Shuffle

We interrupt all these good vibes for just a little bit of real life. [and some early morning revisions. See strikethroughs]

Things are a little stressy here in the M/m household due to a minor tiff at happy hour followed by a major technical meltdown of all things related to M's work that were part of the reason for said tiff (working off the clock, stress over performance yet no recognition, all that shit...) Oh there's more but that's the relevant part. Everything else you've heard before.

So, I did what any good wifey would do: I tried to console "nag, goad, challenge, butt in" as he is hovered over his computer (at home and off the clock) and when that did no good, I went to the kitchen, made myself a drink and tried to throw something together for us to eat.

Because, as Rally Burger (or some midwestern chain) says, "Ya gotta eat."

Well, while he remains stressy and the food is warming, here are some (slightly tipsy) insights into me based on my mp3 player turned loud and on shuffle:

Once upon a time, me and my bff S. wrote Ween the most loving and sincere fan letter you have ever seen. We may or may not have been completely fucked up. It may or may not have been in crayon because that was the only writing implement we could find. To this day, neither of us can actually remember whether or not we actually mailed it. To this day, Ween's Pure Guava holds some of the sweetest space in the "I did what?!?" category nearest to my heart.

Dear Gene and/or Dean Ween, did you ever get our letter?

I hope you did.

I will never not love the Afghan Whigs. My husband teases me incessantly about this. He says they're overwrought. Ridiculous. Tortured. Clown shoes. All I know is once upon a time it made my heart hurt to hear Greg Dulli howl, and when I hear them now, I remember what it is like to be young and semi-innocent and to think I actually knew what heartache felt like.

Dear Kate Nash, you came fifteen years too late. The first time I heard your songs in my earphones I laughed out loud. More like a scoff and a snort. Because I so get it. Now. And I have trouble explaining to M. how/why your lyrics resonate so deeply with me. mean so much to me. Because no one wants to talk about a former lover, do they.

I think if I were as cool as I thought I was, it wouldn't have taken me until I was 30 to know the Modern Lovers.

Dear Duffy, dear cute, tiny, adorable little Duffy, if I hung out with you in real life, odds are I would totally hate you. Your vulnerability, your willingness to admit it. Blech. But dammit, you've got some pipes. And some catchy tunes. And Bernard Butler has your back. So, so do I.

Liz Phair - get out of my head. Because you know me so well you seriously freak me out a little bit. Sometimes M says he's glad I never really discovered "Exile in Guyville" until after we met. "Because JFC you would be totally unbearable," says he. Possibly. All I know is that this is one CD I can go back to over and over and over and over again. In any mood. At any time. Liz and Galaxie 500, you are my go tos, you know that, right?

The Beastie Boys, sure they're goofy, but really, are they not awesome? Truly? Can you say that you have never ever rocked out to any Beastie album? They each have their own charm. Tonight I was loving some Pauls Boutique. And no. I'm no hipster. I'm way too old for that.

And lastly, before I go check in on the tortured one, Arctic Monkeys. you are drunk and irreverant. And smart. And smart asses. And ridiculously epic. And everything I wish my London years were. You are older beyond your years, which gives me a free pass to crush just a little bit on your Gen Y selves....

My drink is empty. It's way too quiet over there in M's office. I am sure there are one or more things burning.

I'm off to assess.

What's that Sound?

This morning, Calliope over at Creating Motherhood mused on the musical mixes she's making snork. What/who/how loud I should be listening to my own musical preferences has been a topic of our conversations and my thoughts for a while now. Seems like I should make some decisions now that the seedlings allegedly have ears enough to hear.

What an understatement to say that music is an integral part of our lives. It is seriously something that I cannot imagine living without. I know that I secured the love of my sweetie through his perusing of my CD collection. (Ask him.) We can muse for hours on the merits of My Bloody Valentine, listen to every Pavement album back to back to back and still not decide which one is the best. We can entertain ourselves for hours in front of our computers in his office singing along to Belle and Sebastian or bring ourselves to righteous tears hearing Sizzla Kalonji.

But you know, not all of these artists are necessarily appropriate for young ears. Catch my drift?
I had that revelation as I was going for an afternoon walk the other day rocking out to The Clipse. Fabulous hip hop. Fabulous beats. Witty lyrics, but not really the words I want my little ones to know by heart by age 2, right? Does that mean I forsake all songs with "explicit lyrics" for now? Or keep on listening and just be on the lookout for "teachable moments" later on in life?

