Random Musings

I am making a blueberry pie for Thanksgiving because apparently blueberry pies in California are something elusive. Try to find one! People don’t know what they are missing. Also, I am pretty sure I am going to make this blueberry pie, and hate anyone who has a piece. It will be like my third child that I alone get to eat and devour. Just like my brother’s hamster Michael. Yes, my brother named his hamster after himself. Well maybe John and Owen can have some, BUT NO ONE ELSE!

You would not believe the freaking thing on my left cheek. I would call it a pimple, but that is too simple of a term for the beast sprouting upon my cheek. It is more like a growth that continues to get bigger without a white head end. It’s a total hormonal creation. I can only hope it dissipates before Thanksgiving, or the children will be scared of the lady with red pulsing flesh growing from her face.

Seriously, the constipation that is involved in pregnancy is so freaking ridiculous. I will not elaborate further.

I think there really is a connection between good and bad shampoo, because I have been using Herbal Essence, and my hair has been okay, but then I used Aveda Rosemary Mint and my hair is about 10 times better looking. Just saying.

I think I might wear tights on Thanksgiving with this purple dress. That should be fun. Let’s put something really tight on the pregnant lady’s belly, and see how fast she dissolves into a blubbering mess. I wager 52.65 minutes.

Owen projectile vomited the other night before bed and I am pretty sure that is the smell that comes from dead bodies. If I turn fast, I still smell it. I maybe scared.

I am pretty sure I made the playoffs in all of my fantasy football leagues. And that includes the loss of first round pick Tom Brady in two of them. Hooray for me (and John, my FFB partner).

Maggie kicks all the freaking time, it is like she is already starting to get the mother and daughter relationship on the wrong foot.

I will be 25 weeks pregnant on Sunday, and am beginning to think of the birthing process. But then suddenly my mind wanders away from the topic entirely - sort of like an abuse victim forgetting the experience.

And that is all, except that my blueberry pie recipe called for vodka in the pie crust. VODKA. I am that cool. Okay then, Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy the day, and stay away from my pie!

The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
I love Tom Perrotta's books, and this one was no different. Something about his writing just reminds me of how one things to themselves, or ponders the world from their own perspective. Or maybe he just has a line on my train of thought. But either way, the O. Henry of Suburbia did not disappoint.


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Bloomingdale's

I was just on the maternity site of Bloomingdale's for some laughter, as if I would pay $200 for a pair of maternity jeans. I know there are some out there who would, and for that you should be beat, but while perusing, I stumbled upon the following:



Holy cow. I thougth the game mousetrap was an exercise in engineering, but this, this wins.

He Takes After His Mother

John IMed me yesterday with the phrasing “Our son is weird.” To which I immediately shook my head in agreement and asked “What did he do now?” Seems Owen when returning to the house, ran into the living room climbed upon the coffee table and started screaming. Why? Because under said coffee table was the remnants of his Cinnamon Raisin English Muffin had in the morning. John moved the table, and Owen swooped upon the leftovers eating them. This is funny because I once knew another being to do this - my dog Buddy. Buddy and my dog Ebony would receive treats. Ebony being a fifty pound cocker spaniel was voracious in appetite, so when Buddy got his fill he would kick his Bonza under the oven. A week of so later when the urge struck, Buddy would go to the oven and start barking until it was moved and his treat was found. It seems my son now does this. I guess I should be happy he has a good memory, because finding food you left eight hours previously is a real skill. However, I am worried he spent the entire day thinking about the last remaining nugget of that tasty English muffin. This is entirely possible, because he is just a tab bit anal. What do you expect from a child born from the girl who would ate her food for an entire year in reverse alphabetical order? I kid you not.

Sorry by Gail Jones

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
A stunningly written novel. The language is beautiful and lyrical and so happy to have read it. The story set in Austrailia is about the unwanted daughter of Nicholas and Stella, and the an event that changes all around them. A good read.


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The Unnecessary

While perusing the MOMA Gift Store, I can upon the following. Really, the Banana Bunker? And what was the basis for your idea. Holy god!

