Sundays with Stretchy Pants

I took the girls rollerskating yesterday with the homeschool group and I was surprised to find that the roller rink did not play “Pac-Man Fever” or “Freeze Frame.” I know, right? Back in my day, those songs were the go-to skating songs. I must have been a little young because I remember being disgusted whenever “Open Arms” would start to play. Disgusting! All the teenagers holding hands or skating with their hands in each other’s back pockets (”Here, let me move my comb to my other back pocket so you can put your hand in that one.”) Disgusting!

The roller rink I went to back then was about 30 minutes away from where I grew up and it seems like every weekend I went skating with my friend Melinda and her family. It couldn’t have been every weekend, though, because that would’ve made for an awesome childhood and it would have totally compensated for all of the benign neglect and outright abandonment that has contributed to my issues that some people say I have today. It was probably only a few times, but those are some of the best memories I have. Sometimes Melinda’s brother Jeremy even chose his best friend Bryan to go with him, but not often. (Not good with the wheely sports, that one.) That’s ok, though, because I had yet to realize what a catch Bryan would be and I was there to skate with MELINDA! (Ok, I might have had a little crush on Jeremy back then, but that had more to do with proximity than anything else. I see that now.)

I might be projecting a little bit, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who had fun yesterday. Lena, Liberty and Maya got right out there and kept at it, fall after fall, big ol’ grins on their faces. At one point, Lena said to me, “Do you feel young, Mama?” Nothing gets past that girl. I answered her with, “Who you callin’ ‘Mama’?” And then I skated away and pretended I didn’t know her. Next time I’m bringing a comb for my back pocket. And maybe some pom pons for my skates.

Related posts

• Sick. Need Peach Hi-C. (6)
• Weekend Fun (5)
• Things I’ve Smiled About Today (7)
• Oh, Children (10)
• New Bedrooms, Old Memories (8)

Ohio’s primaries are tomorrow and I’m still undecided. I’m going to try to definitely decide who to vote for before I vote. I think that’s a good plan. I have goodies from each side because I went to the gallery hop with Alissa and Amy to see Sharon’s and Melissa’s awesome arts all up on display Saturday night (Yay!), and both Hillary’s and Obama’s people were out and about on opposite sides of the street, chanting at each other and everything. It was so cool and so very big city! On the west side of the street, I was sure I was voting for Hillary. The volunteers gave us all stickers and they even gave me three extras for each of my little girls (cuz Hillary’s a girl, you know). Then we ended up on the east side of the street where Obama’s volunteers gave us some stickers *and* a button! A Button! So I wore both stickers and the button and I was confused. And then when I got home and tried to take the stickers off of my sweater, Hillary’s stuck like a mother effer, and Obama’s came off super easy. I keep trying to read more into that. Like political tea leaves or something.

Anyway, I gave the girls their super cool Hillary stickers today. Maya ended up with all of them because Lena and Liberty informed me that they were voting for Obama.

Me: Why Obama?

Lena: Cuz he’s black.

Me: Well, Hillary’s a woman.

Liberty: (excitedly) If there was a black woman, I would pick her! Besides, Hillary already got to live in the White House and Obama never did yet.

I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that same argument on Meet the Press or something.

Related posts

• Well, fine. Whatever. (2)
• Sick. Need Peach Hi-C. (6)
• Weekend Fun (5)
• We’re Supposed to do Things Right? (10)
• Pac-Man Fever (6)

My very talented friend Dawn is doing some important work in the world of adoption and she has a survey up at her website, openadoptionsupport.com. Help her and the adoption community out by clicking on the link and filling it out if it applies to you. It applies to you if you are an adoptee, an adoptive parent, a parent by birth whose child was adopted, or a family member of a parent by birth whose child was adopted. Don’t dick around with it if it doesn’t apply to you (you know who you are, and Dawn’s like a drug dog for idiots. If you’re an idiot, she will sniff you out and then you’ll go to jail for dicking around with her very important survey. It could happen.)

