since she's the one who got dumped on, but she was gorgeous and had a fairy godmother and eventually snagged the prince, so no tears for her.)

• Still nothing new on the house front. Luke and I set up a meeting with our realtor for Wednesday afternoon so we can touch base and talk out some different ideas. She's been in touch via e-mail, but we haven't seen her since early June, and it seems appropriate to catch up face-to-face. We're exploring a few neighborhoods that weren't on the radar before, and we've saved up a little more money to add to our down payment, but we still have to stick within the original parameters we set for our mortgage, so really, nothing significant has changed. We signed our lease for another three months, so the goal is to close on something by Halloween, because another three-month lease would put us at the end of January, and there's no way I'm moving when I'm thisclose from being nine months pregnant. I'd rather stay in the apartment for another year before going through that kind of stress. We'll see what happens.
• Last Friday I saw a car in front of me hit a bird, and it spiraled in the air and landed right underneath my Cobalt. That was pleasant.
• Did you know I'm one of ten finalists to win a Chicco Trevi Twin double stroller? It's true! Last week, one of my readers e-mailed me to share news of a contest hosted by Amazing Trips, and 55 commenters posted stories as to why they thought they should win the stroller. I posted a sob story of my own about having a baby and being pregnant with a baby and saving for a house and hello, there are no money trees where I live. Jen chose ten finalists, and it turns out I'm one of them! Voting takes place until 11:59 p.m. tomorrow, so you have plenty of time to visit her site and take her poll in the left side bar to stack the odds in my favor. I don't think I'll win--I'm up against a foster-to-adopt mother and a woman expecting her second set of twins--but I'd like to give it the good ole college try. Thanks for the heads up, Cameron!
• All the talk of BlogHer reminded me that I never wrote part two of 2007's BlogHer: the rest of the story recap. My bad.
• Like I said, I'm not too bummed about missing it this year, but of course this is when Amalah goes again. Also, boo hoo over no free swag.
• My very pregnant sister Samantha and her husband, Dan, came to visit during the Fourth of July weekend, and with them they brought boxes of crap I've been storing in my parents' basement for oodles of years. At first I was nervous about finding a place to keep everything, but then I realized that eighty percent of it really was crap that could go straight to the recycling pile. Most of the loot included old Baby-Sitters Club and Archie comic books, and while I would love nothing more than to build a shrine in honor of my childhood reads, the books weren't properly stored, so they were covered in dust, and I had (have) a bad habit of scribbling on pages when I'm reading, so it's not even like they were in good enough condition to pass on to my kids, thus sharing the eighties love. I did keep a few of my favorites (a few being twenty), but the majority were shipped off to Goodwill because I didn't know what else to do with them. I doubt they're sellable, but hopefully they'll give some of the clerks a good laugh.
• I also found other gems like handwritten notes from middle school (complete with origami-like folding) and another (lesser) masterpiece by lil' Frema:

• You're probably thinking, Oh no, she didn't, but oh yes, I did. And I will share it with you, when I have time to scan the pages.
• Speaking of books, remember Cringe? The one that's publishing my tragically misspelled poem about unrequited love? Well, it's coming to a Barnes and Noble near you on August 27th. There's going to be a huge release party in New York in September, a release party I most definitely cannot afford to attend, but there's also going to be a national book tour, and if there's a stop anywhere near Indianapolis, I'll do whatever it takes to show up and read my submission. You'll come, too, won't you?
• When looking for the above linked-to entry, I scrolled through a mass of third-trimester pregnancy photos, and my God, I was a house. The belly, so huge.
• You are still not allowed to say such things to me. One of my coworkers came up to me last week and said, "I think you're showing already!" and I smiled weakly, but people. It is never OK to tell a woman she's getting bigger.
• Still crying inside over not seeing Sex and the City while it was at the show.
• The recent slew of new-baby celebrity names have been terrible. I feel like Knox should be the worst of the bunch, but I can't get over Honor. All I can hear is, "I don't know about you, but I'd sure like to get Honor!"
• MY baby is doing just fine, thank you for asking. Kara turned seven months last Thursday and continues to crawl and pull up on furniture like crazy. She also has a great time eating the peas, carrots, sweet potatoes, and butternut squash Luke purees just for her. And holy crap, does it save a lot of money. Do you know how much commercial baby food costs these days? Not cheap. She eats some store-bought things--mostly fruit--but still, mad props to my husband for owning this task.
• Motherhood Uncensored recently wrote a post about super-secret bastard iPod songs, and many readers shared their own bastard songs, but most of them were "safe" bastard choices like "Brick House" and "Come On, Eileen"--songs that nobody's REALLY embarrassed to admit to. I offered a few illegitimates of my own, but it wasn't until weeks later that I remembered the one song I absolutely love that until now, I've NEVER shared with anyone:
• "One on One" by Hall and Oates. I bet you didn't think it was possible for this tune to set the stage for Deep Thoughts about life and love, but it does. It really, truly does.
• I love Judge Judy with a passion usually reserved for cheesecake and those little fries at Steak 'n Shake. I want her to be my grandma.
• Dear Abby can be a fun aunt.
• I still write my Parents blog.
• You should read it.
• I spend way too much time thinking about baby names. Swistle's blog doesn't help.
• I'm hooked on All My Children again, and I think the current plot is just a terrible ploy to write Annie off the show and facilitate a Ryan-Greenlee reunion. I hated them together, but I loved watching them get together, if that makes any sense. Also, I don't like the new Colby, and I love that Erica continued to blow out her hair and do her make-up IN PRISON.
• I'm giving up on non-fiction for a while because it's hurting my brain. I tried to read The Feminine Mistake because I was intrigued by the premise but after forty pages I realized she was talking about white-collar, six-figure-dollar professional women, and not the average mom trying to make it on a middle-class or working-class income. Hell, Atlas Shrugged would give me less of a headache.
• On a related note, guess what I'm reading again.
• I think Ayn Rand's philosophy is crap, and I usually end up skipping the main character's hundred-page agenda-toting monologue at the end, but hot damn, do I love this book.
• The Fountainhead is awesome, too.
• In college I wanted to take an independent study focusing on Ayn Rand, but because nobody in the English department felt qualified to take it on, I worked with a professor who had a background in politics. That was cool with me because I loved him, and plus I'd already taken his Intro to Political Theory class where he covered Atlas Shrugged, which is how I read it for the second time and actually the reason I signed up for the course in the first place.
• This was fun!
• I promise to post more, even if it's just a couple of lines here and there.
• It's now almost midnight, and waaaay past my bedtime. The things I do for the Internet.
• Here are pictures of my kid.