A Lunch Time Visit to Safeway

Purchased:

Sara Lee Honey Turkey
Harvati Cheese
Tim’s Potato Chips (which promised to be super duper good)
Sandwich Rolls
Sour Jelly Belly Beans
Regular Jelly Belly Beans

I do not think anything screams pregnant than going to a grocery store to get turkey and cheese for a sandwich because you can’t stand another moment before that delectable concoction hits your taste buds. I had to get chips as well because well I love chips and sandwiches. Tim’s kettle-cooked promised “Many feel this is the best chip they ever had”. And thank you Tim, it is darn tasty. However the true pregnancy moment came when out of the corner of my eyes I spied the jelly beans. AND IN SOUR TOO!! I am now eating two sour lemons and two sour strawberrys for the recipe for a pink lemonade, and so good. Maggie is kicking up a storm. And I just had a sour watermelon. Orgasmic. I love cravings!

Who You Gonna Call . . .

Ghostbusters - Owen Dancing on Halloween from Cassandra McCall on Vimeo.

New Moon by Stephenie Meyer

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars
I learned that with vampires come werewolves, as if they can ever be separate. I did not like this as much as Twilight, much more predictible. This book felt more of a set up for the upcoming books, but still a good read. I think I will take a break from vampires, only because I ordered the Spanish version of Book 3. I tell you.


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Mike Singletary - I Love You

Tales of Muni . . .

To the man standing to me on MUNI this morning: I am unsure if taking a shower this morning in Drakar Noir was a good idea. As a pregnant lady with super sensitive smell it took all of my energy not to scream why it was necessary for you spray your cologne 8,000 times this morning. Did you drop it in your bathroom? I did that once with my perfume, and it smelled like a brothel for about two weeks. And because of this, I decided to smell through my hand and imagine a life in which I did not have to take the train to work, because I would not be working, because I won the lottery. And now my days consisted of throwing darts at a world map to see where John, the kids and I would end up next. Looks like Australia. Also, seriously men folk, cologne is just stupid. No man needs to smell like burnt beechwood and sand. Unless they had been trapped on a desert island for the last 1,000 days, then that would be acceptable. But barely.

Lost!!!!

After washing my hands after a bathroom trip, I was leaving when I noticed something very peculiar in the full length mirror. It seems, my ass has gone bye-bye. Upon further investigation, it seems that my pants, which are in no way too big for me, are in fact big in the badonkadonk. Peculiar. Not that I ever had a J-Lo type bootie, as my friend Diane once said to me “Cassie, you have the flattest ass I have ever seen.” Which I scoff at, but today, in the mirror, perhaps she is right. So to you Maggie McCall, I would like to say - thank you for stealing my bum. Hopefully it returns. There is nothing worse than sitting on MUNI with no cushioning.

And The Verdict is . . . .

Labia. Yep, that is exactly what the ultrasound tech said, "I see labia." Well now. So, the beast within is a girl. We are very happy, I have to say that I am a tad shocked I was having a girl, only because I was playing the odds of probabilities within my friends and people I know and it seems that another boy/girl combo was not going to be had. And this girl will probably be the girlest girl on the Planet Girl. But according to my father, I was a very girly girl. Obsessed with red and barbies, I can't believe it either. And after much going back and forth, I love the name Maggie, and I don't care if Maggie McCall sounds like an Irish bar, that is the name - but maybe I like it because it sounds like an Irish bar. We will never know. So, Margaret (Middle Name to be determined by John with my right of first refusal) McCall, see you in 20 weeks. Love, Mama.

A Letter to My Unborn Child

Dear product of the successful union between sperm and egg,

When I became pregnant, I remember thinking to myself, I can’t wait to feel this baby. Because it is well known that we of the second pregnancy often find ourselves feeling baby movement much sooner than the first - because our uteruses are stretched out and we are familiar with the sensation. But you young miss or lad are awe inspiring in your movement, that or spastic. At this age it is said that you are almost 6 inches long, and about 7 oz. However, your kicks within are little jabs of thunder. Last night when your brother woke up at the ungodly hour of 4:30 a.m. and I tried to soothe him, you were all “Mom, you know what I would do with Owen right now? Kick him. Like this and that, and this!” (We think alike!) So in addition to have todzilla screech his 4:30 a.m. wail, I had you kicking me with abandon - needless to say, Mama is tired today. On the train, at work, at home, at 4:30 a.m. - it does not stop. Not that I want it to because then your Mom would freak the hell out. It is evident to me now, that in the womb you are insanely active, I can only imagine the power of your kicks come Month 8 but do envision entire infant legs protruding from my gut at warp speed. Oh, and I am thinking this is not going to bode well to a quick full night’s sleep when you arrive. But I will say this to you, your brother Owen, did not sleep through the night until about 10 months. So, if you want to get over that entire second child not loved as much as the first, well that would be a sure fire way into your parents’ hearts. No pressure or anything, but think about it.

