The stairs in my house turn in the middle, so there are 5 or 6 steps at the bottom, 3 in the middle, and another 5 or 6 at the top. This is very convenient if you are like me and fall down a lot, because even if you do fall down the stairs you can only go 5 or 6 steps before hitting a wall or the bottom and stopping yourself. Or so I thought. You see, I am very talented. Last night I lost my balance halfway down the top section, cleverly made the turn so that I could tumble through the middle section, and then managed to brilliantly make the last turn and continue falling all the way to the bottom of the stairs. Fortunately for the Lima Bean, I was supporting most of my weight on my left forearm the entire time. So, you know, ouch and stuff. The Lima Bean, who is apparently now the size of a large sweet potato, probably thought it was a really cool ride and started jumping up and down yelling again, again! As for me, anyone who touches my left arm today gets kicked in the shins.
I have lately begun a very intimate, high drama, high conflict relationship with my pillow.
See I read this book, All the Ways You Have Already Irreparably Screwed Your Unborn Child. You know that book, right? Anyway, this book said that once you are 16 weeks pregnant you should not sleep on your back or YOUR BABY WILL DIE!!! No problem, I never sleep on my back. I've had to rearrange some of my favorite couch sloth positions, but really no big deal. However, the next paragraph was about how you should also not sleep on your stomach because it puts pressure on your uterus and YOUR BABY WILL DIE!!! OR AT LEAST HAVE A MAJOR PERSONALITY DISORDER!!! AND WE KNOW ABOUT ALL THAT WINE YOU DRANK BEFORE YOU KNEW YOU WERE PREGNANT AND BELIEVE ME YOU WILL REGRET THAT YOU STUPID HORRIBLE COW!!!
(I think the tone of this book may be a little reactionary. Anyway.)
I sleep on my stomach with my head under my pillows. It's really the only way to do it and I'm not interested in anybody who might have another opinion on the optimum way to sleep because frankly you are just wrong. However, I consider it a sort of personal goal to not kill my baby, so I'm willing to try the whole "sleeping on your left side" thing that all the reactionary pregnancy books recommend, even though clearly this is an elaborate hoax played on pregnant women because everybody knows it is not possible to sleep on your left side. The gurus recommend that you sleep with a pillow either between your legs or next to you with your top leg on top of it for support and also to prevent you from rolling over onto your stomach. I've been trying the pillow thing for about a week.
Our relationship has been a bit rocky. The first few nights, I got fed up and just threw the pillow out of bed. I mean, if that pillow is going to have the nerve to try to keep me from sleeping on my stomach, it can just sleep on the floor. After that, I let the pillow stay but woke up every hour or so to punch it as evidence of my displeasure. This was easy to do since I was usually sleeping directly on top of the pillow. On my stomach. However, the last few nights I think I have found a solution that allows us to peacefully coexist in the same bed. I just scoot over towards Chris's side of the bed and roll blissfully over onto my stomach, and the cats sleep on the pillow to prevent it from getting any ideas about trying to get me back onto my side. We are all very happy with the arrangement, except for the Lima Bean of course, but I've already done so many things wrong that I'm sure one more won't make any difference.
I am a total blog slacker. I have a series of excuses for this, but honestly, none of them are any good. You see, last week work was crazy, and then last weekend I was just too lazy so I planned to get all caught up on Monday. Then Monday turned into a day of my own personal hell. I would like to point out in my defense that I posted twice on Tuesday. On Wednesday, however, my boss came into town, forcing me to actually spend the bulk of my time at work working. Yes, it does piss me off.
Not only have I not been posting, but I have made it to approximately 4 sites in the last 2 weeks. You may all hate me now, provided that you promise to forgive me once my life goes back to normal.
Anyway, I have news! We have officially crossed the final barrier into unredeemable, unadulterated yuppiehood. We now own more cars that we have drivers. Hey, the Lima Bean is going to need wheels, right? We bought a new car last night, so now we have three. (We are going to get rid of one. Eventually.) The new car is...um... German. It has side mirror defrosters. If you want to know more, ask my husband since it's his and I barely pay enough attention to cars to remember what I drive myself.
Ok, time for the totally random question of the day. Which would you be more uncomfortable discussing with complete strangers: your sex life or your salary? Also, which would you be more uncomfortable discussing with your friends?
