Too Stupid to Pump Gas

This is a true story. It happened today after Bug and I picked up G to fetch lunch. That evil dashboard light that tells me that it's time to spend another $50 at the gas pump came on. There's an ARCO near G's office that is under $3/gallon so we went. Like other Japanese cars, our gas tank is on the left, which means that we have to get in line and wait for a vacant pump, whereas a car with a tank on the right could just pull right in, pay the exorbitant sum and hit the road.

There is one entrance to get to the two lines of pumps (there are two pumps on each side of each line of pumps). We chose the line closer to the street because there was only one car in it. Of course, that car was at the rear pump and the one in front was not being used. Could it be that the driver was all done and ready to pull out? Or might she notice that there is a big blue van behind her so she would think to pull up to the forward pump? No and no. She ignored the world around her, took her own sweet time at the credit card machine to pay for her gas, and then couldn't figure out how to get the pump to work. I kid you not. She must have been in her mid 60's and apparently she had never pumped gas before. Ultimately, G popped out of the van to try to help her and then got someone from the gas station to get things working.

By this time, G and I are rolling our eyes and waiting. So she pumps her gas. And hops back into her car. And nothing happens. She just sits there and probably wonders why her car isn't moving. Well, perhaps it had something to do with that little old gas cap sitting on the trunk of her car. I finally hopped out, knocked on her back window, told her to turn off the car, and put the gas cap in place. Had I not helped her, who knows how long she would have sat there. And how lucky was she that the van behind her contained an old married couple with a baby rather than some hostile teenagers. Eventually, she left. And we got our gas and had a good laugh.

As it turned out, choosing the other line would not have helped as that driver of the truck at the rear pump waited until after his car was full of gas to wash the windows. Man, I hate it when people do that.

I swear this was actually funny when it happened, but I guess you had to be there.

Thanks, Mom

Be warned, this is a long one.

G and I decided sometime in April 2003 that we should try to have a baby. We had been married for almost a year and we were ready.

After I got home from spending the day in Golden Gate Park to see Duran Duran (and giggling like a 14 year old) with G's sis, I decided to break out a pregnancy test and, woo hoo, there was that extra line. I was beside myself, I was so happy. I wonder if that was why I steered away from beer during the concert. Nah, it's probably because it was about eleven million degrees that day. But it does explain why earlier in the week the smell of apple cinammon oatmeal made me want to barf. I told my mom immediately because she needed to hear some good news. She had been diagnosed with colon cancer the previous October and my dad had died in December. She was so excited to be a grandma.

I called the doctor the next day to schedule my first prenatal appointment. Everything seemed to be fine until the afternoon of October 22 when I found blood during one of my many trips to the little girls' room. In a panic, I called Al to find out if this was normal. She said it probably was, but that I should call my doctor for peace of mind. The doctor said to come in immediately for an ultrasound. I told my supervisor that I wasn't feeling well and that I was running to the doctor. No one other than some close friends and family knew I was pregnant and I wasn't about to tell the office.

The doctor I saw was a very no nonsense woman who could never be described as warm. Her comment during the ultrasound was "this does not look good." I was 9 weeks 3 days pregnant, but the baby had stopped developing a few weeks back. I was to go back the following day for a d&c. I wanted to die.

They took me to a room where I could collect myself and make phone calls. I called my mom first. I guess I needed her to tell me everything would be ok. I needed my mommy. Then I called G and drove home. I don't remember much of the rest of the day other than making phone calls to untell the people with whom we had shared our good news. We had not told Doof, so at least we didn't have to untell her. And I called the headhunter through whom I had gotten my job (it was a long term temp gig) to tell her I would be having surgery and would be out the rest of the week.

I woke up the next morning and checked my e-mail. The first thing I saw was a snarky message from the headhunter wanting to know why I hadn't given more notice that I would be out for two days. Shocked and horrified and then a bit numb, I called her. She asked if I meant this week and, when I said yes, started to give me grief about lack of notice. It was all I could do not to scream at her, but I simply said that I was sorry and that I had suffered a miscarriage and was going in for a medical procedure. Well that shut her up pretty good. When I told, G, he was furious, called her nasty names and ultimately sent her a fax telling how unreasonable she was and that she owed me an apology for giving me a hard time. God, I love him.