Related posts

• Yes We Can (wear matching t-shirts)! (5)
• Weird Dreams (4)
• Weekend Fun (5)
• We’re Supposed to do Things Right? (10)
• Things I Love So F*cking Much (2)

My very first favorite song was Beth by Kiss. And then I had Peter Criss, Ace Frehley, and Paul Stanley for imaginary friends. Never Gene Simmons, ew. I was maybe 3? I don’t know, but I loved that song and I remember loving and singing* that song over and over. Only I said “Beff.” I’m sure I was pants-shittingly adorable. My brother would’ve been 10ish at the time and he had what turned out to be a life-long habit of playing all kinds of awful music very loudly out of his very dark and scary and stinky bedroom. He had all the most hideous posters and I swear that room gave off an aura of evil. I was so afraid of it that it occupied many, many hours in which my imagination would run away with all of the evils that could befall a person who went in there all alone. But I would enter when Beff was on the stereo. I had to have been introduced to it from the Double Platinum album because I remember being upset when I found out that the same freaks that were on the cover of Destroyer were the ones who were singing my precious song. But then, my brother also had their solo albums and I fell in love with Peter, Ace and Paul through those lovely headshots with the colored backlighting. So rad. (That probably wasn’t even a word back then, but still). I loved looking at Paul’s album so much because it was purple and I just couldn’t resist making it even more beautiful by sticking a grape scratch ‘n sniff sticker on it (sorry Mikey). But, just for the record, Peter was always my favorite because he looked like a kitty cat.

So, for the handful of you that read this thing, I demand that you tell me your very first favorite song. Just for fun.

*I’m sure I knew the lyrics because I’ve always been good at knowing lyrics for some reason. Bryan, on the other hand, is so much the opposite in that regard. In fact, when I told him I was blogging about Beth he immediately started singing, “Beth I hear you crying and I’ll be right there for you…just a few more hours and I’ll see you through and through,” when I shook my head at him he was really all like, “That’s not right?” and omigod I almost stabbed him.

Related posts

• Is There Something on My Face? (6)
• Busy, Busy, Dreadfully Busy (13)
• Budget Schmudget (2)
• Weirdness (4)
• We’re Back, Y’all! (7)

I walked down the aisle to These are the Days by Van Morrison. I wanted to walk down the aisle to That’s How Strong My Love is by Otis Redding and have the bridesmaids walk to the Van Morrison, but I was talked out of that by an important member of my groom’s family who told me that some people in the family might not be able to handle hearing a black man sing me down the aisle. This is where we come from and we’re ashamed that we gave in. Here’s the irony: It was so important to us that we walk down to the Otis Redding song, that Bryan actually remembers the wedding happening that way. He told me tonight that he has it embedded so deep in his brain that I walked down the aisle to that particular song, that he has actually told people that that was our wedding song. And yet we caved to the racism. Wow. We were very, very weak when we were 20. That’s just another reason people shouldn’t get married at that age. The primary reason being that you don’t really know what to register for and so you don’t really get a lot of good gifts that are useful for your lifetime and whatnot. Because you’re 20 and you can still eat at The Malt Shop without dire side effects like your pancreas bleeding, and you don’t understand the value of a really good set of knives that you didn’t register for, but a wise old family member bought you anyway, but you took them back and got the cash in order to have more money to spend at the Malt Shop. Because you’re 20. And you know best. *sigh* This post will probably be edited tomorrow.

Related posts

• Things I Love So F*cking Much (2)
• Some Good TV (6)
• Pac-Man Fever (6)
• Our Parents Are Old (10)
• Oh, Children (10)

I just want to say, just like Liberty, I’m very excited for Thanksgiving. We have friends coming to run the Turkey Trot, then we’ll be eating, drinking, and lazing around. What’s not to love? No gifts, no decorating, no pressure. Lots of busyness with the shopping and chopping and cooking and baking, but that’s not pressure. That’s just preparation for feasting. Feasting is my favorite.
I’m extra happy to run the sweet, sweet 5 miles of the Turkey Trot after my last pressure-filled race debacle. Running and I have a precarious relationship that was very much in danger of ending during the summer and early fall. It goes against all of my sports needs: I have no chance of winning, there’s no ball, there’s no one to run away from, there’s no goal to run toward (intrinsic goals don’t count for anything), there’s no opponent to mock (because I have no chance of winning). Also, the really, really good runners look anorexic, and I have a sturdy body type more suited for sports like softball and beer bonging. Anyway, running and I are hesitant with each other at best, so I’m glad to be experiencing some excitement about the Turkey Trot because I feared that the 1/2 marathon might have taken all of the fun out of it. It didn’t. Yay. Happy Thanksgiving!

