Yuppie Mouth

Wes and I were driving to church last Sunday, and had just stopped to grab a cup of coffee for me on the way.  That particular Sunday morning was a busy one, and I hadn’t had time to finish my requisite two cups of decaf coffee before we left.  Wes, being a pretty smart guy, knew it was wiser to stop and let me get coffee than it would have been to make me try to be nice without my fix java.

I can stop whenever I want to though.  I don’t have a problem.  Really.

Anyway, we had a choice between a Starbucks and a local independent coffee shop.  I chose the independent one, and as I cradled my drug decaf mocha in my hands, I remarked how pleased I was to have chosen the independent shop.  Having been a barista once or twice (or five times) in my life, I know how I like my coffee.

I told Wes that I think Starbucks coffee is fine, but they never steam the milk hot enough for my satisfaction.  I like my latte piping hot, so that when it cools it’s still hot enough to be coffee.  I feel like Starbucks steams their milk just past the point of warmth, and then when it inevitably cools as you drink it it’s unpleasantly tepid.

He replied that he thinks Starbucks steams their milk plenty hot, and that he’s never had a problem with it before.  I scoffed, and told him that that was likely because he has a baby mouth that’s extremely sensitive to heat and is, as such, not up to the task of handling real coffee.

For some reason he took offense to this.

Here’s how the rest of the conversation progressed:

Wes: I do not have a baby mouth!  I just have a mouth that hasn’t been scorched every morning for the last decade and a half!

Erika: *giggles* Yeah, that’s true.  My mouth is tough and grizzled, like a Vietnam War veteran.

Wes: Wait, what?

Erika: My mouth was wading through rice paddies and tramping through the jungle while your mouth was comfortably ensconced in a garage inventing the Internet!

Wes: …

Erika: Freaking yuppie mouth.

Wes: Well, I guess that’s better than baby mouth.

Erika: Indeed.  I’m going to have to blog about this conversation, aren’t I?

Wes: If you must.

Erika: I must.

And there you have it.  Yet one more example of how I really am as strange in person as I am online.

We Lit the Night

On Saturday, Wes, Aidan, and I strapped on our walking shoes and high-tailed it to Green Lake (in Seattle), where we joined what must have been hundreds of other people to Light the Night.  The Light the Night walk is a walk against blood cancers (like leukemia and lymphoma) and we walked in honor of my Dad.

We had the very great pleasure of walking with my Dad’s biological family.  My Dad was adopted as an infant, and a little over ten years ago his biological family found him.  They live in Washington state, and he flew up to meet them and they got to know and love each other until my Dad passed away last year.

All of us got together on Saturday night, hoisted illuminated balloons in the air, and set out at twilight to walk 2.8 miles in memory of my Dad.  We were surrounded by families and teams, everyone walking and holding an illuminated balloon in different colors signifying whether they were supporters, patients, or they’d lost someone.

We all walked around the lake, and as the night grew darker the balloons and the moon were the only illumination.  All around us was happy chatter, and it was staggering to see how many people had come out to raise money and support blood cancer research.

Along the walk they had posters of the people who had passed away, and when we came to the one that had my Dad’s picture on it we all stopped.  I’m having a hard time explaining how it felt to see his picture there.  It was moving, and all of us were emotional to see him there.

As we walked away, it felt like my Dad was there with us.  Like he was on the walk with us.  And it made  me smile, because even though lymphoma ultimately defeated my Dad’s body I still maintain that it never got the best of him.  Still though, if we can help raise money to find a cure for lymphoma, I sure wouldn’t mind pushing lymphoma down a well and leaving it there, you know?

You Might Be a Blogger If…

…You stop to take a picture while your fingers melt from chemical burns courtesy of an unfortunate Krazy Glue incident.

Krazy glue fingers

Did you know that Krazy Glue bonds skin instantly?  And they do mean instantly?  As in, the instant that glue touches your skin you’re totally and completely screwed.