I've been trying to find a way to make this funny, but it just isn't. There is a happy ending though, so stick with me.
Yesterday at 9:27 AM, my OB called to tell me that the quad screen blood test I had last week had returned a much higher than normal indication that the Lima Bean may have Down Syndrome. The results were so bad that they recommended I have an amnio right away rather than waiting a couple of weeks for an ultrasound.
I spent yesterday trying not to cry (I know, I know, it's only an indicator and very likely to be wrong at that, but you try to be logical when it's your kid) and trying to find someone at my OB's office who could figure out how to schedule an amnio. I'm not even going into the fiasco of trying to schedule the test, because it will just make me scream.
When Chris got home, we talked about it and he convinced me to call the OB back and ask some more questions that I had thought of during the day. When I talked to the OB, she took another look at the test results and realized that they had been calculated using the wrong due date. A correct due date is one of the major factors required to get accurate results from this test. They were off by 4 weeks.
The results were completely invalid.
The OB called me this morning with the results of the test using the correct due date.
I am not having an amnio. I am having a super-duper sonogram in a couple weeks just to be sure they don't see any indicators. I am also reading my OB the riot act as soon as I see that the sonogram is normal.
(P.S. to whoever swiped my cheese out of the fridge at work: Stealing food from a pregnant girl? You must be so proud.)
I'm going to a baby shower next month and I just pulled the registry and now I have a very important question. Is it usual to register for breast pads? This is the second time I have seen breast pads on a registry, and to me that just seems like something you could go ahead and buy for yourself.
I own at least 12 pairs of jeans. I'm down to one pair that still fits. (Hey, you put on 10 pounds of pure belly and see how comfy your pants are.) If I'm lucky, I think I have another 2 weeks before these jeans refuse to button and then I will be entirely jean-less. This cannot be allowed to happen. I am perfectly happy in hand-me-down maternity clothes or whatever I can find at Target for everything else, but I have to have a really good pair of jeans or I will not survive the next 5 months.
Help me out, mommies. Where can I get good maternity jeans? Bonus points if they are specially designed for stubby little legs and an ass that grows more outrageous by the day.
(Also, I can't decide whether I am thrilled or depressed that I have gained 10 pounds and nobody can tell.)
I looked in the mirror after I got dressed this morning and tried to figure out which was growing faster - my belly or my ass. I decided it was a toss-up.
We have a winner.
Today, at work, I popped the button clean off my pants. Fortunately it was at the end of the day so I only had to hold my pants up for a little while.
I'm far too busy to think of anything even remotely interesting to say, so I thought we'd play a game instead.
I am 16 weeks pregnant and should start feeling the Lima Bean move sometime within the next 4 weeks. So, the game is to guess the day when I will first feel the baby move! The winner will receive a mix cd custom-made by my charming and attractive husband. (I haven't told him this yet, but I just called him charming and attractive, so how can he argue?) If two people are equally close to the correct date, both will win a prize. If more than one person guesses the correct date, the first date will be the winner.
Because I am generous and kind, I will give you some tips:
- This is my first pregnancy, which means it is likely to take longer for me to feel the baby move or to realize that I am feeling the baby move.
- I am fairly thin (or was until a few weeks ago) which makes it more likely that I will feel the baby move earlier.
So that's the game! I will close comments on this entry by Thursday morning, so get your guesses in early.
(Sorry if this is duller than lint guys, I am just stupidly busy.)
UPDATE: Comments are now closed. Thanks for playing!
Februarium Day 4: Where you've loved
It's the sex entry. Bonus points if you make it funny for the rest of us.
I'm supposed to be writing about sex, but you see the thing about sex is that it leads to babies. At least it has in my case. And at the moment, my sex-induced baby is making me very tired, clumsy, brain-dead, and giving me a killer cramp near my right hip. I blame all of these ailments on sex. So I wish the rest of you all the best in your Valentine's Day-inspired sexual endeavors, but as for me I think I will take a little nap instead.
Oh right, I'm supposed to be funny. Well, here's a laugh you can have at my expense. I was very nervous about telling my parents that I was pregnant. I wasn't concerned that they wouldn't be happy; I was upset because it would prove to them once and for all that I have sex. Yup, I've been married for 5 years.