What's happenin', hot stuff?

I'm supposed to do what with this?

Spent but spoiler-free

It took me roughly six months to get through a teensy weensy paperback about the politics and trends of blogging. Between work, pregnancy, and my "stories," there was simply no time to read. Or, more accurately, no energy.

So the fact that I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows before my 2:00 doctor's appointment this afternoon is no small feat. But I had no choice.

You all know what I'm talking about; people have been buzzing about this book for weeks. Photocopies of text posted to the Internet. Radio DJs reading chapter excerpts on the air. Assholes who would like nothing better than to ruin the fun for those eagerly awaiting the final installment of J.K. Rowling's magical series about The Boy Who Lived. The morning after the last Sopranos episode aired on HBO, you couldn't click through the stations without running into a news ticker about fan reactions, plot disappointments, etc. I didn't want my experience with this book tainted because some anchor felt like blabbing her mouth.

Luke and I, along with my sister Samantha and her husband Dan, who came for a visit this past weekend, went to the local bookstore near our apartment late Friday night and had books hand by a quarter after twelve. As we left the store, I saw patrons standing off to the side of the entrance, rooted to their spots, their fingers frantically flipping through the last several pages, and I was suddenly terrified they were going to recite the last sentence out loud before jumping into their cars and laughing their crazy heads off as they skidded out of the parking lot.

Luckily, we managed to pile into the Cobalt and zip back home with our literary innocence still in tact. For the rest of the weekend I avoided the computer and the television, and when I arrived at work on Monday, I left my newspaper encased in the plastic yellow sleeve. No way was I putting myself at risk.

Now I am finished (though I don't think I can count my time this morning as "working from home"), and my heart is at peace. I loved the book. I read through it quickly but thoroughly, at a pace that enabled me to really enjoy the Harry Potter experience one last time. Now I can surf the Internet and respond to e-mail without fear. I can prepare for BlogHer 2007, which has me so excited I can hardly sit still. I can treat my raging yeast infection.

Life is good.

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?

-------

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?

But the very next day, you gave it away.

While driving from Chicago to Merrillville tonight, Luke and I decided to search for the radio station Lost A Sock advertised as already succumbing to the seduction of St. Nick-inspired holiday merriment. Three tracks in, on came Wham!'s "Last Christmas," one of my favorite seasonal songs of all time.

"Maybe I'll add it to my playlist for the "Hello? Is It My Cheesy Love Song CD You're Looking For?" Internet Swap."

"What are you talking about? This isn't a love song."

"Are you kidding me? Anything relating to the loss or celebration of the warm and fuzzies is more than worthy of the coveted ballad label. When I was a kid, I'd keep this song on repeat for hours."

"My condolences to your childhood."