Related posts

• We’re Supposed to do Things Right? (10)
• Sick. Need Peach Hi-C. (6)
• Oprah Heard My Prayers (2)
• Let’s Stay Together (10)
• I’m a Gallery Hopping Vote Hopper (3)

I’m more of a 10K kind of girl. I know this now.I ran the 1/2 marathon here in Columbus yesterday. It was a gorgeous day and the race route was awesome and my great friend Mechelle came down to run the marathon and we had tons of fun together except for the part where we ran farther than sane people should. I did better than I expected at 2:28:26, but the mental mind-f*ck that is required for somebody like me to run 13.1 miles was something I was unprepared for. I had a great first 6 miles, beating my previous 10K (6.2 miles) and 5-miler times by a healthy margin. I was feeling good physically, but once I hit that 6 mile point, my mind said, “Good, only 7.1 more to go……..What the hell do you mean only 7.1 more to go? Is that 7.1 more miles or yards? ‘Cuz I can totally do 7.1 more yards, but miles is going to be iffy.”

I had 2 goals for this race: 1. Run it in under 3 hours. Check. My other goal was to not walk at all for the entire way. No matter how slow I had to jog, I just wanted to keep it at a jog. This goal was going well until the water station between miles 9 and 10, where I let myself walk to get my drink. Just to get my drink! All of the other runners were slowing to a walk at the drink tables, so I figured it must be part of protocol. So I grabbed my water, breathed a pathetic thank you to the best race volunteers ever and slowed to a walk, at which point my legs said something like, “Good luck getting us to speed up to a run again, sucker!” After that, I walked, ran, walked, ran, and begged my brain to tell my legs to run. My brain kept saying, “How ’bout I just make sure the rest of your organs keep on a-workin’ for you, ‘k?” At the last mile, I was ready to run and I did. I ran the last mile. I ran across the finish line. I got my medal, I got my warming blanket, I got a banana, a water, and two asiago cheese bagels from Panera. And I took comfort in the fact that I was done. I waited for the elation and the thrill of accomplishment to wash over me, but all I kept thinking was, that was too f*cking far. Who runs that far? Why would anybody do that? And why would anybody run twice that far? It doesn’t make sense! In fact, I think running that far is a sign of psychological illness (no offense Mechelle). There’s just no reason to run that far unless you’re trying to outrun, say, a lion or something. No, even then, I think I would rather be eaten. Yes, I would honestly rather be mauled by a lion (it would have to be a very slow, and maybe even an injured, 3-legged lion with arthritis) than have to run 13.1 miles to safety.

It’s just good to know these things about myself.

Related posts

• Nuffin’ (6)
• Weirdness (4)
• We’re Supposed to do Things Right? (10)
• We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it! (2)
• Ugh. (4)

Breastfeeding is legal? In Public? But, but, there are breasts and feeding involved. Offensive.Ha ha on you, Fossil, Inc. I’m glad that this case went beyond your typical staged nurse-in with media coverage. I’m glad this mom threatened to sue and I’m glad she walked away with a little bit of compensation from Fossil. It does get me wondering, though, if this kind of thing will stop happening any time soon. Every time there is a publicized case like this, I tend to think, “There, now we’re done with that nonsense.” Um, rose-colored glasses anybody? In my many, many years of baring my breasts for the purpose of sustaining life or, quite frankly, to get a kid to just be quiet for a minute, I was never asked to leave anywhere and I never even endured any mean looks or comments (well, except maybe from family and/or friends and/or other people in the privacy of my own and/or their own home, but that’s to be expected. Ahem). And more than half of my breastfeeding years were spent in a very small town where that kind of thing is just not typical. It’s a little bit shocking to me that this particular case happened in a Manhattan show room. I would think a big city would be the last place a breastfeeding mother would have to endure that kind of harrassment. Small towns, excuse me, some small towns are not typically tolerant of people who do things a little bit differently. Maybe that’s the difference. A small town might have its hands full bitching at the librarian for asking if it would be a problem if she put the award-winning book And Tango Makes Three on the shelf*, so they wouldn’t have time to wig out about public breastfeeding. I wonder if there is a master list somewhere that ranks the wig-out worthiness of these offensive things. Maybe I was never harrassed for breastfeeding at, say, the library in my hometown because the people who would have harrassed me were too busy scouring the shelves for gay penquin porn. GASP! “There’s that Aldrich girl breastfeeding one of her toddlers right here in the library! I’m gonna give her a whatfor. Wait, let me look at the list:
1. Gays
2. Protestants
3. Breastfeeding mothers
4. Murderers”