G took the day off to take me to the doctor. The doctor doing the procedure greeted me with a hug and a valium. I think all doctors should greet me this way. I was conscious for and cried through the whole thing, with G at my side. Then we went home and made more phone calls and cried a lot more until I finally ran out of tears for the night. My mom called all of our family members, but was instructed by one of my aunts not to tell one of my cousins (who was then pregnant) because it would be too stressful for her to hear my news. Whatever.

The following day was worse because G had to work. The lone bright spot was the delivery of sunflowers from XT and Bab because they understand that sunflowers are incredibly cheery. I don't think I thanked them enough. XT then sent some books on miscarriage and a tracking number for another package. When I checked it out to find out when it might arrive, I saw that whatever it was weighed 8 pounds. Given my frame of mind, is it any wonder that my first thought was "but you can't order a baby from Amazon"?

Things plugged along and I went on with my life as best I could. I suffered a bit of a setback and a whole lot of poor me when XT told me she was pregnant with Ali. I didn't handle the news very well. I felt terrible about not being a particularly good friend to her on hearing her announcement since I felt that I was the one who was supposed to be pregnant. I later called her back to tell her that I was happy for her, apologize for freaking out, and ask she was feeling. We talked about how hard it was for her to tell me and I sure didn't make it any easier. But it was my job to be happy for my friend. And I was.

We finally got the go ahead to try again later in the spring of 2004, but wouldn't you know it my system went wonky with the hormones. At this same time, my mom started getting sicker. In March, she broke her leg. It turned out that her cancer had spread and tumor growing in her leg broke the bone. And then it spread to her brain. Perhaps it was the stress that caused things to go crazy with my body. All I know is that I stopped ovulating.

So there I was 33 years old, desperately wanting a baby, and watching my mom deteriorate. And my baby would have been due at the end of May. Because her cancer had spread so much, my mom had to stop working. She had worked at UCLA for 40 years, so her office decided to throw her a retirement party near the end of June. The plan was to have it on campus, but she wasn't up to the travel, so they brought it to the nursing home where she was staying after a Memorial Day fall and the resulting blackout. She wasn't the same afterwards and she didn't get those missing days back. Her short term memory was gone. But interestingly enough, her long term memory was all there. We know this because her boss had brought her personnel file to the party and when asked how much she made when she started working there, my mom was able to state her weekly salary for 1964. Some thirty people from her office came to the home with gifts and food and good wishes. They went around the room telling how long they had known her and providing anecdotes about how she had helped them at work or made them laugh. She was the belle of the ball and she was on. It was great. And bittersweet. And strangely difficult for me because my cousin came with her 6 week old baby. He was just about 10 days older than mine would have been. And my aunt who had said not to tell my cousin what had happened back in October made stupid comments about how natural I looked with the baby and that I should try to have one of my own. She's an idiot and G wanted to kill her.

My mom passed away a few weeks later, the day after her 60th birthday. Shortly before she died, I learned from the oncology department social worker, with whom she had met during the course of her treatment, that my mom blamed herself for my miscarriage. She was concerned that the stress of her illness caused it to happen. She couldn't have been more wrong. But she never told me and by the time I found out, it was really too late to tell her that it was not her fault and that I didn't blame her. I would never have blamed her. I blamed myself because, clearly, there had to be something wrong with me. Or else sometimes things just happen.

After we got back home from the funeral and cleaning out my mom's apartment and a previously planned vacation at a cabin by a lake, I met with my doctor to discuss why my body had gone wonky. I started a medication to treat a hormonal imbalance and was scheduled to start a fertility medication in the fall. About 10 days later, I woke up with a migraine and called in sick to work. During the afternoon, I was feeling better, but was bored. I found a pregnancy test under the cupboard. And you are thinking why would she think of a pregnancy test at this point in time. I'll tell you why. Since I hadn't had a cycle in a few months, I took a pregnancy test maybe once a week just to see if perhaps that was why I hadn't had a visit from Aunt Flo. So I was due for a test. And I took it. There was that extra line again. I called the doctor to see if perhaps the new medication caused false positives. She said no and that I should come in the following Monday to find out when the heck this happened. G showed up with lunch about 30 minutes later and the minute he entered the apartment I handed him the test. To say we were shocked would be an understatement. After lunch, I took one of those digital tests and it immediately read PREGNANT.

We decided we wouldn't tell anyone before I saw the doctor on Monday. And I really tried to keep it quiet. But I couldn't. I told XT at her baby shower because I just couldn't not tell her. And then I told Al. But that's it.