(How's that for excellent semicolon usage? I know, I know, I'm awesome.)
Februarium Day 3: When you've loved
Write either a brief history of your love life, or a single story about the love of your lifetime
I'm sure the idea of writing a history of their love life would be daunting to some people, but not to me. You see, I can (am about to) tell you the story of every single man I ever dated and this will still be a fairly brief post. And by every man I ever dated, I mean every man I ever went on a single date with. This is what happens when you meet your husband at 18.
1 - My first date. I think it was the summer before my freshman year of high school, meaning I was 13. His name was Mike and he asked me to go to a movie. My mom drove me there and he came on his skateboard. We saw Colors which I thought was awful because it had naked people in it and used the f-word a lot. I was very načve at 13. After the movie, while we were waiting for my mom to pick me up, he kissed me. With tongue. It was gross. A few weeks later he asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend. I said no because I didn't want to have to kiss him again.
2 - My first boyfriend. Sophomore year I started dating Hal. I originally went out with him because he was 16 and could drive. He wrote me poems and was a sort of sloppy kisser. I got bored after about 5 months and broke up with him.
3 - The guy I picked up on the street. I was with a friend one night at the local strip mall and a guy with a guitar asked us for a ride home. We agreed, because we were young and stupid. It turned out his name was Adam and he knew my ex-boyfriend Hal. Adam asked me to a movie on night (Dances with Wolves, maybe?) and I agreed thinking nothing of it. Well, I thought nothing of it until I dropped him off at home and Adam stuck his head in my car window and kissed me. Blech.
4 - My second boyfriend. Junior year I dated Derek, a senior (score!). My stomach would growl every time we made out. I don't know that we ever went on a date, we would just see each other at school and sometimes hang out on the weekends. Derek was learning to play the guitar, and one day to be very sweet to me he played and sang one of my all-time favorite songs, "Kathy's Song" by Simon and Garfunkel. It was awful. Thinking back, that may have been the beginning of the end. When Derek went to college the next fall he asked me to come down and visit him, but it seemed like a really big hassle so I broke up with him instead.
5 - My third boyfriend. After dumping Derek, I started dating Mike. No, a different Mike. The story of me and Mike is actually a rather long one, so I'll hit the highlights. Let's see. well, long story. I was still dating Mike when we went off to college, and we kept the long distance thing going for a while.
6 - My one and only hook-up. One night, early in freshman year, I somehow ended up in bed with this guy named Brian. Brian was a good friend before and after this night, and I'd like to say we were drunk but I don't think we were. Things didn't get very far before I changed my mind, excused myself to use the bathroom and snuck out through the adjoining room. I sent my roommate down the next day to get my watch.
7 - My fourth boyfriend. Early second semester of freshman year, I started really noticing this guy. I mean really noticing. He sorta started noticing me too and we started talking. It was all very innocent since I was still dating Mike and he had a girlfriend. Then one night when a bunch of us were up entirely too late I dragged him into the bathroom and told him I thought I might be falling in love with him. Surprisingly, instead of running away from me as fast as he could he broke up with his girlfriend and I ditched Mike and the rest, as they say, is history. My fourth boyfriend is also my husband.
Februarium Day 2: What you love
This one's about your favorite things, or pick one thing and wax rhapsodic on it.
So, the best thing about Februarium is that I don't have to think of my own topics for five entire days. This is the best deal ever for someone lazy like me. Today's topic was hard for me. I knew right away what I wanted to write, but had a hard time choosing the right things to say. I could have gone on forever on this one, but you would have gotten bored and also, a lot of what I thought of is none of your business anyway. I decided to go with the abridged version, so here we go.
My Favorite Things
The way he looks from the back when he's playing his guitar - head down, legs spread, skinny butt grooving in his baggy pants. The way he puts his pick in his mouth to adjust his tune or change the cd. The way he always jumps when he realizes I'm behind him watching, but even more the times he doesn't know I'm there on the stairs listening to his song.
The way animals love him. The way the meanest, orneriest cat will walk right up and curl up in his lap for a nap. It's like they smell something on him - that he is good and kind and will scratch their ears. They way he'll sit until his legs fall asleep just so he won't disturb a sleeping animal on his lap.