Sweet Valley Aftermath

So today I spent the majority of my evening catching up on three episodes of All My Children and putting my SVH books in the proper numerical order. During this activity it was discovered that whoever sold off their collection owned a number of duplicates. And since I grabbed any and every book bearing the series' logo without even bothering to read the titles, I now own TWO copies of the following:

Number 5: All Night Long (Is Jessica as grown-up as she thinks she is?)
Number 8: Heart Breaker (Will Jessica break Bill's heart, too?)
Number 9: Racing Hearts (Can Roger melt Lila's heart?)
Number 12: When Love Dies (What terrible secret is Tricia keeping from Steven?)
Number 14: Deceptions (Has Elizabeth found a new love?)
Number 20: Crash Landing! (Will Elizabeth lose her best friend?)
Number 21: Runaway (Jessica's had enough!)
Number 22: Too Much in Love (Will DeeDee's dependence drive Bill away?)
Number 26: Hostage! (Can anyone save Regina Morrow?)

And I'm not even mad. How could I be? They're back-ups! Substitutes! Pinch-hitters! Though I'm seriously toying around with the idea of creating some sort of contest through which the books could be offered as prizes to the winner. Is that the most exciting news you've heard all week or what?

Also, in case you didn't know, forty-something-year-old women who call you "honey" are equally as annoying, if not MORE annoying than, the grandpas who call you "sweetie." There's a new purchasing manager at work, and every conversation we've had in the three weeks she's been here begins and ends with "honey," with a little bit of "honey" sprinkled into every other sentence. Each instance feels on par with a surgical procedure designed to remove one year of my maturity; at this rate I'll be nursing on her condescending breasts before the wedding shower next Saturday. Am I totally within my rights to tell her to knock the %$#@ off? Because I'm thisclose. Seriously. Not kidding.

There Are Various Possible Titles For This Post

So Far Nine People Are Coming To The Wedding, Not Counting Me, Luke, the Pastor, His Parents, My Parents, Our Brothers And Sisters, Their Significant Others, The Bridesmaids, The Groomsmen, The Flower Girl And Her Mother, Who Also Happens To Be My Aunt And One Of My Favorite People, And Random Strangers Because We're Holding It At A Public Park

What Happens When Luke Works Nights

The Wakefields Made Me Do It

But first, a word on my hiatus. Things have been shakin' in the Frema/Useless Clutter household. In a nutshell, the freak-outs, they're getting worse. A couple of weeks ago a discussion about blogs turned into a discussion about Dooce, the Internet's most well-known blogger, which turned into a discussion about marriage, which turned into a discussion about clinical depression, which turned into a discussion about whether or not clinically depressed individuals should bear children, which turned into me crying actual tears because Luke will surely want to divorce me when I am diagnosed with clinical depression.

Last Wednesday I came home sobbing because my recent submission to this Web site led to frantic searches on the Internet about interfaith marriages and a train of thought that concluded Luke and I can't get married because he doesn't make the Sign of the Cross or believe in Purgatory. I'm not even sure that I believe in Purgatory, but one can only assume my old Catholic-school uniforms will prove equivalent to a "Get Out of Hell Free" card on Judgment Day.

When confessing all of these tidbits and more to Lost A Sock during a four-hour Steak-N-Shake marathon on Friday night, she shook her head in amazement and said, "What does Luke do when you say all these things to him?"

What does he do? He listens until I'm done, says something Calming and Insightful about God loving all people, not just Catholics, reminds me that we'll work it all out, and sighs, "I wish you would talk to me first before you get yourself so upset." And then he rewards my honesty with a trip to Wendy's, which is probably the best reason to marry anyone.

This weekend, though, was not about the freak-outs. It was about receiving the first RSVPs for our wedding. Watching our pastor and his new wife exchange vows in front of God and an entire congregation. Holding two babies two days in a row and kissing a nose that was only three days old. (Congratulations new Auntie Brooke and second-time Grandma Betty!) Looking through pictures with my mother and thinking about how brave my parents were to make such adult decisions before they were even old enough to drink. Digging out boxes from the basement to find the cases to my CDs, a dusty but necessary action in order to sell them for cash. Along the way I stumbled upon collections of books gathered during high school and college, the majority of which I'd obtained from a former English professor who would leave old books outside the door to his office, free for the taking for those interested in owning their very own copy of The Left-Hander’s Guide to Life. So I decided to sell them, too. My mother was slightly suspicious, as if a lack of funds had possibly forced us out of our apartment and onto the nearest highway exit ramp panhandling for change. "You guys are OK, right?" she asked. "You have food and everything?"

She would've been reassured tonight, as I used the $22.25 earned from selling my literary treasures and twelve dollars of my state tax refund to purchase a pair of old-school Nancy Drew hardcovers, two Christopher Pike books, three Choose Your Own Adventures, and sixty-nine installments of Sweet Valley High.