I was a nervous wreck on Sunday night before my appointment. I didn't want more bad news. I didn't think I would be able to handle it. After all, in just 19 months, I had lost both parents and a baby. I got to the doctor's office, hoping that I would see the doctor with the hugs (and the valium). But no. I got to see the warm one that had told me I had miscarried. I tried to breathe and tried not to panic. She showed me the screen and there she was, my little Bug. No visible heartbeat yet, but that's ok, it was too early. She then told me my due date was April 7, 2005, based on Bug's size, since they couldn't determine the date based on my last period (the usual way to determine a due date). So, of course, I asked, "so when did this happen?" "Oh, around July 14." I nearly fainted. July 14 was the day my mom died.

I have to think that my mom had something to do with this. How could she not? I wasn't supposed to get pregnant without some medical assistance. But I did. And Bug is here and will be six months old on Tuesday.

So, thank you, Mom, so so very much. I miss you and Dad every day, but having Bug here makes it a little easier.

Quite Possibly the Most Disturbing Thing I Have Ever Seen

Bug and I were heading out in our van to fetch some lunch, waiting to make the right turn off our road onto the road that would take us to the freeway. At the time, I had no idea where we would be going, but it didn't much matter since what I really wanted was to be out of the house. And while we were waiting, I saw something that defied description, but I'll try.*

I have seen this person before; usually he's waiting at the nearest bus stop. Today he had a companion. There he was in all his glory -- fairly tall, fairly old, maybe 300 pounds, wearing old, mismatched army fatigues. And the pants were clearly too big. How do I know this? Because he saw something on the ground and decided to bend over to check it out. And smell it. Ick. Very ick. Amid the bending and smelling was, shockingly, a display of crack that would put the finest of plumbers to shame. There must have been something wrong with his companion because she didn't run away screaming "oh my eyes," which is certainly what I would have done.

I figure that since I had to endure the actual visual, the least I could do is share.

It took awhile before I was able to even consider eating lunch.

*It's at times like these when I wish I owned a camera phone.

The Club

I'm not sure when we started calling it "the club" or even why, and it's not something I ever wanted to join. To get into the club, you have to have lost a parent. I think it applies to those of us who are of an age where you would expect to still have parents. Al was the first of my close friends to join and my brother and I were next. It's hard to believe it has been five years since her mom died. We all adored her mom and salute her with little Cokes and think fondly of the time she said, "you just don't see that in Ardmore." It makes us smile.

My dad died in December 2002 and I looked to Al for guidance because she "got it". She knew the drill. More importantly, she had been through the loss of a parent and lived through it. She told me that everything I was feeling was ok and that I would survive. And she was right. It's such a strange process to go through. I can't really explain it. I just know that I was glad I wasn't going through it alone. And then Steve's mom died a few months later and I got to help him into the club the way Al had helped me. I think it probably helped me more than it did him. I was the one who "got it" and could do something productive because of that. Then another friend lost a parent and I got to tell him all the things I had learned. It let me continue to grieve the loss of my dad, but it also helped me get beyond the grief, concentrating on the good memories and silly misadventures, often involving cake, and being thankful for what I had.

Last July, my mother died, so my brother and I got to start a new chapter within the club. This was reserved for those of us who had lost both parents. No one had started it for us. If I didn't want to join the club, I certainly didn't want to be here. I'm so thankful that my brother and I were close to begin with so that I at least had someone who understood what I felt. Steve joined us in this chapter a few months later. Thankfully, no one else has.

When I lost my dad, I felt strangely untethered, like there was some structure missing that was supposed to keep me in my place. It was as if part of the ceiling was missing and I could move up a level. When I had parents, I didn't feel that I had to be "the grown up" in the family. I had them for that. I would still be someone's kid. When my dad died, I leveled up and had to do some of the things that the grown ups do. I became sort of a peer for my mom. And then when she died, the tethers were gone. There was no structure holding me in my proper place and I sure didn't and I don't like it any more now. I'm not the kid anymore and no one is around to treat me like a kid. I think my brother and I sort of expected that my parents' peers, who for thirty plus years had treated us as kids would continue to do so, looking out for us since our parents no longer could. And strangely enough, I wanted that (at least for a little while). It didn't happen. Instead, we found ourselves fitting into roles my parents had played with their friends. My brother now has the task of calling my dad's best friend to tell him when certain movies are on tv or to talk about certain sporting events. The gossip I used to get from my mom I now have to get directly from the source.