The way he rubs my back as I fall asleep every night. The way he kisses my stomach and says goodnight to the baby.
The god-awful jokes he tells, and the way he finds them so funny that sometimes he can't even get them out and starts hooting in the middle, laughing at himself.
That he refuses to compromise himself just to go along with me, even when I am clearly totally right.
His perfect recall when it comes to anything about music, and frequent amnesia when it comes to anything else.
That he doesn't care that I don't share his passion, and doesn't try to force me to understand.
Lying together on the couch with ratty, stinky old blue and his hand on my head.
That he is quick to forgive.
That we are still figuring each other out after 12 years together. That we are still sometimes so very, very wrong. That there is still the potential for surprise.
Coleen threw down the gauntlet. And I tripped over it and landed on my ass and decided I had better agree to participate in Februarium 2 before I did myself any further damage. The challenge is to write five posts about love over the next five days on topics specially selected by our lovely hostess. At the risk of making you all gag uncontrollably by writing letters to my unborn child two days in a row, I hereby present my effort at:
Februarium Day 1: Who you love
This is a letter to anyone. Or no one in particular.
Dear Lima Bean,
I was not prepared to love you, at least not now. I expected to love you later. I had this fully developed fantasy where they placed you in my arms and your father put his hand on the top of your head and you opened your eyes and bam, I was madly in love with you forever. Or maybe it wouldn't be that way. Maybe I would be too tired and overwhelmed and would miss the moment. Maybe it would happen that first night when you were lying beside me and started to cry and I picked you up and you stopped crying, not because I had done anything but just because you recognized me and were comforted. That would have done it too - instant and total love. I'm sure I will love you at both those times, but it won't be the first time.
I don't know when it happened. I don't know when loving the idea of you turned into loving you. I was not prepared for it. I was not prepared for you to change from a clump of cells and an idea into our child. I wasn't ready for you to go from being a baby to being my baby. I was shocked when you stopped being a theoretical creature composed halfway of me and halfway of the man that I love and became your own being. I wasn't ready for this to happen so soon, but there is no going back.
I love you with all of my heart. I spend every minute of every day thinking about you and hoping that you are alright and trying as hard as I can to do all the right things for you. I promise you that in the midst of all the craziness and uncertainty that I am bringing you into, you will always, always know that your mother loves you. I can't wait to meet you.
Dear Lima Bean,
I know that you are really only 13 weeks old and that most of your intestines are still probably hanging out in your umbilical cord, but now that your eyes have moved to the front of your head and you are able to move and grow eyebrows and pee, I think it is time to start setting some rules and teaching you responsibility.
First of all, do not start sucking your thumb. I know it will be very tempting in that your thumb is right there and your arms are finally long enough to get it into your mouth and honestly, there isn't a whole lot going on in my uterus as far as entertainment goes, but just trust me on this one. I sucked my thumb until I was 16 and only gave it up when I started smoking. Take my word for it, don't even start. (We'll talk about the smoking later, but if you do take it up you will be required to bum smokes to me and your father.)
Second, we will be having your picture taken in a couple of weeks and this is not the time to be shy. Don't cross your legs. I am going to be changing your diapers for years to come, so there isn't anything there that I'm not going to be well acquainted with. You will have plenty of opportunities to keep secrets from us, especially once you hit the teenage years, don't start with this one.
And finally, we are going to see the nice doctor tomorrow and have the triple screen test. Don't worry, they test me, not you. All you have to do is, well, whatever it is that you do all day. Now, I will still love you with all my heart even if you turn out to have gills or a great big melonhead (like me) or even if you are a Republican. I know this test has an incredibly high false positive rate, so even if it is positive there's a 95% chance it doesn't mean anything, but I'm not sleeping as it is so I'm going to have to be very strict. If you don't pass, you are totally grounded for 25 weeks.
(Just for fun, if you ever read this letter and can tell me what the title references, I will either give you a cookie or let you borrow the car, depending on which will thrill you more when it happens.)
Today's eternal question is:
How many toilet seat covers does any one woman need at any one time?
There's this woman I see in the restroom occasionally, and she is always stocking up on 4 or 5 toilet seat covers. I'm starting to wonder if she takes them home.
I am fifteen weeks pregnant today.
I have gained 7 pounds.