In my defense, Luke began temping again on Monday night and it's been very lonely and the Sweet Valley High books were only a quarter a piece. Plus, I want to share them with my own little girls, because any daughters of mine and maybe even sons will be required to know who the Wakefield twins are, which one is older, and what their dress size is, because these three facts are drilled into your brain by page five of every book in the series. Plus plus, their characters never engaged in premarital sex, used the Lord's name in vain, or subjected themselves to illegal drug activity—well, except one character. Regina Morrow, the deaf girl who dated flirtatious playboy Bruce Patman and was a kind and loving person until she found out Bruce was dating Jessica's best friend Amy behind her back. Blinded by Heartbreak and Betrayal, she attended a party where she was introduced to cocaine, had a rare adverse reaction to the drug and actually DIED. Then SVH had a memorial service where Elizabeth gave a Deep and Moving speech about Regina's life, and her parents took the day off work and the twins' older brother came home from college to talk about Why Drugs Are Bad but also The Importance Of Communicating With Your Parents If You Ever Feel That Drugs Are The Only Answer To Your Problems. If you're interested in sharing these lessons with your own children, you owe it to them and yourself to read Number 40: On the Edge and Number 41: Outcast.

To top things off, I said "Screw frugality!" and spent four ninety-five on a personal pan cheese pizza and five breadsticks from Pizza Hut.

Three fast-food splurges in a seven-day period. My doctor and my bank account must be so proud.

The. Freakin'. End.

Recovering

Four Christmases. Three nights spent away from home. Two very excited families. One very tired couple.

The festivities began on Friday night, when Luke and I traveled to Chicago to have Christmas with my mother's side of the family and participate in our new tradition of The Ornament Exchange--cheaper than buying actual gifts but just as much fun. We spent the night by Dan and Samantha's and left for Merrillville the next day, where Luke's parents were waiting for us. It was relatively low-key; a little church-going here, a little gift-giving there, and my much-anticipated viewing of It's a Wonderful Life. The next morning, it was time to pack up and head back to Chicago to see my family. Monday we came back home to see Luke's brother's family. By the end of the night, we were both ready to drop.

Which is why I can't believe that yesterday I actually fulfilled my last shift for the museum's Lord of the Rings exhibit. Most of the night was spent pacing the floor by the green-screen interactive station, although I did get to fold tee-shirts with a man who appeared to be the offspring of Peter Jackson and Kevin Smith, if ever such a thing were possible, and was very proud of his open marriage with his wife.

I had a wonderful holiday, but now I'm ready to move on. This weekend we'll be traveling north again for my mother's birthday and also to get some more details finalized for the wedding. We have appointments with photographers, a bakery, and a tuxedo place, and there might be visits with two DJ services. I'm not freaking out yet, but suddenly everything seems very overwhelming. Luke and I are seriously considering coming back to Indy on New Year's Eve and bringing in 2006 together, just the two of us, in an apartment that desparately needs a dust and vaccuum.

Not that I've regretted our frequent trips home. I love seeing our families and knowing that we're not letting our relationships slide simply because we're a few hundred miles away. And I hate when people complain about their social plans, because if you don't want to go, DON'T FREAKIN' GO. The universe will not explode into a billion pieces if you don't attend that birthday party, and though you might like to think so, the day won't be veiled in a blanket of sadness because of your absence. In our case, people would certainly understand if we didn't make every major event on the calendar; they'd miss us, but they'd get over it. Actually, when I lived in Rensselaer, I attended fewer functions than I do now. There's something about living farther away that instills in you a greater love for those you don't see all the time.

Meanwhile, I have to go to the bank this morning, because I've been charged ISF fees on four separate occasions in the last six months. I've never been one to balance my checkbook against my bank statement, but I've always been very good at recording my receipts, and I went for three years without any problems, so now I'm all like, "WTF? I accounted for that check two weeks ago!" At this point, my plan is to open up a brand-new account and start fresh. I wanted to avoid this since my name will be changing relatively soon, thereby wasting about a half-box's worth of checks, but we can't afford these thirty-three-dollar dings any longer.

I'm going to miss my last name.

My writing sounds just as tired as I am.

Evidence of My Nerdiness And Possibly Yours

Since the last couple of posts have been all Deep and Thought Provoking, I thought I might spice things up a bit with a very special version of "Name That Tune." I will provide a lyric (or two or three, depending on the level of dorkiness--er, difficulty) from ten of my very favorite songs--it's up to you to guess the name of the song and the artist. Participating in this exercise will not only give you an in-depth look into Frema's musical tastes but also provide you with an opportunity for meaningful self-discovery. In other words, if you know even half of these bad boys, you need just as much help as I do.

I'll leave this game "open" until Sunday; on Monday, I'll post the answers and the name of the person with the highest score. That person gets...I don't know what. An answer to a burning Frema question? A pen from my employer? Tell me what you want when you play, and if it doesn't cost any money, I'll probably give it a whirl. Just be sure to send all guesses to my e-mail (unless you know of a better way to avoid copying), but also be sure to still leave a comment, because my self-worth is directly related to how many of those things I get per entry.