So here I am. An orphan at 33 and a mom at 34. I wish everyday I could call my folks for advice on various baby-related things or comparisons of what Bug is like to how I was as an infant. Instead, I have box full of mementos like my baby book and my baby blanket and so many pictures, all of which I cherish, but it doesn't tell me everything I want to know. And as a parent, I have the fear of leaving my little one too soon. My parents both died at age 60 and will miss out on so many things. It just goes to show me that life is short and that I had better make the most of it. That's really all anyone can do.

And my fondest hope at this point is that I won't be welcoming anyone to the club for a very long time. But if someone does join the club, I will be there for them however much they need me, bearing little Cokes in honor of Al's mom, Pepsi in a can to be poured over ice in honor of my mom, and the most disgustingly chocolate thing I can find in honor of my dad.

Call Me Crankypants

I'm finding that things are annoying me a whole heck of a lot more lately. Maybe I am just getting cranky in my old age. I'm not sure. Anywhere, here is a list of things that have bugged me in the last few days.

1. I ended up being the one to go out and buy the Gatorade and Benadryl last night. Yay me. Of course, I didn't write a shopping list before heading off to Safeway, so I forgot the Benadryl. G gives me shit about this (the not writing the list), which made me glare at him on the way out the door. Just for that, I made him cook dinner.
2. This is the kind of Benadryl I wanted, but now I can't seem to find it. Rather than head back over the freeway to the Safeway, I tried the local 7 11, but they didn't have it. Then I went to the local little market, but they didn't have it either, so I bought the children's version and came home. Today, we found out that the closest Walgreens doesn't have it either. Is it wrong to want what I want when I want it?
3. Why is it that total strangers feel compelled to touch my child? I don't mind when people come up and look at her and tell me how beautiful she is (because she is), but don't start sticking your grubby fingers on her without asking me. Case in point: G and I went out for lunch today because we needed hot and sour soup. We usually get take out, so it's not like the people who work there know us. So here comes our waitress to get a closer look. Then she's grabbing Bug's toes and touching her hair. Then she says that she washed her hands and asked if she could hold Bug. So we said fine and next thing you know she starts walking away toward the kitchen because she wants to show my baby to her sister. Had she gotten more than 15 feet away from us, I probably would have run after her and tackled her. After we have Bug back in her carseat, waitress comes by again to fawn some more, even though G is entertaining Bug. She actually had the nerve to tell G to get out of the way so she could play with Bug. G showed incredible restraint because I would have kicked her had I not been across the table. G simply moved waitress' arm off our child and that was it. She left us alone after that.
4. The dirty dishes in my house seem to multiply overnight. I'm not sure how this happens. They just won't go away.
5. My nose is still stuffy, but at least I don't still feel like I am swallowing glass.
6. XT's ex-asshole, because I have learned just how much of a dickhead he is. Since I didn't kick the waitress, perhaps I should go kick him.
7. F/X is supposed to show Buffy reruns at 1 and 2pm and today they didn't. Grrrr.

I'm sure I could come up with more, but that's enough for now.

My Kingdom for Gatorade

When S (aka Doof) came to our house, she brought along with her a head cold. Swell. See the minute cold germs come anywhere near me, they know they will have a home. They decided to stop off with G first to pick up some strength before finding their way to me. Doof is over her cold and G and I are on the mend. Of course, all I want when I have a cold is lemon lime Gatorade and won ton soup. And we are out of Gatorade. And Benadryl. Clearly, someone needs to go to the market tonight and it better not be me.

The bonus to all of this is that I have to be careful with my cold medication intake since I'm nursing. It seems they might all be fine for the baby, but they could cut my milk supply. By half. Eeeeek. After how hard it was get this nursing thing to work properly, I'll be damned if I will take something that will screw it all up. So I'll suffer, at least during the day.

The good news is that Bug hasn't caught it yet.

Here is a totally unrelated note. I told you all that Doof's mom went to New Orleans to help out in a hospital. She sent Doof an e-mail, care of G telling Doof the following things:

1. She got to meet Dr. Phil.
2. She took a helicopter ride over the city.
3. She wanted Doof to know that "the bad men with guns were taken to a small room with bars on it in Baton Rouge."

