When a man takes an oath… he’s holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then -he needn’t hope to find himself again. ~Robert Bolt
“Hey, Summers, aren’t you supposed to be out today and tomorrow?”
My boss. A good ole boy. Calls people by their last names. I hate him. It’s not his fault though, I hate everyone.
But he’s right. I was supposed to be out of the office for a couple of days. It was almost the first thing I told him when I started this gig. Seems silly now.
A week or so before my surgery, a friend of mine asked me what I wanted during my recovery.
“Come on, what? I’ll send you cupcakes!”
“No. I’m too fat! Ooh…”
I did want something!
So I’ve sorta become a little bit obsessed with David Tennant. A little. (Read: A lot. I don’t do anything a little.) He’s starring in a production of Much Ado about Nothing in London with his old Dr. Who co-star, Catherine Tate. My friend is a huge Catherine Tate fan and gets tickets to all her shows.
“I wanna go to the David Tennant show with Catherine Tate in the Spring!”
“Okay, you got it.”
Months pass. It wasn’t really mentioned again, but I was going! A few weeks before, I’m looking up fares online and a memory stirs.
I feel uneasy.
The following week I text my friend to confirm.
Silence. Ouch. We schedule a nice long waterboarding session for ourselves, either we’ll learn once and for all that we are an anti-social shut in for a reason or we’ll drown. Our choice.
A couple of hours later…
“Well…I dunno…It’s a very important performance for Catherine. I don’t want the Tennant fans to overwhelm her.”
“Okay. : )” Whatever.
But I forgot to unrequest my time off. Good ole boy, who I imagine wears a monocle and smokes a cigar between swimming in his gold coins, is smiling at me.
“I thought you had tickets something…”
I smile back. “Go away and leave all this? Never.”
He laughs and walks back to his office.
Well, it could have been worse, I could have a plane ticket to a place I’m never going to again. My progress in three and a half years is impressive!
Incidentally, why are tickets to London so insane? $1500 for a Monday to Wednesday flight?
Is the weather there good now? Have they perfected edible food? I have questions!
I hate being poor so much. *throws self in front of a double stroller*
Happy Birthday! (It’s still been less than 24 hours, so totally counts!)
Do you remember me?
I was the one waving. I do that a lot. I’m an excellent waver, I shall teach you. Everyone loves waving. Except Kearns. He’s weird. You’ll see.
So, big day, huh? There you were all comfortable and cozy when the mean people came with the knives. I know…they’re horrible. You know who sent them? Aunt Amanda. You must always remember that she is your nemesis, the source of all the bad in the world. Together we shall defeat her and her poison nuts!
Oh my gosh, so this isn’t even the first time I’ve mentioned you on my blog! Even though you’re only a day old, I wrote about you in 2006! Yeah, your mom has been talking about you since senior year of college…which, if my math is correct, was 52 years ago. Oh, you should probably also know, my math is never correct. Aunt Dawn: great waver; terrible mather. Also, mather is not a word.
Ooh, another thing… the Tiffany glass windows in your house…um…should you ever break one, feel free to blame your dad. His stupid Giants broke my heart and he owes karmic retribution to the universe, so it’s not a lie…it’s debt repayment.
On the other hand, if I’m involved in the breaking, I’m going to need you to take the rasp. I’m still on thin ice after scratching your grandma’s basement wall 12 years ago and your widdy bitty face is waaay cuter than mine!
Oh, and here’s a tip: should you ever get in trouble in daycare for failure to nap or say, knocking over Susie’s stupid blocks pyramid, you should remind your mom that she ate clams when the doctor specifically told her not to! You point out that the clams make you unable to nap and that they tell you to knock over blocks. It’s your get out of the time out chair free card! You’re welcome!
Okay, I think that’s about it. Get some rest…sorry that the food here sucks so bad right now…you’ve been spoiled with all the pizza and short ribs. But at least you don’t have to eat bananas. Bananas are AWFUL! Aunt Amanda grows them in her laboratory of evil.
