Separated at birth?
So, I was just trying out this cool face recognition software that I found on planetdan. It compares your face (or the face of any photo that you upload) to their celebrity database. It shows you whose faces are similar.

I uploaded this picture of myself:



And up came my closest celebrity match:



OK? Could be a lot worse.

Then I looked at who the other close matches were. Scarlett Johansson. Not bad! Julia Roberts. I don't see it, but allright.

But then it goes from bad:


To worse:


To... hunh?

Christmas Crisis 2005
It's becoming a bit of a tradition around my household for a major utility to wonk out and/or for someone to drink too much and make a spectacle, so this year, I was on the lookout for trouble early on.

While I'm happy to report that there were no drunken spectacles, we DID have the utility wonkage -- nice and early so we could enjoy it the whole weekend.

Friday afternoon, my mom came over and we were finished opening the presents, when suddenly, Dom got a wild look in his eyes and went running toward the bathroom. I heard the sound of running water and ran after him to see what the heck was going on.

The toilet was running and had completely overflowed. The bathroom floor was completely drenched. My mom and I went to work mopping up the water with every towel available in my linen closet and managed to stop the toilet from spilling more vile water. When I went down to the basement to put the towels in the washer, I found that the water was leaking down there, too. I set up some buckets and called my husband to warn him that he'd have some investigating to do when he got home.

He checked things out and figured that the toilet had just gotten blocked, but later that evening, it happened again. Once again we had to use a boatload of towels to mop up the flood, and threw it all in the washing machine. However, this time, as the washer was running, MORE water came through the toilet and it flooded for a third time!

Every plumber in town wanted double pay for the holiday weekend, and so we decided to tough it out the entire weekend. That meant we followed the "if it's yellow, let it mellow" philsophy in the bathroom, and if it was brown, one had better pinch one's buttcheeks together and high-tail it to my in-law's house. We couldn't do laundry, take a shower, run the dishwasher... the house has gone to hell. Luckily, Dave the plumber is at our house right now, hopefully snaking out the drain.

We're getting a bit superstitious about Christmas these days. When next year rolls around, I'm going to be bracing myself for the plague of the locusts. Or maybe, on even numbered years, Christmas will mean one too many PBR's or G & T's. Hell. I'll make it a self-fulfilling prophecy and make sure it's me.

My keyboard is covered in orange powder as I type this
Dear Vendor (or anyone really):

Want to know the way to my heart around the Christmas season? Bring me a tin of popcorn. Sure, the obligatory cookie tray is nice, but even I tire of sugar at some point. Popcorn, however, is always appealing to me. Especially when it has a cheese-ish substance on it. Caramel works, too. I am a fan of the three-way tin, myself. The menage-a-trois of popcorn: butter, cheeze, and caramel.

Mamacita.

Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2
I don't know if I've mentioned it or not, but my son? Is a genius.

He just turned five months old over the weekend. And during the past few days, he:

• Attended a wedding. He was perfectly behaved through the church ceremony (although he burped and farted in the church, so I'm sure someone is going to hell as a result, be it him or me for allowing him to be in a house of God -- unbaptized and all). He was also an angel at the reception and was a great excuse to not join the conga line. Sorry! Holding a sleeping baby! Can't dance!
• Rolled onto his stomach all by himself. Once onto his stomach, however, he flailed around like a carp on a beach.
• Ate cereal like a big boy. He opened his mouth like a baby bird for the spoon and then cried hysterically when it was "all gone."
• Maneuvered himself across the classroom at his daycare in one of those baby walker/activity station things.

I'm telling you, it's a baby Einstein we have on our hands.

/end brag

More musical selections
I had to use my Gilligan's Island method for the past two nights while I was trying to go to sleep. Sometimes, having a song stuck in my head will keep me awake.

Early Tuesday morning, probably around 4 a.m., it was

I got my first real six string
Oh, at the five and dime
Played it til my fingers bled
Was the summer of '69

And early this morning I was treated to Def Leppard's "Photograph" -- which I don't even know the words to but I have heard twice on the radio in the past week after not hearing it since God knows when.

I must have an entire library of 80's music on shuffle in my brain somewhere, because I have no idea why these songs come to me in the middle of the night.

Tip of the day
I heard some morning show DJ's say that if you ever get a song stuck in your head, that one proven way to get it out of your head was to sing the song "Amazing Grace" set to the Gilligan's Island theme song. Strangely, it works. However, then you have "Amazing Grace" set to the Gilligan's Island theme song stuck in your head.

So earlier today I could choose between the two songs to play in the little boombox in my brain:

Rockin' around
The Christmas tree
At the Christmas party hop
...

