pictures that make me shriek in horror

No, I'm not talking about photos of me 25 pounds heavier or even the ones from those awkward middle school years with greasy hair and horrid skin.  I'm talking about a new trend in photography that will most likely send hundreds of teenagers into therapy in about 15 years...newborn photography.

Taking pictures of your new baby is expected.  They're so tiny and they'll never be that way again, they're a new little life that you created.  By all means, snap as many pictures as you can, time moves too fast.  But those pictures aren't what I'm talking about.  I'm talking about the new trendy professionally done posed photos with costumes and props that basically turn the baby into a prop himself.  They're taken when the baby is so new, that the kid is basically sleeping all of the time and can't really move, so he can be placed into or onto anything in a fetal position, have any stupid hat on his head, and he's stuck there while the photographer gets the lighting "just right" while his mother's in the background saying, "Isn't that the most precious thing?"

No, lady.  This is not precious.  Do you remember how devastated you were when your friends saw pictures of you as a naked baby?  Multiply that embarrassment by 5.5 million for the addition of a silly hat, or the fact that they're curled up in a macramé nest, have a quaint ribbon tied around them since they're a "gift from god" (blech) or they're stuck in some sort of vegetable like a pea pod, and this is what these kids will be feeling.  Do these parents have no shame?  I'd like to see them pose themselves in these scenes just to see how they'd feel, but they'd never do it because it's too embarrassing.  Hmmm...doesn't that say something?

To me, these pictures are far creepier than the memento mori photos taken during the Victorian era.  At least with those, they tried to make the pictures look natural - well, as natural as possible for any photographs taken in the Victorian era.  The deceased person was in their own parlor, sometimes laying on a sofa, sometimes looking out a window (creepy), many times with family, and yes - sometimes there were props, but usually something the person would be holding anyway, like a book or glasses.  They never put wings on them to show that they're angels going to heaven, they didn't give them a harp or stick a halo on their heads.  They were people with families and stories.

I truly hope this trend goes away soon. These poor babies are people too, and though they can't protest yet...they certainly will when they're older.  I doubt the 16-year-old goth son will look on those pictures with fondness.  In my opinion (because this is my blog and I can say what I want) remembering your baby in his natural setting: in his crib, on his blanket, with daddy holding him on the couch, in the rocker with mommy, is much more valuable than a creepy posed "precious" photo that cost you hundreds of dollars and will cause everyone embarrassment for years to come.

tony soprano and the sobbing choir director

Insomnia is a bitch.  There's no nice way to put it.  I fell asleep quite easily last night. After a very long day at work doing tedious data entry and an even longer night at home alone with a son who was prohibited from playing video games for the night and couldn't understand why playing baseball on the Wii or arcade games on the laptop would still be classified as a video game (sigh - I believe male brain damage is beginning to kick in already), I figured I'd get a great night's sleep - no problem.   But noooooo.  I woke up around 3am and could not fall back to sleep.  Well, not until half an hour before my alarm went off anyway, and that half hour of sleep provided the strangest of little mini-dreams.

First, I was in a choir room with a bunch of people, some of whom I knew from my past and others complete strangers.  We were rehearsing something and all of the sudden, the choir director starts sobbing and going on about something that happened on facebook (?!).  While some people went up to console him, I stood there crying and hugging the person next to me who was an acquaintance in school, but nothing more than that.  Then the director disappeared, I wondered where he went and then

Flash to me waking up and looking at every clock in our bedroom (apparently we have 5) and not being able to read the time.  I don't know if I'm late for work, I feel like I'm late for work, I'm panicking and decide to get up and look at a clock in another room and then

Flash to a completely different room full of people I knew from high school - mostly acquaintances again from classes other than my own.  Music was playing, people were having a good time, and then all of the sudden someone walks up next to me.  I turn and look and say, "Oh, hey Tony."  Yup, it was Tony Soprano.  I guess he went to my high school and I never realized it.  He gets behind me and starts grinding into me to the beat of the music.  I laugh and walk away.  (I guess this version of Tony doesn't get everything he wants)  Then people decide to have a shot in honor of someone - can't remember who.  I walk to get my glass, pick it up, toast with this guy a couple of classes ahead of me who I thought was really hot in high school, put the shot glass up to my lips, and then

My alarm goes off.