Welcome to…um…the world? America is awesomesauce, New York is great and Brooklyn is the bestest! You are soooo lucky!! And we’re glad to have you!
Just when I’d decided to pack it all in and tie a giant rock to my leg for my plunge into the Hudson, the universe reminds me that I cannot leave a helpless newborn in the hands of a Giants/Yankees fan! I have serious responsibilities!
Congratulations to me! Oh wait, I’ve buried the lede again, haven’t I? Dang it, I hate when I do that. Let me start over…
Pi and Peih had a beautiful bouncing baby boy (I don’t know where that saying comes from. Newborns do not bounce. Like…not even a little.) today. (Yes, *today*! Remember how we worried about getting one of those February babies…not so much. Young Alex (middle name to be determined, so I’m going to go ahead and say ‘Stephen’) Tzuo actually seems to have planned a summer birth for himself.
I keep telling Pi she is too good a host. No one ever wants to leave.
But this morning circa 6:14 am, he was served with eviction papers, an appellate judge denied his motion for an emergency stay and he was all bornded this morning.
I went to see him today…um…I mean to see Pi, you know, how she was doing and stuff…*whistles*
I get to the hospital, (it’s on Fifth Avenue! Right off Central Park!! Pi had a fancy schmancy Museum Mile baby.) but I can’t find the email with Pi’s room number, so I just walk into the lobby and tell the guard who I’m here to see.
“Is she a patient here?”
“Is she having a baby?”
“Um…she had the baby already.”
“She had the baby at this hospital?”
Oh my god, I’m going to jump across this desk and beat you to death. Though I fear that since we are in a hospital, they might be able to revive your stupid ass.
Finally, he looks at the damn patient list, finds her name and gives me the room number.
I get in the elevator and it stops five seconds later at the second floor.
A young nurse gets in pushing a baby in an incubator.
A black nurse in the elevator holds the doors open till she pulls the incubator completely inside the elevator.
“You going upstairs”?
The young nurse laughs.
“No, I’m going downstairs and I’m taking this little guy home with me.”
I snickered and gave her what I thought was a look of approval. You ask a stupid question, you get what you get, I say.
But she doesn’t get that vibe, so she says “I’m just kidding. I’m single and I like to mingle. Can’t have a baby to slow my roll.”
She is as white as can be and for some reason, when she says “Slow my roll” I lose it and dissolve into hysterics.
This must have made me seem youthful, because then she says “It’s true. Working here is total birth control. You and your friends at school would never have kids at your age if you are around babies all day.”
I’m laughing even harder now. Finally, the elevator stops at the fifth floor and she is pushing the baby in the same direction I am going. I look inside, it doesn’t look like a very Chinese-y baby. She peels away a few doors down and goes into a room labeled “nursery.” I peek inside. I don’t see any Chinese-y babies in there at all.
I get to Pi’s room and I see Peih sitting on a chair.
“Dawn is here.”
I hear an unfamiliar female voice in the background.
I see Pi on the bed and she’s got the baby in her arms!
“What? We have a fantasy baseball draft in fifteen minutes!” (Peih and Pi won my fantasy football league this year with the annoyingly named “Team Beating Dawn.”)
Uncle Vatnak joined us about 30 minutes later. Vatnak is pushing for Alex’s middle name to be Charlemagne. I can’t lie…that would be all kinds of awesome.
“Dude, there’s no security at all in this place! I just walked right in,” he says.
I glare. And make a mental note to find a certain annoying security guard at some future date. In a dark dark alley.
Then we sang Happy Birthday for Alex “improvising “Dear Alexander Charlemagne/ Dear Alexander Stephen” Happy Birthday to you!”
“Heeey, it’s actually his birthday! Like literally! Cause he was born today.” I’ve edited this portion of the visit down as no one else seemed as intrigued by this as I was. But seriously! IT’S HIS BIRTH DAY! AND HIS BIRTHDAY! DUUUUDEE!! (Sadly, this is still an edited version.)