Given the way number 3 was written, as opposed to "those gun-toting people you heard about on the news are now in jail", how old would you think Doof is? She is 11. But Doof's mom often talks to her like she's a little kid. It's sad.

Breastfeeding for Dummies

Yes, that is a real book. And boy do I wish I had known about it about six months ago. Perhaps it would have helped. See, I figured that this nursing thing would be pretty simple. People have been doing it for years. Simply insert tab A into slot B. Be a breastaurant.* But nope, not so easy.

After Bug was born, I tried to nurse her as soon as I could, but she would have none of that. I tried and tried and tried. I called in the nurses. I called in the lactation consultants. But nothing doing. By the time I left the hospital, I would estimate that at least 10 different people had manhandled the bosoms in an effort to get the kid to eat. I have never been so groped in all of my life. The overnight nurses were way worse than the lactation consultants. There was one who was relentless in her quest to get Bug to eat straight from the tap. My little Bug, stubborn girl that she is (just like her mama) refused. The nurse just kept wrestling with Bug until I finally had to tell that nurse to piss off and stop making my baby scream. The goal was to feed the child and formula would have to do, at least until I could figure out whether breastfeeding would work for us.

Now seeing as how I was a buxom lass to begin with and the Titty Fairy that arrives during pregnancy came to visit a few times, I was determined to do this nursing thing. Since I had to carry the boobs around anyway, I figured I should put them to good use.

There were reasons why she didn't nurse in the hospital. It turns out, there was an issue with her frenulum -- the thing that attaches your tongue to the bottom of your mouth -- that prevented her from latching. So we had that fixed. Then there was a problem with the amount of milk that I had for her. I rented a breast pump from the hospital to try to get the milk flowing and started taking this herb called fenugreek to help increase production. Fenugreek doesn't taste all that great, even in capsule form, and apparently will make a person smell like maple syrup she sweats if she takes it enough. Thank god the smell thing didn't happen because I loathe maple syrup.

So here I am, a new mom who is feeding her child every three hours or so. Only it wasn't that simple. It meant mixing up formula with whatever breastmilk I had pumped, feeding Bug, putting her back to bed, then pumping for 20 minutes, then trying to fall asleep so I could maybe get in an hour before Bug woke up. Not exactly the best way to get some rest. I nearly gave up because it was so goddamn stressful. But as I said, I'm stubborn. I ultimately bought my own pump and I would be damned if I would spend $300 on the thing and then not get my money's worth. I passed the shopping test.** And it has worked. I was able make enough milk to bottle-feed Bug.

I was a breastaurant with a take out window.

And then one day, Bug miraculously learned how to latch. She still goes to the take out window when she's being stubborn. Or if it's too hot. Or if she's too lazy. Or if mama doesn't feel like yanking out the boobs in public.

It has all been worth it. She's healthy and she's growing and she's the cutest thing I have ever seen, so I really can't complain.

*Breastaurant was coined by a former coworker's husband and it just makes me giggle. When that coworker ended up getting braces, another coworker referred to her as a breastaurant with a grill.

** My mom came up with the shopping test. When making a purchase, you have to ask yourself will I get x dollars (the cost of the item) use out of it. If the answer is yes, then go ahead and buy it. If the answer is no, you are not allowed. It works pretty well, but does not apply to shiny goodies one might find at Tiffany.

Problem Solved

The crib is gone! Woo hoo! And I didn't have to do anything except talk to my brother in law on the phone. It was worth the sacrifice.

He called this morning from work. Of course, when I saw his number on the caller id, I accidentally on purpose missed the call and waited for the inevitable voice mail. I should know better. He never ever says what he wants on the voicemail. It's always, "Hi Jen, it's BIL. Give me a call back at the office." Why? Who knows? And he never calls just to say hi. So I sucked it up and called back.

Anyway, he had called to say that we was going to be in town to deliver some things to a friend who was collecting items to send to the gulf states and would I like him to take the crib off my hands. Abso-fuckin-lutely. He had popped by over the weekend with his family since they hadn't seen Bug in awhile and he must have noticed that we still had the crib. Even better was the fact that he was only able to come by my place at a time when I wouldn't be home. So all I had to do was leave it outside and he would pick it up. It was annoying that he insisted on knowing why I wouldn't be home, but whatever. I didn't have to expend any effort to dispose of the damn crib and there was no possibility of family strife.

It was so lovely to come home from the farmer's market to no stale smoke smelling crib cluttering up the landing before the stairs.