Thirty minutes of sleep = a whole lotta unnecessary insanity in my brain, and feeling stressed out over stuff that never really happened.  I think I would have been better off staying awake the whole time.  Oh well, now I have an excuse to buy strong Starbucks coffee this morning instead of drinking the free watered-down stuff that they call "coffee" in the cafeteria.  I guess that's a plus for my morning.

statistics lie

A couple of my friends have been quote-happy on facebook lately.  Eh, we all go through those streaks.  One of my friends was posting Marilyn Monroe quotes and they made me flash back to high school when I was a big Marilyn fan.  In 1991, Nike came out with a print ad that I ended up posting on my bedroom door - a place of honor and away from the hundreds of New Kids on the Block posters that were covering the walls of my room. I remembered that it was a great message, but couldn't remember exactly what it said.  Thanks to the world of the internet, I was able to find it again and now I feel like I should post it on my office door.

If you can't read the copy, this is what it says:

 "A WOMAN IS OFTEN MEASURED by the things she cannot control. She is measured by the way her body curves or doesn’t curve, by where she is flat or straight or round. She is measured by 36-24-36 and inches and ages and numbers, by all the outside things that don’t ever add up to who she is on the inside. And so if a woman is to be measured, let her be measured by things she can control, by who she is and who she is trying to become. Because as every woman knows, measurements, are only statistics. And STATISTICS LIE."

Amen.

how a 6th grade girlfriend turns into a baby-mama

I swear, I never know what kind of a conversation my son will start with me while we're in the car on the way to or from his tae kwon do class.  I've held my composure in the front seat while my son has asked me questions that have completely blindsided me from the back seat about puberty and sex ed.  We've discussed school and his favorite subjects and the bullies who bother him.  And sometimes perfectly tame, everyday conversations can take the most unexpected turn.

As we were pulling out of our garage, he mentioned that one of the neighborhood families was moving away.  This family happens to consist of the girl who has deemed herself his "girlfriend" for the past couple of years and they had been quietly making plans to become official boyfriend and girlfriend next year when they hit 6th grade and it was more acceptable.  (Luckily we have a son who tells us everything, even when he probably shouldn't.)  I told him it was too bad because his prospect for a 6th grade girlfriend was leaving, to which he replied, "Eh, I'll have others."

I told him that I had a boyfriend in 6th grade for two weeks and that all we really did was go to one movie and sit next to each other in school.  (Yes, I had extensive dating experience.  I dated this guy in 6th grade and then I had a dry spell until my junior year of high school when I started dating the guy who would end up becoming my husband .)  He said, "Wow, if you had dated him much longer that that you would have ended up marrying him."  Ah, you silly little man.  "You don't marry the person you date in 6th grade...or 7th or 8th,"  I replied.    "Well, what about 9th grade?"  At this point, it was easier for me to lump it together with, "It's very rare that you marry anyone you dated in high school.  It happens, but it's rare." 

"Well, I hope it happens early for me because I want my wife to have babies."

Wha - huh?  Hoooooold on here, mister. 

While I appreciate the fact that you want your wife to have babies, this whole "early" thing could be bad.  I don't think he understands yet that you can have a baby with anyone - whether you're married or not.  You don't magically become fertile once you say "I do" and frankly, that's not something I'm ready to get into with my 10-year-old in my car.   "No babies until you're at least 25!" were the only words that I could muster. That sounds like a decent age, right?  I was 25 when I had him and that worked out okay.  21 would be far too young - might as well be 16 in the world of a male.  Yeah, that works.

"Moooommmmm." 

"Don't 'Mom' me, mister.  I mean it."  The thought of being a grandparent in five years at the age of 41 entered my mind - helping out with a baby on his weekends, dealing with the heartache of the girlfriend who doesn't love him but he has to deal with because she's the baby-mama, being called "Granny..."  Oh hell no! 

My nightmare ended abruptly as we pulled up to his TKD school.  As he got out of the car, I gave him the same motherly lines I tell him before every class, "Don't fool around, listen and do your best.   And NO BABIES!" 

I pulled away as he was saying, "Oh my gosh, mom!' but I knew that my rule would stick with him for all time.  Okay, maybe not.  I think it's time for my husband to have a little chat with him...

vertigo - a user's guide on what *not* to do

I remember when I was younger, I thought vertigo was that feeling of dizziness when you're way up high and looking down and things seem to zoom in and out and spin a little bit.  Thanks a lot Alfred Hitchcock.

