my little mexican
well. it's done. i've split up with my babydaddy. reasons are unimportant, let's just say it's the only way for joey to have two happy parents. i hope both of us take our half of the responsibility in that very seriously because a little boy's stability is at stake.
you know what totally fucking sucks? you grow up with this idea in your head of what a family ought to look like. you have these fantasies of meeting this amazing man who sweeps you off of your feet and treats you like nothing else on earth matters. and then you imagine him proposing to you, somewhere romantic, something memorable and you're so head over heels in love, you say yes. then you imagine a few years devoted to that relationship, just fun and love and happiness. eventually you get around to starting a family and the pregnancy announcement is exciting and happy and joyful and the baby comes and everyone is happy and oozing with love for this little kid, and then we all ride off into the prozac'd sunset.
right. instead we have an oops with the roommate, try to make a go of it for the kid's sake, but cohesion between the two of us is elusive, impossible, nonviable, unworkable, just slightly out of reach at best. the minute i knew i was pregnant and realized i was happy, no, excited about it, i realized, life just fucking happens as it happens and we have to make the best of it.
the upside to all of this is, of course, my angelic little boy who i love more than anything i could ever have imagined. little joe is now the main man that owns my heart. and fuck am i lucky for it.
pequeñas cosas
Executing Jeffrey Hill, their nephew, their brother, their cousin, would only bring Emma's family more pain.
Commuting his sentence to life harms no one. It would be a tremendous act of mercy and grace, one this family surely deserves.
Don't add to pain for Emma Dee Hill's family: Regina Brett - Regina Brett, Plain Dealer Columnist - cleveland.comwhen the family of the murder victim beg for the murderer's life, the system can no longer claim that killing him is about justice. they cannot even kid themselves that it is about justice ( i never believe it is in the first place). when the family of the murder victim beg for the murderer's life, killing him can only be interpreted as pure, cold-blooded sadistic slaughter.
&
a new blog on innocence:
http://blogs.luc.edu/afterinnocence/
"I had a 14-month-old baby," said 45-year-old JoAnn Taylor, who spent 19 years in prison. "I was told they'd make me the first female on death row."
5 pardoned after wrongful conviction in Nebraska - MSNBC Wire Services- msnbc.comthat's fucking awesome. the american justice system: tearing apart families since 1776.
SPEAKING OF WHICH. i have started a petition that i'm going to send to Obama about the price of prison calls. please sign it. whether you give a fuck about convicts or not, you have to agree that punishing their innocent families by charging them 20 bucks for every 15 minute call from their loved one, is fucking insane. sign the goddamned thing.
http://www.thepetitionsite.com/3/lower-the-cost-of-calls-from-prison
harpo
oprah is a whole new experience on mute. i mean, you can't hear any of the little idiocies she's likely spewing, but you just know she is and it's irritating because even though you can't hear it, you still want her to stop saying stupid fucked up shit. but you can't turn it off because she's waving her arms around like she always does and on mute you can make up stories about why she's doing this. "today on oprah: oprah teaches her guests how to cast spells that will make you so filthy rich you'll be able to BUY the bird flu" and then there would be a quick shot of oprah swinging her arms around with her pucker mouth yapping "blah blah abracadabra don't eat that krispy kreme dooby dooby doooo i have massive thighs and voila!" and stacks of money would appear on the couch in between her and tom cruise who is just jumping up and down yelling "i spent more money than that on my baby's sonar. oprah you suck. you should take ritalin." and oprah would yell, "ritalin for everyone!! it's under your chairs" and all the middle-aged fat couch surfing bitches in the audience would squeal like the fucking world was ending and they just realized that their suck level has caused them to live their entire lives right up to this last day as starving fat virgins who think fucking macrame and holiday themed sweater vests are the bomb shit. they all have revelations as they reach for their ritalin, "i totally fucking suck and my life is worthless" and they down the whole bottle of ritalin and audience members start dropping like flies, one by one, with a thunderous thud and oprah just waves her arms again and, in a cloud of smoke, everything goes back to normal except everyone's shoving white castle hamburgers in their mouths.
what the fuck?
waxing kerouac
most people don't know this about me, but i have a thing for the trumpet. that's putting it mildly. when shit sucks i play wynton marsalis, clifford brown, louis armstrong, arturo sandoval... i feel like i'm in a kerouac novel. and that's a damned fine place to be. especially if that novel is the dharma bums. cause that's my favorite book of all time and i can often be seen with my worn out bent up copy folded in my hand, just waitin to bust out the line about ma wink fallopian tubes and read about ruck sacks and tin cups on the side of railroad tracks and sittin in smoky jazz clubs in san francisco. that's where you should chill, sf. i'm all about it.