Or:

Amazing grace how sweet the sound (just sit right back and you'll hear a tale)
That saved a wretch like me (a tale of a fateful ship)
I once was lost, but now am found (that started on this [lyrics forgotten])
Was blind but now I see (aboard this tiny ship)

*sigh*
Oh. By the way. This whole wanting to be with mom all the time thing? Not so endearing at 2 a.m. Or at 3, after being up for an hour. Or at 4, after being up for two hours. Or at 5... well, you get the point.

It did, however, enable me to watch the Survivor reunion, which I had turned off after the winner was revealed (Yay Danni! Yay anyone but Steph!) And also some other things which I had DVR'ed, including the bizarre movie "I heart Huckabee's".

If I make it through the day without drooling on my keyboard I will consider it to be a win for my team.

Wake me up at 5.

Good God, when does the pain go away?
My son is going through a phase where he luvs his mamma like no other. Oh my stars. It kills me. Takes my heart and squeezes it until I don't think I can take it anymore. When I come home from work, he smiles a huge, toothless, open mouth grin at me over and over again like he can't believe it's me.

Last night I picked him up from day care and once he realized I was there, he smiled his usual smile at me, but when I didn't pick him up right away, began to cry.

This morning, as I was getting ready, I made the mistake of coming to talk to him while he was in his swing. As long as I don't make eye contact with him, he is usually OK in his swing while I run around. Today it launched a bout of hysterics like I've never seen.

When I dropped him at day care, I think he realized that I was about to abandon him and conjured a fresh batch of tears, so much so that both teachers in the room had to come distract him while I slipped away. It took all I had within me not to run back, scoop him up and hole up at home for the day. People have asked me if it's hard to leave him at day care every day. Only today.

I am going to stockpile days like this in my heart for years from now, where my teenaged son squirms away from a hug or is embarrassed to share the same genetic makeup as me. Right now, I rock his world.

And, he's not so bad himself.

Grant's Tomb
This weekend was much more pleasant than last. The Doodle went to bed at his scheduled bedtime and was very cheery during the day both Saturday and Sunday. I *may have* even bought him a couple (ahem, six) outfits that he can wear during the holiday season. Oh, and two pairs of shoes for me. What? I'll do my Christmas shopping... some other time.

The great hilarity of the weekend was at my in-law's last night when my brother in law, who is 19, asked, "Who wrote Pachabel's Canon?" Ah. Kids these days.

This is a big four-day week for me, as I'm taking Friday off as a "Me Day." That means, baby to day care, sleeping til noon, watching soaps... I can't wait.

Look out below
I just realized that this is my last month in my 20's.
Be forewarned.

Addition to weekend madness
I forgot to add the part on Sunday where I lost my mind, left the house and went to the grocery store down the street and purchased the following:

Chocolate chip cookie mix
Brownie mix
Chocolate chips
Chocolate ice cream
Golden Grahams

Guess what I do when I'm stressed out?

Glad it's Monday
How was your Thanksgiving weekend? Mine was shit-tastic. To recap:

Wednesday
Take the day off in order to get baby to his 4-month well visit. I end up getting a flu shot. Baby gets three shots in his thighs. Baby proceeds to wail for approximately 15 minutes, then passes out for remainder of afternoon. Baby wakes up with 102-degree fever. Fever lasts all of Wednesday and Thursday.

Thursday
We take still-feverish baby to in-law's for Thanksgiving dinner. His activity level is slightly above zombified the entire day, disappointing grandparents and great-grandparents alike. Overate.

Friday
Trapped at home all day long with baby, whose fever finally breaks. Go back into doctor with baby to make sure there's nothing else wrong with him (at their suggestion after I called). Baby proceeds to make up for his lack of activity Thursday by being extra crabby. Highlight is taking baby to in-law's again and leaving him there while hubby and I get Chinese and rent "Batman Begins." Considered leaving baby at in-laws and leaving town with no forwarding address. Reconsidered and brought him home, only to find out that the baby has now associated his crib with a bed of spikes, and any attempt to lay him in said crib results in screaming that can be heard throughout the tri-county area. After several unsuccessful attempts to lay him down, my breaking point was reached (approximately 3:30 a.m.) and it culminated in my chucking a Boppy pillow at the living room window to release some of my pent-up RAGE!!!!!! and frightening Dom to the point where he avoided me all day Saturday.

Saturday
More crabbiness. Took baby on errands to get out of the house. During this time he did not scream or cry once, but instead, saved up that entire hour and half's worth of screaming and then did it all as soon as we got home. Continued with the shunning of the crib. Husband slept on couch with baby for half the night, I took the other half of the night. Around 5:30 a.m. the baby finally realized the crib wasn't going to swallow him whole, and he allowed me to place him in it -- until he woke up screaming at 7 Sunday morning.

Sunday
The clouds began to lift. After bringing both parents to the edge of insanity, the baby allowed us to get just enough energy to take us through the day, and then stole every little bit of life left in us. Fortunately, he slept in his crib without too much fuss, although he did wake up three times.