Let the games begin!

Songs That Bring Frema To Her Happy Place, Especially When Commuting Long Distances And She's About To Pass Out At The Wheel

1) "Feels like sunshine, feels like rain / Lord it feels like love finally called my name"

2) "My heart is achin' for that special girl / To come on in and to share my world / Someone to love and someone to hold / Let me be the one"

3) "Now my love is somewhere / Lost in your kiss / When I'm all alone it's you that I miss / Girl a love like yours / Is hard to resist"

4) "Squeeze her knees underneath a book /You know a real good shakin's all it took / Cause my baby's hooked on me / And as you can see I'm wild about her"

5) "All summer long we've been together / And I never felt so good / Cuz when I'm with you / It's such a good time (yes it is)"

6) "My weary mind is rested / And I feel as if my home is in your arms / Fears are all gone, I like the sound of your song / And I think I wanna sing it forever"

7) "It's drivin' me outta my mind / That's why it's hard for me to find"

8) "Show me that smile again / Don't waste another minute on your cryin'"

9) "It felt like springtime on this February morning / In the courtyard birds were singing your praise"

10) "Plant a seed plant a flower plant a rose / You can plant any one of those / Keep planting to find out which one grows / It's a secret no one knows"

Sexual Harrassment or Earwax Buildup?

So, I'm microwaving my Weight Watchers southwest chicken bowl in the break room, minding my own business, when I catch one of my colleagues on his way to some place that was not the break room. "Hi, Colleague!" I call out pleasantly.

"Hi, sweetie, how are you?"

"I'm fine, th--"

Say what?! I turn my head, but too late. He's off.

I cannot say with one-hundred-percent certainty I was addressed with a pet name. Does my sassy sexuality scream "Come hither, old man?" Maybe it was meant in a grandfatherly way. Seeing as I drink juice boxes at lunch and can't keep lipstick on for more than twenty minutes, this could in fact be the case.

Or maybe it didn't happen at all and I was just reaching for potential blog material. The world may never know.

In other news, I have officially finished Harry Potter. When I got to the last page, I thought I would hear the trumpeting of angels celebrating my accomplishment, because Oh My God, everyone else on the planet has finished this book. Months ago. And are probably tired of talking about it. But I am not tired of talking about it. In fact, I'm dying to talk about it. I have Opinions! Theories! Is there a number I can call or support group I can join to get me through this?

I also picked up the new Liz Phair CD. Hmmm. Not horrible, but where is the talk of dead relatives? Favorite pairs of underwear? H.I.V.? H.W.C? What's with this clichéd "catch me if I fall" and "let's take a leap of innocence" crap? Our flower, we have lost her to commercial pop. Another death to mourn.

Entry With Everything On It

During the four days in which there was no blogging at all, some interesting things have happened, things that in and of themselves could have made for well-versed and comedically peppered posts, things that I will instead talk about in lazy, fragmented sentences categorized by day:

Thursday
Worked my second of six volunteer shifts for the Lord of the Rings exhibit at the Indiana State Museum. Folded tee-shirts in the exhibit gift shop and received guidance from two high schoolers who will probably never score a date and resort to becoming pizza delivery boys and quoting dialogue from The Family Guy on their days off. Saw Dakota Fanning, as the museum hosted a special showing of her new movie at the IMAX theater. Briefly wished that Luke and I had rented Hide and Seek instead of Birth last weekend.

Friday
Spent seven hours talking with Number Twelve about whether the cover for my lab's testing directory should be run through a four-color process with a spot color to nail our logo's specific Pantone shade of blue or just go with the four-color process and an educated guess as to which CMYK combination will produce 287C. Briefly wished I was a pizza delivery boy and had no need to discuss the intricacies of offset printing.

Saturday
Wanted to get to first base with my hair dresser after my well-worth-the-wait-and-one-hundred-and-forty-dollars-plus-tip cut and color in Chi-town. Did not have the heart to tell her I planned on scouring Indianapolis for salons, so instead I made another appointment, this time for an updo for a Chicago wedding this Friday. Pretended my baby sister wasn't wearing a shirt that read "You Don't Know My Name But Your Boyfriend Does." Briefly wished I lived in Chicago.

Sunday
Left Chicago after a fabulous two days of hanging out with my family. Saw my mom crying after I went back upstairs to grab my keys. Hugged her for two full minutes. Cried. Wished I lived in Chicago so that I could see my wonderful parents and siblings every day, and also have a better chance of securing the seventeen-year-old copy of Ninja Gaiden for Nintendo that was promised to me MONTHS ago.

Somewhere in there I managed to pick up Harry Potter again, and now I am fewer than 100 pages and four chapters away from being finished. Am deathly afraid that I will finish the book on my lunch hour at work and sob like a little girl. It makes my heart hurt.

My head hurts, too. Time for bed.