"Mommy, what does _______ mean?"

Um, er, um. Ask yer dad.

Am I being ridiculous for even worrying about this now?

I love the local music scene in our town and support the bands as often as we can. Thursday nights mean live hip hop around the corner at our "local." Weekends bring a mix of jam bands, garage, some countrified rock and more. But as I was listing off to my mom the number of concerts (minimum five, not counting the Thurs. hip hop shows) the seedlings have already been to in utero, she got one of those "oh dear, but..." looks on her face.

What, mom? Whaaaaat?

"Oh, well, you know exposing them to loud music and sounds now will probably make them cranky and hyper. Don't you know?"

Huh? Whuh? Says the lady that never went below double digit decibels to get a point across throughout my youth?

And FYI, I've actually heard the opposite. As in, acclimating your baby now to sounds they can expect to hear when they emerge makes them less freaked out when they do hear them IRL. For example, babies who hear dogs barking in utero don't go nutso when they hear dogs barking as infants. They get it. It's a familiar sound. As opposed to babies who have spent in utero all quiet, who are far more prone to let out a banshee scream at the first woofs they have even known.

So, if I have no intention of ceasing our kitchen dance parties when the little ones are here, shouldn't they get a little whiff of drum-n-bass now?

That being said, I am planning out a more mellow nursery mix that will hopefully stave off the commercialized baby gook for a while (I know, L. you don't have to say it. I understand it's inevitable). I think Jeff Buckley and Nick Drake make lovely lullabies, don't you?

Over the Hills and Far Away

The other evening, as I was making dinner and hubby was keeping me company, we were listening to Echo and the Bunnymen. Ok, maybe we were listening to me sing along to Echo and the Bunnymen at the top of my lungs. And hubby wondered out loud...

"Do you think they'll like cool music? How do you like the music that you like now?

Hmm. I'm not sure. As a kid, I can remember doing somersaults in my living room listening to Mac Davis and Neil Diamond, pulling wheelies on my Big Wheel singing out loud to the Charlie Daniels Band. The tastes of my parents do not seem to have translated to my own.

Hubby went a little further:

"What kind of music do you think you listened to when you were in the womb? Do you think the music your birth parents played had any part in the equation."

And all of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with this image of an awkward 18-yr old boy, holding his baby daughter in his arms, knowing that he probably would not win his case to keep her so spending every evening at the orphanage to capture the moments before her new parents came to get her...

Humming Led Zeppelin into her little ears.

"I think my birth dad sang Zeppelin to me," I announced to hubby. Based on nothing but my own dreams.

And it suddenly felt like the realist visualization that I have ever had about my origins. Undeniable. Irrefutable. And in my own mind, from that moment on, that was the truth. That's what went down. And hubby and I both got a little teary.

Oh dad. I do love Zeppelin. I do. And I think you'd be proud of what's become of me.

You really ought to know...
I really ought to know...

The Sound of Music

I was going to write a post today about how different being on lupron this time around has been - it hasn't made me loopy or stupid, no headaches, blurred vision, no mood swings.....

Then I plugged my mp3 player into the radio as I made dinner. Switched it to shuffle.

And every single song had me flying high or on the verge of tears - like high-school-lost-crush- drowning-in-my-own-self-pity-but-loving-it tears. Every house anthem had me ready to rave. (Bring on the strobe lights!) And every Afghan Whigs song made me want to go in search of a creepy yet hot stranger to go make out with and regret later. It was like I had a surge of being-nineteen-ness into my body. It was awesome.

Hormones are great.

And honestly, a whole new life experience for me. I haven't produced my own since age 13. How early is that menopause? But that's exactly what it was: Ovaries shut down and/or gone missing. No estrogen for you! I know hubby is looking forward to the doses of estrace which will begin in about a week. Apparently, my body temperature actually normalizes when I have some estrogen in me. Otherwise, I'm nicknamed the "heat miser."

So, to recap, day 6 of lupron. Waiting patiently for ms. donor to flow. I'll be getting bloodwork in a few days and then begin estrace. In the meantime, I'll chuckle for a few more days as I take my birth control pill along with my pre-natal vitamin. Is that funny to anyone else?

Or just me?

Hormones are great.

Baby Loves Disco

Reason #12 to maybe try to have a baby:

So we can go here together on Saturday afternoons.