Monday, January 30, 2006

Burberry Batman

My mom bought be a Burberry plaid wool wrap from Italy. I love wearing it--it makes me feel cozy and fasionable. (Not many things can do that!) I wore it all through my chemo, too. It goes on like a serape--think Clint Eastwood in The Good, THe Bad, and The Ugly. (Did you know his character's name in that was Blondie? Thanks IMDB!)

I was riding home on BART one night, and two young men asked if it was Burberry. I replied it was a knockoff, which started a conversation amongst my fellow passengers, with one fashionista tapping me on the arm, saying in a low voice, " Never admit it's not real, sweetheart."

On BART at 9pm? Yeah, right.

This started another car-wide conversation on the wisdom of wearing high-dollar brands on public transportation.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

I finally discovered people who find the name of Lick-Wilmerding High School as amusing as I do! This high school is visible from the highway as you're coming into the city, and it never fails to amuse me and I don't even know what their mascot is. The NPR show Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me heckled a caller from San Francisco who works there during their January 14, 2005 show.
Wardrobe malfunction

Today I had a wardrobe malfunction. Nothing too critical--just failed pantyhose elastic, but with all the walking I did from building to building, I spent many elevator rides hitching them up.
Mid-morning I was riding up the elevator with the admin for our group. She was wearing a belly-baring shirt and low rise pants, showing off her jutting hipbones and flat belly. I'm standing next to her feeling old old old as I'm feeling my pantyhose slip downward.

Pantyhose! Yes, I wear them. Not tights, but pantyhose. I remember when pantyhose came in plastic eggs and the best color was SUNTAN. Does that make me old? I wear a WATCH, after all, and wearing a watch and pantyhose has got to mark me as oh-so-over. The only thing worse would have to be pleated pants.

Speaking of eggs, I found a melted chocolate egg in the pocket of a jacket I hadn't worn in ages. Well, since last Easter, anyway. I like how all my clothes seem new to me, since they haven't been worn in ages. And I know I like them (or at least liked them at some point). The fit is another story, though. If I'd just lose that last x pounds, then they'd all fit a bit better.

One last digression. Speaking of clothes, in technology (like many other fields) clothes say a lot. There was an ad plastered all over San Francisco during the JavaOne conference that says: "I write Java & I'm NOT wearing pants." (You can see one here.) Do you know why? BECAUSE I'M WEARING A SKIRT.
Fistful of poo

Lucy wound up with fistful of unidentified poo. Yes, my thumb-sucking daughter ended up with a handful of crap. Not sure whose it was, either. How does this happen? Well, you're coming home with her in the stroller on a rainy day, and you park the stroller in front of the house, pick up the child and get the mail. Then you drop the mail, and you squat down to pick it up with your right arm while the baby is in your left arm. And you notice that on your left, under the baby, there's some poo. You grab the mail, transfer it to your left hand, and use your right hand to ensure that no poo is on you. It's not, but you can smell it because IT'S ON THE MAIL. Your child grabs for it, and you walk up the stairs, telling your husband at the top of the stairs, that you smell poo and it must be on your shoes. He takes the baby and says, yes, he can smell it too. Then he can smell it A LOT, and looks down and sees that it's on his shirt--and in the baby's hand! Eeeeeeew! Bedlam erupts. Strip the baby, strip the husband, run the bath, start the laundry. Later, you still smell the poo and search for it--sniff shoes, bag, coat, etc. Then you go through the mail and find it--poo sandwiched between two letters. Nothing I'm going to read anymore!

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Oncology visit today, just the poke-n-prod kind. I have another (and final) full body PET/CT scan scheduled for June. Today's visit was a good one--everything looks great! Gotta start those mammograms, but otherwise it was all good news. The amusing part was the weigh-in. Everyone commented on how I'd lost weight since my last visit, and isn't that great? Yeah, but I was two months post-partum at that point. If we were just looking at the numbers, I've lost even more weight since my visit before that! (Because I was six months pregnant at that visit.)

Monday, January 16, 2006

Back at it

I'm back at work. Part-time, consulting for a large company in downtown San Francisco. I don't want to be Dooce'd, so I'll say about work is consultants are not called into functioning companies. But this one is the closest to functioning as they get. People are really, really nice. And, in the tradition, they have free drinks, My favorite is the bubbly water--there's a lot of burping in my future. Another difference? My New Order Blue Monday ring tone is completely embarassing at the office. Couple that with my inability to silence the ring on my new phone, and you've got a great first impression.

Conor and Lucy are handling it well--askk me again in a few months. But with two drop-offs, I've been spending way too much energy just getting to work. And rushing to pick up Conor before school closes is my idea of hell. Of course, it's a hell of my own making.

Sometimes I feel like I ought to get credit for just getting to work. And then I need to do actual work? I feel like a duck--calm on top and frantically paddling to make sure I stay afloat.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Bring your family to work day

I didn't see much footage, but heard a lot about the Judge Alito hearings, with family in the first row. Why? I mean, I can see bringing the wife and kids (because it is always the wife and kids) to the swearing in. Otherwise, where would John Roberts' kid show off how he can bust a move? But there is no way that a woman with kids could get a fair shake at a hearing like this with her husband and kids there. First of all, if there wasn't a nanny, their would be whispers of Mr. Mom (and constant interruptions from the kids, unless they were glued to DVD players, in which case the wrath would descend on her). If there was a nanny, there'd be comments about what kind of mother needs a nanny. You can't win--you can't even be at the table unless you forgo your family for the job. Husband? Kids? Just be a reminder that she has other things to do. No one would ever say that about a man.

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