One Exhibit To Rule Them All

How dorky am I? So dorky that I am an official volunteer for this exhibit.

It's only being showcased in six museums in the entire world, with only three of them located in the United States. The other two cities are Boston and Houston. Not sure when Indianapolis reached the status of "pop-culture cool," but this Hoosier isn't asking any questions. I'm just going to show up for my two shifts a month for the next three months and attempt to acquire as many token freebies as possible. No pun intended.

I'm also excited to see just how many high-school dropouts will show up dressed like Frodo and Gandalf. When I was in college, I saw Star Wars: The Phantom Menance with the Three-Weeks-Without-Calling Boyfriend, who I've referenced several times in the blog and was the type of guy who thought it perfectly appropriate to paint his face red and black and don a floor-length cape and call himself Darth Maul on opening day. Sadly, I can see how this may have been cool with his Magic-playing, pot-smoking, questionably hygiened friends, but when you're on a date and without a car so you have to take the bus to the movie theater and normal people are staring at you and thinking, "What in the hell...?" Not so much. To be fair, I suppose I should be grateful he wasn't sporting a lightsaber.

Anyway....

It's a good thing the exhibit is based on the Lord of the Rings film trilogy and not the books, because while I adore the movies and saw each one at the show, the only J.R.R. Tolkien novel I've finished is The Hobbit, and that took me a full calendar year. (Apparently, it's very easy to distract me.) I ended up loving The Hobbit so much that I once named a goldfish after Bilbo. He only lasted a couple of days. (Damn county fair goldfish!) Hopefully that's not used as a measuring stick of my devotion.

Harry, Interrupted

For a while, I've been complaining that life has been too crazy for me to finish the latest Harry Potter book. No, I will not give away any spoilers, but I think it's safe to say that Harry is sick and tired of waiting for his Quidditch match to begin. My sister's getting married, I'd say. My boyfriend's moving in, I'd say. Well, Samantha's been married for over a month now, and Project Cohabitation is nearing two weeks, but poor Harry is still poised on his Firebolt. And it's not even that I'm too busy to read, because in the last seven days, I have devoured V.C. Andrews's beloved series Flowers in the Attic, a series I was first exposed to in sixth grade because my friend Kimmy's older sister had read it and we wanted to be like Kimmy's older sister. Just like that, I was introduced to the principles of child abandonment, death, rape, and incest. And apparently, I can't get enough, as I re-read the entire series about once every two or three years.

It usually begins the same way, with me casually pulling the second book, Petals on the Wind, off my shelf and searching for a few of my favorite passages. Then, suddenly, I'm reading it cover-to-cover and pushing forward through the rest of them, and by Seeds of Yesterday, I am sobbing for Cathy, because seriously, can the girl ever get a break? Since I still have many of my books stored in my parents' basement, I went shopping to purchase the ones I didn't have with me here in Indy. One of those was the original book, so even though I technically finished the series last night, today I am reading Flowers in the Attic. Next? the prequel. Next? Hopefully, Harry, but I still haven't finished The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and with The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe hitting theaters this December, my goal is to finish the Narnia chronicles before then.

The bottom line? I could finish Harry if I wanted to. But right now, I don't want to. I'm not in the mood, and since book seven is scheduled for release God Knows When, I don't feel the need to rush myself. I am perfectly content searching for Flowers in the Attic information on the Web--critiques, message boards, fan fiction, anything. Reliving these books is not something one should be allowed to experience alone. Last Friday night, as Luke and I drove to Rensselaer, I carefully explained why these books have more substance than Harlequin paperbacks and how V.C. Andrews provides new insights into the human psyche by revealing what individuals are truly capable of doing and feeling when trapped into horrific circumstances beyond their control and why at least the first book should be required reading in college psychology classes throughout the country and how the movie just didn't do it justice. Definitely a fun drive for him.

Somehow I am going to be punished for my own act of child abandonment, even if the boy is sixteen, fictional, and perfectly able to play a game with his friends without my watchful eye. I would not be surprised if Harry himself visited me in my dreams to reveal the end of book six. I can see him chuckling to himself, "That's what the *&^%$ gets for postponing one of MY Quidditch matches."

For the Cheese in You

It is well known that I am a sucker for "light rock"--the kind filtered into elevators, grocery stores, and "please hold" automated phone calls. I blame my parents. At 11 years old, I was not allowed to listen to the majority of popular music, as they were convinced I would fall prey to the racy messages embedded into each sexual-innuendo-boasting lyric. At the time, I wept. How could a parent think songs like "Baby Got Back," "Doggystyle," and "Big Booty Hoes" contained inappropriate content for children under 13? I was in the sixth grade and therefore All Knowing and Mature. Why couldn't they see this?