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an old email from ashleigh
i was going through some old shit and found this email from squishers:
i had this weird dream last night...
i won this like freaking HUGE mansion place with like 10 stories, secret behind wall passages, and weird star trek-esque elevator thingys. you came over, and then mike showed up. and then these bizarre groups of socialites and pompous assholes showed up for like no reason and started having a dinner party. they kept trying to make me "rub shoulders" with them and i was having none of it.
so you, mike, and i snuck into one of the secret passages in the wall, only it was like the goonies. (i think it might be possible you havent seen the goonies) so let me elaborate. it was like we were in really old caverns, with obstacles and danger lurking around every corner. think indiana jones and the last crusade. so we are navigating through all of these perils, working like a sci-fi team, when all of a sudden we reach the "cha-lax" room.
we open the door and go into this room which is all beanbag chairs and funny shag carpeting. all the snack foods you can imagine are casually laying about. so we decide to play virtual reality games. (remember we are in my uber crazy mansion) which just so happens to be hooked up with all the craziest, top of the line, VR fun time having, equipment...??? god i have no idea.
anyways, you and i are playing virtual reality SUMO wrestling. (and i have to tell you it is one of the funniest things i have ever dreamed.) we have the ridiculous head gear on, with the wires and sensors all over our bodies, but there is a screen that mike is watching to see what our VR experience is, and somehow they have morphed yours and mines faces onto these huge sumo bodies. and everything we are saying while playing is said by our faces on the screen. it is hard to explain but lets just say i wish i could master a way of dream sharing.
moving on, mike is sitting there in absolute hysterics and we are laughing too, when all of a sudden, (and i know this sounds funny, but in my dream we got absolutely TERRIFIED,) the VR breaks up. we take off our helmets and the screen mike has been watching flashes to a feed of this cold, sterile, medical like room. and here comes the kicker...
a form start to enter frame. the lighting at this point is awful as said form takes a seat onto the strategically places chair the person who has interrupted our sumo fun in non other than... super villain "francis" from pee wee's big adventure. otherwise know as mark holden. WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
and i cant explain how petrified we all were. he went on to say all this shit about how we offended all the snobby "ass bangers" downstairs, with our attitudes of us being better than them. he then tells us he is in the house and he is going to find us and make us "pay." the screen goes dead. and immediately we start freaking out. we are screaming, and in complete panic. i start yelling and shaking you. you finally snap out of it, and i turn to both you and mike and say, that we have to go find them before they sneak up on us.
after some convincing you eventually see my logic and we start the trek downstairs. we take a star trek elevator thingy and then we go back into the walls. we finally emerge just off of the kitchen which is like a warehouse in size. but all fancy. and they are there waiting. (francis and a gang of girls that reminded me of the misfits from jem) i tell you and mike to wait there, as i can now fly (???) and am going to go into the kitchen but stay above them in the air so they cannot get me.
the rest is all retarded and would take too long to type out, but the long and short of it is i end up getting stabbed in the side of my ribs several times. and just when i got stabbed, you started to barf. so mike decides that you need to have something easy on your stomach and goes to the fridge to make you a snack. and then i woke up.
haha. what an imagination. i miss getting emails like this from her. i just miss her.
Labels: ashleigh, ashleigh aston-moore
once i wrote to nada surf and ira elliot wrote back
i was organizing my hard drives today when i came across a letter i'd written to nada surf back in my twenty-somethings, a letter that ira elliot, the drummer for nada surf, responded to:
Me to Nada Surf :
warning : sad fan mail attempt
so there i was enjoying my day, sun and all. typical summer day, u know, searching for the mysterious disappearing river sax player, figuring my next great rent-paying stunt, 3 showers, a burrito and 80 windows over and over. then the phone. long distance to ottawa. my little dude, john. or juan to you folk apparently. turns out he saw my favorite band play and was quite gracious about asking first if it was ok to gush about how wonderful a time he had. of course, i had to know. "did they play 80 windows?", "beautifully" he said. and there began a night and early morning of sleepless frustration. i'm not one to send fan mail cause, well, music is all subjective and shit - the way i get it probably isn't the way you get it and vice versa, all that jazz. but i'm gonna have to bend my stupid little rule cause shit, john said he mentioned something about 80 windows being my favorite song and you all seemed surprised? that's just fucking ridiculous cause like i said to john, i'd give up all my past, present and future experiences seeing bands live just to see you guys play 80 windows once in a drunken stupor between two fat guys with gas. it is by far the most beautiful song ever written. ive listened to it in 3 states and one province and [insert more sunshine blown up asses here]. so, the moral of this story is, if you guys don't come to vancouver and play it for me i'll be forced to give up what little sanity i have left and build myself a giant hamster cage out in the woods where i'll rock back and forth day in and day out singing 80 windows to myself, trembling uncontrollably. please, for the love of sweet baby jesus... , come to vancouver [canada - some folks are just like "what's a vancouver?"]. we rarely have black ice out here on the west coast too so, u know, you dont have to worry about that. mild temps all year long. swear to Whoever. same climate as seattle. anyway, wasted enough time yakkin to strangers already. hasta luego [i fucking wish], courtney
and Ira wrote right the fuck back!:
so there i was answering email from teenagers the world over who
generally string together sentences like: "You guys fuckin' rawk. When
you gonna play here in Richmondburg? That would totally RAWK! Peace-
BoOtY KiNg." when i came upon your particularly sad fan mail attempt.