Love,
Mummy

Hungry Like the Wolf

In no particular order, the following are a list of cravings that come into my head at the oddest times. I think about said food in a way that I can only equate with the word “graphic”:

1. Pears. I would like to eat 1,000 Barlett pears. They are so deliciously good, I take a bite and finish a pear and then am like - hello, MORE PEARS!! MORE PEARS!!

2. Truffles. Lemon Truffles, chocolate truffles, I don’t care. Just feed them to me non-stop. Let me be at the end of conveyor of truffles, and then let me die happy.

3. Potato Chips. Actually this can include anything crispy. I just want to eat them all - sour cream an onion, thai chili, salt and pepper, honey Dijon, new york cheddar. Just let them crisp in my mouth. Oh sweet heaven.

4. Grilled Chicken Sandwiches With Cheddar Cheese. No matter what I do, I can’t get these things out of my head, or out of mouth it seems. I don’t even want anything on them. Just the chicken, just the cheese, and just the bun.

5. French Fries. Specifically I want these fries I used to get in Beverly at the Goat Hill Grill. Steak fries. Big heaping fried pieces of potato dipped in catsup.

6. Sour Candy. I want to eat sour patch kids, sour patch watermelons, sour patch baby fingers. The funniest about this, is that I have not given into this temptation like the others. Mainly because I see them at See’s Candies, while in line for Truffles, but the price for a bag is $4.95, for Sour Patch Candies. It seems in the cheapness versus cravings war, cheapness wins, for now.

7. Oranges. Whether Orange Juice, or orange fruit, or orange tic tacs. I want them. And I want them bad.

8. Chocolate Milk. Bring it on. I will drink it until my blood is replaced by it. I would really like a fountain of it, so that I can swim in it with a extra long straw.

9. Pasta. Whether it be in pesto form, butter and cheese form, or baked ziti form, let me eat it, and let me shout from the rooftops - carbs, carbs, carbs, carbs.

10. Peanut Butter, Extra Chunky. On toast, on a spoon, in the jar where I gaze at it lovingly, Cassie and PBEC 4-eva.

By the way, after all is said and done after this pregnancy, I am sure that will be my new code name - extra chunky. But that is what Weight Watchers, running and breastfeeding are for.

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
Teenage love, but this time between a teenager and a vampire. Hmm, what is it about vampires? Between this book, and the HBO series True Blood - I gotta bad case of the vampires. I liked this book, and enjoyed reading it. It is YA, but I am pregnant, and my brain cells loose from hormones. Quick, fun, easy - and 3 more books to read in the series. Happy Vampire Time is upon me.


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A Rant

Dear State of California and the MLB, I am from Boston, and as such, I am a Red Sox fan. Today is Columbus Day, a day if I lived in Boston, I would have had off from work. But I live in California, and am at work. So imagine my surprise this morning to find out that Game 3 of the ALCS was taking place at 1:37 PST. WTF MLB? I should have feigned illness and watched from home. But no, I sit at the office with ESPN Gamecast on. Do you know what watching a game on Gamecast is like? Well imagine Pong combined with Combat combined with a frontal lobe lobotomy and you may have the picture. I now have a headache, and not only because the Sox with Lester pitching are down five, but because I have to stare at the computer with near anxiety hoping for a yellow ball to fly into the air and the caption “in play” to occur. Then I have to sit with my breath caught in my throat until “flied out”, or “grounded out”, or “pop up” to appear on my screen. Then I silently (at least I hope so) curse to myself. Where are you David Ortiz? WHERE??

Oh Sweet Jesus

When checking google analytics, a popular search team that comes up about 4 times a week is “Cassandra Hairy” or “Hairy Cassandra”. Yeah. This search always directs the person to my site. I may be many things, an oversweater, a football fan, a crazed pregnant lady, but I am not apelike by any means. I have a Venus, and I know how to use it. Yet, this search has probably been made about 1000 times. Upon further investigation, it seems that all those searching for hairy Cassandra are from Italy. Which explains much, because if one delves into generalizations - the Irish drunks, the Poles stupid, the Italians hairy - this fits perfectly. But now I am left wondering that somewhere in Italy resides psuedo-celebrity Cassandra, covered in a hair, ala Cousin Itt. Can it be true? Someone, please let me know!