But no matter. I took comfort in the love ballads and jazzy tunes of the seventies and eighties, and even though the music ban was lifted in high school, the damage had already been done. Billy Ocean love songs took over my brain following the months of my first official break-up. Want something peppier? Taylor Dayne's "Don't Rush Me" was not only an instant pick-me-up but also a promoter of abstinence. It was a win-win situation.

Now, as a 25-year-old adult (and therefore All Knowing and Mature), my musical taste has adapted a comfortable mix of the two. Elton John's greatest hits CD is just as viable a choice as Tha Low Down. However, for the commute to and from work, I find myself once again drawn to light rock. I've heard the song below every day for the last week and a half, and not even on the same station. I remember hearing this as a child but not being as affected by it as I am now. Now, you may think you aren't familiar with the genius that is Bruce Hornsby, but anyone who's heard Tupac's "That's Just the Way It Is" should know that Tupac STOLE the title, chorus, and music from Mr. Hornsby himself. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Anyway, I normally don't feature lyrics here, but I think these can stand on their own, without the accompaniment of song.

Mandolin Rain
(Bruce Hornsby)

The song came and went
Like the times that we spent
Hiding out from the rain under the carnival tent
I laughed and she'd smile
It would last for a while
You don't know what you got till you lose it all again

Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Listen to my heart break
Every time she runs away
Listen to the banjo wind
A sad song drifting low
Listen to the tears roll
Down my face as she turns to go

A cool evening dance
Listening to the bluegrass band takes the chill
From the air till they play the last song
I'll do my time
Keeping you off my mind
But there's moments that I find
I'm not feeling so strong

Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Listen to my heart break
Every time she runs away
Listen to the banjo wind
A sad song drifting low
Listen to the tears roll
Down my face as she turns to go

Running down by the lakeshore
She did love the sound of a summer storm
It played on the lake like a mandolin
Now it's washing her away once again

The boat's steaming in
I watch the sidewheel spin
And I think about her when I hear that whistle blow
I can't change my mind
I knew all the time
That she'd go
But that's a choice I made long ago

Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Listen to my heart break
Every time she runs away
Listen to the banjo wind
A sad song drifting low
Listen to the tears roll
Down my face as she turns to go

Booking My Time

Turns out I've been so busy watching TV that I neglected to properly prepare myself for the arrival of this book. I've barely started The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and I wanted to wait until things settled down before I delved into Chris's masterpiece. Plus, I was hoping to re-read The Order of the Phoenix so that I wouldn't be all, "Huh? When did that happen?" for book six. This dilemma wouldn't seem so gigantic if I liked reading three or four novels at a time. But I don't. I like to savor a book I'm reading, the page I'm on, the universe I'm lost in. I like to go back and review chapters, stew over a plot. In other words, take my sweet time.

So, my options are to keep on as I've been (complaining but doing nothing), drop everything for Harry, or dive into all three universes with a vengeance. I'm sure option number two will win. I hate the idea of missing out on all the hoopla, and if I wait, I just know that all the secrets of number six will be revealed on the Internet, thus cheating me out of a proper Harry experience. C.S. Lewis and Chris will just have to understand. This is the only situation where it's perfectly appropriate for a twenty-five-year-old woman to surrender herself to a (now) sixteen-year-old boy.

Samantha's wedding shower is this Saturday, and I am trying my best to wrap up all the details. Centerpieces, menus, RSVPs, touching up my roots and deciding what to wear.... It's going to be a long week.

Murder She Watched

Tonight Luke and I were hangin' out at the Wal-Mart when I stumbled across the complete first season of this on DVD. Ah, memories. Before there was Monk, there was a sixty-plus-old Nancy Drew fighting crime and fueling her writing with it. When I was a kid and had very little of a life during the summer, my grandma and I spent many a night watching Angela Lansbury in action via reruns on USA. When that wasn't enough, it was Miss Marple. (We also played The Legend of Zelda, held marathon Yahtzee sessions, and devoured Dominicks-brand gummy worms. Who doesn't love Yahtzee, right?) I was so in love with mystery-solving that I seriously considered becoming an FBI agent in high school (I suppose that was also partly due to Jodi Foster's stellar performance in The Silence of the Lambs). The fascination ended when I learned getting in required taking the GRE and picking up a foreign language. Take THAT, the Man!

Because the collection was pushing 40 dollars, I left the store Angela-free. However, I did walk away with Cathy Dennis's debut album for only seven bucks. Because? When a CD has "C'Mon and Get My Love" and "Touch Me (All Night Long)" on it, what else are you supposed to do? Now I can finally chuck the tape.

A Funny

I just have to say that, for the last couple of weeks, that Sonic commercial has totally been cracking my stuff up. It's the one where two guys are in a drive-thru, and Guy 1 orders a wuh-rap.

Guy 2: the "w's" silent.

Guy 1: Why would a "w" be silent?

Guy 2:It just is. You know, like wrench?

Guy 1: WUH-rench.

Guy 2: You've been saying wuh-rench?