Monday
Gleefully dropped the devil's spawn at day care and whistled the entire way to work.

*ack*
It's always very disturbing to hear the sounds of a cat yacking up a hairball somewhere just outside the bedroom in the middle of the night.

It's even more disturbing when you can't find any evidence of said hairball the next morning.

Seeing red
Ah, 'tis the time of year when, although I really could care less about football of any kind, my genetics kick in and I cannot deny my roots.

So for all of you who have been coming to my site via a search for anti-Michigan jokes, I can only say this to you:

GO BLUE!!!!!!!!!

Thought it was time for another baby picture. This was taken last week sometime. He'll be four months on Friday!

It's also known as the "idiot button"
This morning, a CD got stuck in my CD drive. I kept pressing the button and nothing would happen. I went into Windows explorer, right clicked and hit "eject CD" -- nada. I restarted the computer to see if that would help, pressed the button again... bupkus.

So I shot an e-mail off to the I.T. help desk. Over scurries the techie known as "Sprocket" due to his similarity to the Mike Myers SNL character, Dieter, with what looks to be a paper clip that he's stretched out into some sort of jimmying device. He scowls at my CD drive and announces that he is going to have to take it apart.

"Are you sure it won't come out?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say.
He presses the button, and voila! Out pops the CD.
D'oh. I hate giving the techies a reason to feel superior.

Precious, precious sleep
My stinking child didn't take one nap this weekend. Not one! Well, there was one time yesterday when he stayed in his crib for 20 minutes without screaming, but I think his eyes were open. Does that count? Then, he wouldn't go to sleep until 11 last night, whereas I was ready to cash out around 8.

Where did he inherit this anti-sleep gene from? Because his father and I are both huge proponents of sleep. Especially on the weekend.

I asked the day care lady this morning whether he takes naps for them, and she informed me that he only fusses for 5 minutes and then falls right asleep. Bastard. I smell a conspiracy.

An "I'm alive but my life is uninteresting and nothing is going on" post
So yeah. Here I am. Work is... weird. I'm getting along strangely well with Bad Lady, which disturbs me greatly but for the moment I guess it's OK. I think it's because we are both united in our dislike for the Shady Backstabbing Wench who Wants My Job, whom I confronted about two weeks ago. It went semi-well, but she did not deny that she wants my job. Nor did she deny that while I was on maternity leave, she asked my co-workers exactly what made me qualified to hold the position that I hold. Which makes me a mad Kat. Do not challenge my skillz. I will burn your ass before you know it's Tuesday.

It basically boils down to her, at age 24, thinking she knows everything because she got some fancy schmancy design degree, which, OK, I don't have. Snaps to her for having a degree in design. I have an absolutely worthless Journalism degree. Whatever. But I don't feel like I need to prove myself to some fresh-out-of-Kent-Freaking-State chick, thank you very much.

Anyhoo, we'll continue to keep an eye on that situation.

The baby is still not sleeping through the night, which enables me to watch "Survivor" reruns that I've DVR'ed at 3 a.m. The episode where Neleh offers everyone the mint that has been in her mouth already was just on last week. Good times.

(Tangent: do you think "Tivo" is going to become one of those words like "Xerox" -- or has it already? I don't have Tivo so I say "DVR", but I'm still resisting the urge to say "tape")

There have been no further incidents of Dom peeing on the baby's belongings, which is good. Or at least, as far as we know.

The Day Care Queen still says "uh oh" every time she sees me.

IBL just jumped in the air and snapped his fingers. My day is complete.

Candy ass
Every October, my boss fills a plastic jack-o-lantern with various types of candy and it resides on top of the file cabinet in my department. He also provides the accounting department, which is also housed on this floor, with a jack-o-lantern of their own.

Throughout the month, Mr. Pumpkin, as he's affectionately called, gets several refills. My boss sends us out on candy runs and we take requests. (By far the most popular in our department: Heath bars.)

By the time Halloween rolls around, everyone is so sugared up it's ridiculous. I hopped on the scale last night and in the month of October alone I have gained 5 pounds. I attribute every last ounce to Mr. Pumpkin.

So now that it's November, Mr. Pumpkin will no longer be refilled by my boss. As soon as he is empty, he goes back up on the high shelf in our store room to wait another eleven months. The sooner, the better, in my opinion.

My twisted logic dictates that if I eat a whole bunch of candy every day, Mr. Pumpkin will be empty sooner. The candy binge that I'm on is truly disgusting. I am sweating Skittle juice. The inside of my mouth has a perpetual coating of high fructose corn syrup.

However, it did motivate me to get on my treadmill last night for the first time since I gave birth to the Bankster Doodle Doo.