“So…March 29th, huh?”
“Two prime numbers!”
“We should call him Xander. Like from Buffy,” Uncle Vatnak said.
Why? Because there is already a baby Xander and it would just be confusing on the blog.
“You know, he’s the youngest person I’ve ever met! Is he the youngest person you’ve ever met?”
Vatnak thinks about it for like five minutes.
“Dude. The kid is 16 hours old, what could you possibly be thinking about?”
“16 hours? He was born at 6:15…it’s 8 o’clock…”
“Look people, I’m black. Not Asian.” #Rude
Pi’s mom asked me which parent I thought the boy looked like, at first I didn’t think he looked like either of them (mostly cause all Asian people look alike #races), but looking at this photo, he totally looks like his dad:
“He’s just like Peih. He was late and he’s lazy,” Pi opined.
However, she also pointed at my adorable baby nephew and said “that whole thing was inside my body!” And not in a fond reminiscing way either. #RUUUDEEE
Oh and I totally changed my first diaper. By which I mean I handed Pi a new diaper out of the drawer. AND A TOWEL! For swaddling. I would show you, but Pi refused to let me take of picture of “his thing.”
“So how long are in you in here?”
“Till Saturday, but I want to see if I can leave on Friday.”
“Why? What’s the rush.”
“It’s costing me $5000 a night for this private room.”
“What the fuck? You could be staying at the Ritz,” I exclaimed and then added “watch your language around the baby.” #Badinfluence
We hung out until it was time for the baby feeding. Which I learned isn’t really feeding at all and my poor nephew will be starved for the first three days of his life. Poor baby…I’ll bring you a hotdog next time I see you.
Oh and I don’t know if you know this, but newborns don’t do anything. This made for a number of really uninteresting videos until Vatnak and I successfully got him to cry and then he cried and cried and I began my campaign of blaming it all on Aunt Amanda!
You ever get the feeling you’re going the wrong way through a revolving door. To wit: you’re not moving while other people incessantly whack you in the face with a plexiglass door? That shit hurts, yo.
I had a terrible dream last night that Brian Boitano was Canadian! It was a whole scandal and he was arrested and the Olympic Committee took away his medals, so that meant that the USSR actually got more medals in the 88 Olympics and then somehow that meant we lost the Cold War too! People were crying in the street in front of giant screens where President Obama was trying to comfort the nation, but the Boitano scandal had given the birthers’ claims credence, so the President’s credibility was shattered.
I woke up freaked out and ran to google just to make sure. We’re good. Boitano’s ours. I frankly blame @astinto and @MBartyzel for getting inside my head! Get out get out get out! And give me back Ryan Reynolds!
And since we’re already inside my crazy head… I’m writing this on Malcolm as my bus crawls to the subway station. But yesterday I accidentally downloaded 405 pictures of Zac Efron to my phone and now it’s being really slow and buggy, but I can’t very well delete 405 pictures of Zac Efron on purpose? Right?! Well, 393, I deleted the ones with Vanessa Hudgens in them because he just looked so unhappy. Oh yeah, who just did three digit math subtraction in her head?! This guy!
Oh, and yesterday I fell to second on the coder board, probably because I’ve found a way to watch TV at work. But it’s okay, I now use beating up on @Grange95 in words with friends to bolster my self esteem, so there’s that. Pokiest wino, indeed.
Checks calendar… birthday season might need to start in May this year.
Remember that game you played when you were kids? The one where one person says “I one the dead roach,” the next person says “I two the dead roach,” “I three the dead roach,” and so on until someone says “I eight the dead roach,” and everyone goes “ewwww, you ate the dead roach.”
There was some time, and I don’t think we need to discuss whether I mean days, weeks or months, here… Those are judgy questions.. But for some amount of time, I thought there was a strategy to beating this game that involved saying my number really fast. Like super fast. Practice might have been involved.
But you can’t avoid the inevitable by saying your lines faster… or slower. Eight will follow seven no matter what, dead roach and all.