A Whole Lot of Random Thoughts

I couldn't come up with a single topic, so here is a collection of the things that have been going through my brain.

1) I have found myself strangely obsessed with watching tennis on tv. It's not the most thrilling thing to watch, particularly since I have never played the game, but I can't get enough. And I don't watch it the same way I watch golf. The golf channel is often my favorite channel, particularly at 3am when I can't fall asleep. It's so god awful boring that it puts me right out. No, tennis I find fascinating and think that I should give it a go. Never mind the fact that I have no hand eye coordination whatsoever. But if anything could make me skinnier, it could be running around like a crazy person while carrying a racket. And safer for me than racquetball because there are no walls for me to run into. Oh and I think I love James Blake.

2) I have a new nickname for Bug -- it's Ptera, short for pterodactyl. Why, you ask? Because not only has she learned how to shriek, she also makes this sound that I can only attribute to pterodactyls in movies. It's high-pitched, like the shriek, and boy is it loud. I'm not a fan.

3) I feel compelled to say something nice about S's mom. As the evil stepmom, I don't have to, but since the mom is flying to New Orleans for a week to help out (she's a nurse), I have to give her kudos. I'm not wild about her or some of the decisions she makes with regard to S or some of the things she says or does (my mom would have said "she means well"), but good for her for doing something.

4) I have finally stopped obsessively watching everything I can about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. And since I can't go down to the affected states, the best I can do right now is contribute what I can. A gal who posts on a Babycenter board with me (she miscarried the same month I did) lived in Metairie and pretty much lost everything. She and her family evacuated and are fine, thank goodness. I have never met her and probably never will, but I feel bound to send her something. Or lots of somethings.

5) Bug's (I mean Ptera's) middle name is Katrina. It makes me wonder if, had she been born after the hurricane, would we have chosen a different name.

6) Today's to do list:

• write and mail thank you notes for job interview
• buy more fenugreek (herb that helps milk production)
• buy wine because G bought me some cambozola yesterday (yummy)

I admit it, it's a strange list. But thinking of the wine and cheese has made me hungry. Time for a snack and tennis on tv.

I Am Not a Loser!

I had a job interview! Woo hoo! You wouldn't think this would be such a big thing, but it was. And is. After lobbing out loads of resumes and getting no response, I got a call yesterday and went to the interview today. I think it went pretty well and I'll find out sometime in the next two weeks just how well. They asked the pretty standard questions and boy am I glad I prepared for when they asked "what salary are you asking for." I said that I would prefer to put that off until after we had decided that this firm and I were a good fit. Hopefully, that will work. I mean, honestly, what am I supposed to say? One million dollars (in my Dr. Evil voice of course)? How about the minimum salary for a Major League Baseball player?* They gave me a strange look, but then again, the look would have been even weirder had I given either of those two answers. Besides, does it matter how much I want to be paid? They know what they want to pay their associates and since I don't have a lot of leverage here, I would essentially have to take what they offer or not take the job. And there's always the danger of saying I would take x dollars when they would be willing to pay x +20,000 per year and then getting stuck with the amount I gave them.

Since I had responded to an anonymous ad on Craigslist, I was a bit confused then the firm name showed up on my caller id. "Can you come in next Wednesday?" "Sure," I say. A little while later, she calls back to ask if I could come in today. With a week's lead time, I know I can find something to wear, but one day, well, that's not so clear. So I said I would call back once I confirmed I had a sitter. Sitter equals dropping Bug off with G at work. I ran upstairs and rummaged through the closet. I haven't worn a suit in over a year and since I built and had a baby in that time, I wasn't sure what, if anything would fit. Good news! My suit fits, but it's a little too big. Darn. As my friend Steve would say, this is a high quality problem to have. It was even clean and wrinkle free. So "yes I can can interview tomorrow," I tell her.

Now all I can do is wait. And lob out more resumes. And send thank you notes for their taking the time to interview me. And try to be optimistic since if they were interested enough to meet me, other firms might be as well and someone will hire me. After three years of not having a real job, it will be most welcome. Of course, it will also mean that I won't be spending every waking moment with Bug, which will be sad. But I'll deal with that when the need arises.


Extra double bonus points to anyone who can identify the movie in which Bruce Willis said the title to this entry.

* The 2005 minimum salary for major league baseball players is $316,000 per year. I think I could live on that.