actually, i must admit that most nadasurf fan mail is fairly literate,
but yours was kinda like a love letter from lester bangs had he been
from vancouver (wherever the h-e-double hockeysticks that is) and filled
me with a wanderlust and an overwhelming desire to witness that two fat
guys scenario.(consider the sunshine blown and returned at this point.)
i'm still reeling from the trembling sweet baby jesus hamster cage
thing. anyway i suppose it's not completely out of the realm of
concievable possibilities that the nadasurf group might actually find
itself playing a rockshow (or as we call it in the business a "gig") in
this alleged vancouver of yours. it could be in the very near
future.i'll say no more. except to say thank you courtney for your
letter and we'll be there as soon as we can. ira
haha. fat guys with gas. i kill me.
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i'm impressed
WASHINGTON (CNN) -- President Barack Obama issued four executive orders Thursday to demonstrate a clean break from the Bush administration on the war on terror, including one requiring that the U.S. military detention facility at Guantanamo Bay be closed within a year.
A second executive order formally bans torture by requiring that the Army field manual be used as the guide for terror interrogations. The order essentially ends the Bush administration's CIA program of enhanced interrogation methods.
A third executive order establishes an interagency task force to lead a systematic review of detention policies and procedures and a review of all individual cases.
A fourth executive order delays the trial of Ali al-Marri, a legal U.S. resident who has been contesting his detention for more than five years as an enemy combatant in a military brig without the government bringing any charges against him.
Obama signs executive order to close Guantanamo Bay - CNN.comwow. the tides are turning people. this is the greatest thing a president has done since getting blowjobs in the oval office. this guy could be the real deal, kids.
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09
the microwave is flashing :09 at me. in the chaos of the evening ritual, i seem to have forgotten to reset the microwave timer. i know, you totally thought this was going to be a new year post. hah. fuck the new year.
it's 11pm. it feels like 3am. everyone is asleep. it's enchanting, being alone in a house full of sleeping people and puppies. it makes you feel like you're doing something secret. and so sometimes you try and find something to do that would be considered somewhat secret. although, the older you get, the less daringly secret these things become and the earlier this feeling of mischievous solitude occurs. y'know, cause daddy's and babies go to sleep a lot earlier than drunk twenty-somethings.
i used to be able to fill a whole night fucking around with computers, on the internet or phone. now, when i get that feeling like, "wow, alone time, what shall i do? i can do anything... but what?" i usually just end up watching some crappy movie or going to bed early. like tonight, i watched mirrors with keifer freakin sutherland. it was terrible. but it doesnt matter how bad a horror flick is, if you watch it alone, at night, you still become more aware of every little sound. suddenly the fridge's hum is louder, the palm leaves scratching your window a little creepier.
i don't know what i'm writing. i wish i could write what i want to write. too many people read this. apparently. i never knew until i wrote something stupid once... all of a sudden the world jumps on my back and i'm like, woah...? you all read this? why?
one of those secret things i considered, was starting a secret blog, under a pen name. so i could write what i want. but that's just fucking retarded. so i write it up and send it to mike. even though he never responds. my hope is that one day he will (and that on that day, the mexican post decides to be efficient).
and with that, i oughtta get to bed. my beautiful baby boy is an early riser and we have very necessary cuddles in the morning.
Labels: mike
barack obama - what a day!
watching the most historically relevant event of my time unfold on cnn is overwhelming. it's a mixture of hope, joy, and praying the day goes off without a hitch. this is it. this is the day we will remember forever. the day a black man became president with a 78% approval rating.
i dunno about you, but i was a bit of a history nerd and i grew up thinking i was born into a boring generation. a generation in which no real causes are being fought, like the civil rights movement or the anti-war demonstrations of the 60s. i always sort-of wished i'd been born back then.
now, i take that back. this is bigger than jfk and martin luther king. this is the biggest breakthrough for civil rights since slavery was abolished. this is bigger than the vietnam war, because he is replacing the most disgusting leader since hitler. this is bigger than anything my parents have lived through.
i still can't believe this is happening. i can't believe it happened in my lifetime. i feel so lucky to be alive right now.
congratulations, americans, on finally letting your voices be heard, on your first african american president and on the first day in a very, very long time the world is looking at you with envy.