Guy 1: Yeah. I think you've been saying it wuh-WRONG.

HA! Gets me every time.

Poor Phil Collins

While watching one of my many recorded TV shows yesterday, I found myself tuning in to a commercial advertising the newest Phil Collins compilation. The CD features about 20 Collins classics from the '80s to today. And if that's not enough to sell you, ordering NOW qualifies you to receive a FREE CD opener.

When a once mad-famous pop artist resorts to selling CDs on television, that's sad enough. But when the biggest incentive to buy a CD is a cheesy freebie, it's time to bury the musical hatchet and become a wedding singer.

That being said, I adore Phil Collins, and the majority of his songs can be found on the soundtrack to my childhood. I wrote many of my Randy Wooten love poems to his 1990 hit "Do You Remember?"

Poor Randy Wooten.

A Kiss By Any Other Name...

So there I was on this quiet Sunday, lounging around in my comfy PeaceFrog pajama pants, catching up with my family via telephone back in Chicago. When my 16-year-old brother gets the phone, we talk about school, home life and, at my prompting, his love life. I asked Geo if he had a girlfriend: "Not a girlfriend...." After some more coaxing, I finally get out of him the fact that while he's not courting any special lady, he does have lady friends. For, you know....

"For what?" I said."Making out?"

"Making out?" he cried, and had a hearty laugh at my ignorant expense. "That's from like the fifties." And laughed again when I told him I didn't kick it with a homie until I was 15.

"But he was 18, so that made me cool, right?" I asked.

His reply: "What's with you and all these old guys?"

So, peeps, in case you don't have the 411 on current lingo trends, know that if there's a boy or girl in your life that you kiss often but do not officially date, the two of you are kickin' it. When I was 11, I referred to it as "necking" because that's what Jeffrey Osborn called it in "Baby, Stay With Me Tonight." (And I was denied access to rap because it was dirty. I mean, do you hear some of the stuff they play on the Lite?)

While I may be out of the language loop, my parents have had at least one teenager in the house since 1993, so they're on the up and up. Mom closed our time together with "Word to your mother." ("You know that's you, right?" I told her.)

My dad? "Represent."

I so love my family.

Frema Fifteen

This collection of musical genius just about sums me up. I'll let you decide why.

"Soul Bossa Nova" - Quincy Jones Orchestra

"Mmmbop" - Hanson

"All For You" - Sister Hazel

"These Are Days" - 10,000 Maniacs

"As I Lay Me Down" - Sophie B. Hawkins

"Closer to Fine" - Indigo Girls

"Penny Lover" - Lionel Ritchie

"Jealousy" - Liz Phair

"Alone" - Lisa Loeb

"So Much to Say" - Dave Matthews Band

"I Like the Way (The Kissing Game)" - Hi-Five

"Addicted to Love" - Robert Palmer

"Never Gonna Give You Up" - Rick Astley

"I Touch Myself" - The Divinyls

"Don't Worry Be Happy" - Bobby McFarren

Warning: Expect more awesomely bad lists in the future.

My Favorite Redhead

Recently, I've rediscovered that famous girl detective Nancy Drew. I'm in the middle of reading the first release of the original hardback series, The Secret Of The Old Clock, and I didn't remember how dated these ones actually were. With the first copyright issued in the 1930's, it's no wonder that Nancy wears gloves, carries a pocketbook, uses a vocabulary that includes "shan't," and solves all her cases in pants suits and dresses. She also seems to rescue every person she comes into contact with, and her departure is always sorely missed. In the revised series issued in the 80's and 90's, she is revamped to fit into that time period, discovering jeans and colloquial language. She's also allowed to have a boyfriend. There was a recent article that announced yet another Nancy Drew unveiling. I wonder what they've done to her this time.

Allow Me To Go Geek For A Minute...

...because I am sick to death of hearing comments about how Daniel Radcliffe, the actor who plays Harry Potter, is too old for the role. If they would take a few minutes to do the research, they would find out that Radcliffe was 11 when the filming of the first movie began - the same age as Harry in the first book. They would also know that he was 14 during the filming of the fourth movie, the same age that Harry is in the book.

They knock him for showing clear signs of puberty in the movie. He's 13! Voices change! Hair grows in places we don't talk about! What do they expect?! Radcliffe is experiencing the same changes we see Harry grapple with in the books. His portrayal does not take away from Harry's character - if anything, it enhances it. Furthermore, I would be outraged if they ditched the actor for a younger-looking Harry. Our favorite wizard does grow up, people! If you don't believe me, READ THE BOOKS!

And... I'm done.

In other news, I am watching (and thoroughly enjoying) "Sex and the City" on TBS. One of the characters just said "blow job." Our little basic cable station is growing up.

P.S. I never realized how sexy Sarah Jessica Parker is. What a great head of hair. If only she'd ditch the cigarettes....