Flash forward to 1997 or so when all of the sudden I was tremendously dizzy for no reason.  It went on and on for days.  Since I worked in a gift shop at the time and was surrounded by numerous valuable, fragile collectibles, I figured it would be less expensive for me to get to the doctor and get it figured out than to walk into a display case of figurines, smashing them all to tiny little pieces.  First thing he did was make sure I wasn't preggers...I could have told him I wasn't but you know those doctors just love making you pee in a cup.  He wrote it off as I needed my ears flushed out.  That was one of the most disgusting feelings I've ever had....and I was still dizzy.

Nine years later, my dad was in the hospital and not doing well at all (he got better).  I visited him daily which meant frequent trips up and down in the hospital elevators - up to his room, down to the cafeteria, up to the room, down to go out and get some fresh air, up to his room, etc.  And then the dizziness kicked in again.  I went back to the doctor (though I had a new doctor this time) thinking maybe all of those elevator trips got my inner ear all screwed up.  The doctor thought it might have been the stress of having a sick dad, so he prescribed Valium.  Woo - that was a trip.  I'm a mellow person anyway, so put me on tranquilizers and I could easily be confused as a lobotomy patient.  When those didn't do the trick, he officially labeled it "vertigo" and tried antihistamines to clear it up.  Still didn't work, but it eventually went away on its own.

It's come back every now and again since then.  A little more frequently as time has gone on.  Seems like every cold I get (which is thankfully only once or twice a year) ends up settling in my inner ear and I get all wonky.  I don't walk straight, I have a persistent ringing, and I space out easily.  Still nothing I can really do with it, so I ride it out until it finally goes away.  I told my husband just to pretend I'm on drugs so he doesn't have to keep asking me what I'm thinking about when he notices me staring at a wall for no reason.

Over the years, I've learned what is safe for me to do and what I should not do under any circumstances when I'm experiencing this fun.  Here is the list of do not's in case any of you find yourself in this predicament:

• Driving at night is not advisable.  Okay, I probably shouldn't drive at all, but how else am I going to get my butt to work so I can sit and spin at my desk?
• Sit-ups, crunches, and the like are strongly discouraged.  All of that up-down-up-down motion makes you feel like your food is about to go up, not down.
• First-person video games = trauma.  I have problems with these anyway, but throw in the vertigo and you'll be spinning so fast that you'll feel like the Tasmanian Devil.  You think you're moving, but your not moving and your inner ear gets very confused and will punish you.
• Dancing, especially anything with head movement, is a stupid idea.  Sometimes I just get carried away when I hear "Bohemian Rhapsody" and have to do the whole Wayne's World headbanging thing when the fast part comes up, but I quickly remember that I'm an idiot once I can't regain by bearings.
• Watching a live tennis match will make you ill.  Left, right, left, right... Your head will be doing that for five hours after you've gone home.
• Boating.  Really?  Do I have to go on?
• Shaving is dangerous.  Okay, let me clarify this.  The armpits are a cinch, the legs are pretty easy because they're pretty straight and simple, but there some parts of the female anatomy that should not be shaved during this time because the risk of pain and accidental mutilation is not worth it.

I hope this is helpful for you.  As life with vertigo goes on I shall post more guidelines as they arise.  In the meantime, this dizzy blonde is going to take a walk, hopefully have a spinning spell and stumble into the arms of some unsuspecting hunk.  Hey - might as well make the most of it!

has anyone ever written anything for you?

I think most of us hope to be an inspiration to people in some way, don't we?  Inspiration can mean many things: the model to be come a better person, someone to look up to,  a person who brings out something you never knew you had inside you, or even a muse.

I would love to be all of those things, but sometimes I wish - selfishly - that I could have inspired someone at some point in my life to write something beautiful.  A song, a poem, a letter...something sincere, from the heart, preferably not alcohol induced.  Something that I could look at or listen to when I'm having one of those bad self-image days to remind me that I have meant something to someone.  Something that will be around long after I'm gone.  I guess it's the artistic part of me who wrote things for other people yearning for a little creativity when it comes to someone expressing what they feel about me. I'm sure I probably have a love note from my husband from years ago packed away in a box somewhere, but young love can be pretty kitschy.

I know, it's pretty egotistical of me to wish for something like that, but at least I admit that I know it. And it's only from time to time when I'm feeling sentimental. What about you?  Have you been a muse?  Has anyone ever written anything for you?

The song begins at 1:47