I was attempting to mend something (that I broke, yes, I am a disaster) with Krazy Glue yesterday when the bottle simply detonated and disgorged glue all over my entire hand.  Due to the fact that my fingers were all together and clasping the broken piece of thing I was trying to mend, my whole hand became welded together like some kind of freak misshapen claw.

When the glue touched my skin, I tried to separate my fingers but they weren’t going anywhere.  And they were burning.  To be honest, my first instinct was to panic and run around the room flailing my claw and shrieking for help.  But I couldn’t, because Aidan was right there and it was nigh nap time and I needed to get my act together for the sake of my tiny human.

So I read the bottle of glue for advice, then proceeded to dunk my whole hand in a bowl of nail polish remover.  It took about half an hour for the glue to come loose, and another half hour of scraping and peeling to remove the glue entirely, but I did it.  I stank like a salon in a lemon grove for the rest of the day (because I used lemon scented nail polish remover) but my flesh was free from it’s freakish glue prison.

The lesson to be learned from this is to use gloves when working with Krazy Glue.  And also to keep nail polish handy.  And also to attempt stupid crap when the baby is sleeping so that when something invariably goes wrong I don’t have to attempt to entertain him with my feet while my hands work frantically to remove glue from my fingers.

Blame It On Lady Gaga

Scene: Casa de Mitchell, Aidan’s bedtime.  Erika is sitting on the bed with Aidan, with a mirror at her back, while Wes washes out a medicine dropper in the adjoining bathroom.

Wes is running water in the sink when Erika catches a glimpse of herself sitting on the bed from behind.  She frowns.

Erika: This is just not the best angle for me.  I think I look really fat from behind at this angle, don’t you think?

Wes: Yeah, totally

Erika: *Mouth hangs open*

Wes: *Oblivious, continues to putter around the room until he notices Erika’s expression*

Wes: Wait.  I wasn’t really paying attention, I have “Stop Calling” stuck in my head.  What did I just agree to?

Erika: You just agreed that I look fat from behind.

Wes: Wait, NO!

Erika: I’m SO BLOGGING THIS.  *She flies down the stairs to her computer to start typing feverishly while Wes hang his head in chagrin and Aidan eats his feet*

End scene. And also, possibly, Wes’ clean laundry for awhile.

NaNoWriMo – Who’s In?

Extra-large bottle of Ibuprofen?  Check.  Forewarned husband?  Check.  New idea?  Check.  Oodles of spare time?  Uh, no, but we’ll pretend that’s not important.

That right there is my official NaNoWriMo essentials checklist.  NaNoWriMo (a.k.a. National Novel Writing Month for the uninitiated) starts in November, which means I’ve officially got about a month and a half before I sit down and try to crank out 50,000+ words during the month of November.

I did NaNoWriMo for the first time in November 2008.  One of Wes’ friends (who I would also consider a friend, if for no other reason than that I can beat him at arcade shooting games and he also once shared a plate of frog legs with me {which are exactly like nasty chicken, by the way}) talked me into doing it, and so we slogged through our novels from opposite sides of the country.  When the end of November came around, we were victorious (and very sick of writing).

The feeling I got as I crossed the 50,000 word finish line was indescribable.  I felt proud of myself (even prouder than when I graduated college, funny enough).  I felt accomplished (I could honestly say I’d written a novel!).  And I felt very, very ready to break up with my keyboard.  When I posted to my blog that I’d done it, lots of people celebrated that victory with me and it felt like a gigantic wordalicious party.  My Dad, who followed my progress closely, even left one of his rare comments on my blog to congratulate me.

So, even though I have a precocious and busy little baby who distracts me with his smiles and a part-time job that demands most of my creativity and focus, I’m strapping on my novel-writing boots again this year and signing my name on the roster.  Put me in coach, I’m ready to write!

I came up with the idea for my novel while I was feeding Aidan a banana, so now I have everything I’m going to need.  All I have left to say is: Who’s with me?