Who knows? Maybe I was saved by that list on more than one occasion.

*Last time I was visiting family, I attended the hometown book club with my very special friend Mechelle and the librarian asked us what we thought about having that book on the shelf. It’s pretty sad that she had to ask, but it’s super extra sad that one mother (speaking for the majority there) said with a shudder, “I wouldn’t want to explain that to my 4 year old!” Irony of ironies, the book we were actually discussing at the book club was Maus. Well, I thought it was ironic anyway and I had lots of trouble restraining myself from drawing comparisons between this mom’s ideology and that of Hitler’s. It was tough, but I held back. I want it noted that I held back even after she implied that the fact that I don’t have a problem with homosexuality is because my mom is, um, more active socially** than her saintly mother. Huh? I know, it was hard for me to follow too. And it was hard for me to not stand up and say, “Oh, you did not just bring my mama into this!” and stuff. That would’ve been very Jerry Springer of me and that is where I draw the line.

**In this case I’m using the phrase “active socially” with a wink and a nudge. I’m not talking about volunteerism and stuff like that. Just wanted to clear that up.

ETA: If this story leaves you with an overwhelming urge to donate a copy of And Tango Makes Three to this library, do not hesitate to contact me and I will get you the info. I’m donating a copy with a bookplate inside that says “In honor of God and The Holy Spirit who, with the help of their surrogate, Mary, were able to become fathers to their beloved baby Jesus. Amen.”

Related posts

• For the Sake of the Children (9)
• Ugh. (4)
• Tongueless (2)
• Things I Love So F*cking Much (2)
• Some Good TV (6)

I want to thank Nikki and Elizabeth for introducing me to Buckeye Donuts. You guys are assholes. Seriously, I really needed to know of a donut shop that delivers on orders over 5 bucks. I mean, I can eat 5 dollars worth of donuts all by myself so it’s never really a matter of, “Hmm…I’d like a donut, but I don’t really want to go so close to campus to get the best donut ever made, but I don’t want to order $5 worth and have them deliver them. Oh well, I guess I’ll just eat this asparagus instead.” No, it’s more like, “Want donut! Call donut place now!” They really need to up the delivery minimum to, say, $20. That might make me think twice. And hey, Columbus, can we put the word “buckeye” in even more place names around here? Because I’m not sure you’re supporting OSU enough. Buckeye Donuts, Buckeye Auto Glass, Buckeye Cabinetry & Refinishing, Buckeye Laser Printer, Buckeye Drink Your Face Off Bar (north), Buckeye Drink Your Face Off Bar (south), Buckeye Temple, First Unitarian Buckeye Church of the Buckeyes. I get it, Columbus loves them some OSU. It’s sweet. And by “sweet” I mean really annoying to wolverines like me. There are even State Farm Insurance billboards that say, “In case you hit a wolverine.” That’s not funny. We’re not afraid of you! And what kind of a mascot is a buckeye anyway? “Oh no, it’s a buckeye! Watch out, it’s poisonous and you might get a tummy ache or a rash!” Do you know what happens if you come across a wolverine? It eats your face and you never get it back. That’s all I’m saying.

Related posts

• Nuffin’ (6)
• Things I Love So F*cking Much (2)
• Sick. Need Peach Hi-C. (6)
• Oprah Heard My Prayers (2)
• Let’s Stay Together (10)