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baby weight
man, seriously, leftover flab from pregnancy is the hardest to lose. especially when you work on the computer all day. i guess living in mexico makes it a little easier though, with the exception of the incessant drinking. living in an outdoor climate, 5 minutes from one of the most beautiful beaches in the world and having a pool right outside my sliding glass door are all great excuses to get some exercise. but still. jesus, my belly just hasn't done enough shrinking since joey's birth.
it's funny how acclimatized i am now to the caribbean weather. the other day it was 23 degrees celcius and i was working in my jeans and hoodie. if i was in vancouver and it was 23 degrees? i'd probably be in shorts and a t, unable to concentrate, thinking about the ice cold molson in the fridge. here, 23 degrees is hot toddy weather. screw an ice cold dos equis.
when i was in vancouver with joey in septemeber, i was bloody freezing. it was the end of summer, still sunny and warm for van, but i was just frozen the whole time. and it only got colder after i left - the deep freeze that occurred over christmas - good fucking christ, i don't know how people live in that climate!
you can always tell the tourists here. there are several blatant clues:
1. they are drinking corona. no self-respecting quintana roo resident still drinks corona. hold the lime too.
2. they're the ones who, at bad boys beach bar saturday night, were not dressed in pants and hoodies. instead they were wearing shorts and tank tops.
3. they are also the ones who listen, joyfully, to the mariachi bands and then stand there questioningly when they finish a song, not realizing they owe the band $20 for their performance.
ahh it's fuckin' cold today too.
i'm a goddammned mommy
fuck. it's been a long time. seriously, i've probably lost all two of my readers. a lot has happened though. let's see if i can do it all justice in a 3 second recap:
my son was born on august 25th. he is the most beautiful thing i have ever seen. he was 7lbs 7oz (i know, the quantum field is riddled with 77 energy by now though, so it's no surprise). he has the most beautiful blue eyes. he is a happy baby. as i write this he is at my side in his bouncy chair squealing in delight at the bears that hang from it. he puts the gerber baby to shame. he is especially beautiful. i know that everyone says that about their kid, but he is honestly the most cherubic creature i have ever seen. an absolute angel.
we had him at hospiten riviera maya, here in playa del carmen, mexico. the only downside of which was the fact that we had to pay for it. otherwise, an amazing experience. the doctor gave us more attention than any canadian is used to - it's funny, when i first went in for an ultrasound, he didn't send me away with a sample of advil and tell me to come back in two weeks if it still hurt. i was like, a-say-what? then quickly remembered i was in mexico - doctors actually serve a purpose here! doctoring! amazing! our room was like a room in a 5 star hotel, we had like 9 or 10 nurses waiting on us hand and foot, we got a little care packag with slippers and toothbrushes and toothpaste and shit. am i having a baby or are we flying first class on singapore airlines?
labor was induced on monday morning, august 25th. i was kind of disappointed i didn't get to experience labor starting normally, but whatevs - a few hours laster i'd forgotten all about that and had moved on to the more blasphemous "jesus fucking christ on a cracker, would somebody get this baby out of me!" phase. at 3 cm dialated, i demanded an epidural (again, not caring about the naturalness of the whole ordeal anymore) and they wheeled me into another room where they took like 19 years to get me prepped to shove a needle in my back. i was about to throttle the anesthesiologist or strangle her with my IV as she took her sweet ass time. mañana, mañana, today we siesta... yeah, i'll teach her how to siesta. no, she was probably moving very fast, but when there's a planet spreading your hip bones, a second seems like a millenia.
as soon as i got the epidural, i dilated to 7 cm. family was on their way to the nearby mall for dinner after the doc told them i was only 3cm dialated, and it would be hours. a few minutes later he checked again and i was 9 cm dilated. all hell broke loose. they scrambled to unhook me from all the machines and monitors and drips and rushed me to the delivery room, john was whisked off to get scrubs on. in the delivery room i knew i was going to have to push soon, i couldn't stop myself anymore and i was worried john wouldnt make it in time. donde es mi novio? i was yelling. finally he rushed in and baby joey shot out like ricky bobby in a nascar car, so fast the doc didn't even have his gloves on yet.
me and the boy. he is now four and a half months old. he's sprouted two teeth already and he makes me smile like nobody's business. he is the greatest thing that has ever happened on this earth.