The Things You Hear . . .

This afternoon after lunch I journeyed to See’s Candies for a Dark Chocolate Chip Truffle, otherwise known as heavenly bliss. As I stood in line waiting for my chocolate, two ladies walked in chatting back and forth. It is then I heard the most frightening of words: “Oh, did you know I collect Barbies? I do. I love Barbies.” Immediately, I wanted to snap my head back with a look of horror at this person who well over the age of twelve collected Barbies, but I did not in fear of what my eyes would see. There I stood waiting in line listening to the Barbie Freak talk about how she has “Barbies from around the world. I have fifteen countries. They come in their country costumes, very ornate. But I don’t have room in my house to put them out.” (Thank God.) “I also have some Franklin Mint. Scarlett O’Hara, Princess Di.” (Are you single?) “I wanted the See’s Candies Barbie, but she got sold out.” (The shame!) I stood flabbergasted, behind me was a woman heartbroken over her lost chance of a See’s Candies Barbie doll. Me, I would be heartbroken if See’s Candies ran out of dark chocolate chip truffles, not Barbies, because you know why - I AM NOT TEN YEARS OLD. Her coworker, because I can only assume this woman has no friends, said “Barbies? Really.” Where Insano said “Oh, do you collect them?” As if. “No. But I had them when I was little”, hard not to suppress a chuckle there. Finally I get my chocolate and am able to look at Ms. Barbie, and unsurprisingly, she was middle-aged, a bit dour and kind of sad. I guess it is Barbies or cats. Maybe she is not entirely bad.

Oh Pregnancy . . .

I am sure you are all “Geez, can this lady please shut up about being pregnant already?” But I am the writer of this blog, and I am pregnant, and need to vent the seemingly mundane aspects of my life because well that is what I do. I use to drink, doing it quite well. But now, I am sober and pregnant. So deal people, onto the belly.

The past few days have been marked by an extreme tired state. Which is funny because when I journey home, I am all - as soon as that kid into bed, I am plunging into my bed for the sleep of the dead. But then I come home, and do this, and then that, and pretty soon my window of sleep passes on by. I then find myself at 10:30 p.m. randomly searching the television for something that will aid in sleep. That thirty minute biography last night about Jackson Pollack did not help in the effort. As a side note, screw all you people who have made the name “Jackson” popular. I hate you. Finally sleep comes, but in what feels like five minutes, morning arrives and caked upon my face is about a metric ton of drool. Curse you daylight. I guess this is the beginnings of the super tired phase. It is also the beginning of the how many zits will pop on my face in a 24 hour period phase, at last count seven. Honestly, I get up to go to the bathroom, and look at myself and another pimple is there. There is no way to stop this it. I think I may have had two days of clear skin since this pregnancy, which is funny because with Owen, I did in fact GLOW. This pregnancy, I give off the quiet hum of a halogen energy efficient 15 watter. Actually thank god for the pimples, they give me some glow. Sure, they are in carefully dotted places, but still.

I have no clue what the hell I am talking about because in addition to being sleep deprived, hormonal, one can add mentally challenged to the list. For example, after lunch today I asked the following, “What time is it?” I took out my iphone, clicked the button, got the time, and then said to myself not 30 seconds later. “What did that say?” So I checked again, then ten seconds later confused, was it 12:59 p.m.. But that was impossible, because my lunch was in no way fifteen minutes. So I checked again, 1:17 p.m. Hello doofus, you just checked you phone three times for the time in a span of two minutes. Which brings me to another point, I should not be working. I am writing down everything and giving myself outlook reminders. But for someone a mind of mush, it is had to remember ten seconds ago what I meant to do. And is there nothing worse, than standing by your desk, mumbling to yourself, and trying to trace back what the hell you were going to do. Instead I am bedazzled by the bright fluorescent lights above? Oh pretty lights. So Obama, why don’t you add to your healthcare plan, the allowance of the stupidly pregnant to take off of work so they can stare into space and try to come up with some baby names because Jackson are taken by yuppies, and Maggie McCall sounds like an Irish bar I got drunk and threw up in circa St. Patty’s Day 1997. Thanks.