I don't look the least bit pregnant, but I do look rather chubby. I'm having a hard time keeping my pants up because my waist is almost exactly the size of my hips and I'm used to relying on my hips to keep my pants in place.
I bought my first pair of fat pants this weekend because I was down to two pairs of pants I could still button. Thank god for Old Navy and thank god that the size 10s were still way too large.
I need to figure out a polite way to ask my mother not to buy me any more maternity clothes. The reason for this deserves and will get its very own post.
I sleep three hours a night. On Saturday night I slept 6 hours straight and felt like I had won the $462 million dollar jackpot.
I'm a clutz. I fell down the stairs twice this weekend and also knocked the milk out of the refrigerator so it exploded all over the floor. The useless cats didn't even wake up. Hello? Milk on the floor? You are cats, right?
I am having a lot of trouble with homonyms. I type do when I mean due and wood when I mean would. Maybe I am just on a quest to use more o's.
Over the weekend, I asked Chris how he felt about asking my brother and sister-in-law to be the guardians of our child, should the need arise, and he responded by shoving both hands down the back of his boxers to scratch his ass. Chris tends to avoid discussing unpleasant details, but this is the first time he has used the dry ass distraction method.
I think we have almost decided to find out the sex of the baby. We haven't actually said that to each other yet, but we have told other people that we are probably finding out, so I guess that means we decided.
I am having an insane craving for Twinkies. If I don't get a Twinkie soon, somebody is going to get hurt.
Back to the baby stuff!
Here are the booties that Cassie-b sent:
And here are the booties that Chris's grandmother sent:
Personally, I'm hoping for a baby that fits into Grandma's booties and has to grow a bit for Cassie-b's.
(I'm a little nervous about the part where this kid comes out of me.)
So first of all, I'm sorry for my post yesterday. Well, I'm not sorry for the post, but I'm sorry for going along all happy and then dropping the bad news like a brick at the end. I didn't mean to write it that way, but that was the way it hit me yesterday so I guess that's how it came out. I considered going back and adding a disclaimer, but I just couldn't stand to look at it. Also, thank you all for your kind and caring comments. I usually try really hard to answer all my comments, but on that one I just don't have the heart. So a great big global thanks to all of you and please forgive me for not replying.
I was planning to write this big long post about death and pain and suffering and about how I support someone's right to decide that they are in too much pain and don't want to do it anymore but about how that support is much harder to apply to someone who is only 36 and who really was like a brother to me for a lot of my life and how maybe that is how it always feels to the people left behind even if the person is 96. But that just depressed the hell out of me. Then I was going to write this post about my two oldest childhood friends and about how I still talk to one but not the other and about how they are both going through some really terrible things right now and how awful it seems that I can't do anything to help either of them. Which is selfish, yes; because it would make me feel better, but also not selfish because these are people I care about and I just want to make it better for them so they will stop being hurt. Then I thought that you can't ever really do that. You can try, and sometimes you can help a bit, but there is nothing you can do to take away someone else's pain. So that just depressed the hell out of me too.
So here's what I have instead. (Which I realize doesn't quite work since I've already put all the miserable stuff at the top, but I'm very tired so I'm going with whatever I get.)
1. I have no idea when you are supposed to use a semi-colon. Whenever the handy dandy Microsoft program I'm using recommends a semi-colon, I say sure, throw one of those bad boys in there. I sure hope that Bill Gates knows when you are supposed to use a semi-colon, otherwise he is making me look bad.
2. Cassie-b sent us the greatest pair of baby booties that she made her own self with her very own hands. At least she claims she made them herself, but they are knitted and are all nice and even and perfect and based on my own knitting experiences I don't think that is actually possible to do. But, she claims that she made them so I will trust her on that. I am going to post a picture of them soon and you will all be jealous and start clamoring for your own and Cassie-b will have to start making baby booties full time. However, I feel I have to admit that I very nearly made myself unable to post a picture of the baby booties because I am pregnant and sleep deprived and stupid. You see, I opened the incredibly well-taped box (ah my friend, you are a woman after my own heart) and admired the lovely booties and then I promptly put the box with the booties still inside out with the recycling. I did remember though and went tearing outside in my bathrobe and my husband's shoes to rescue them before any harm could befall them. You all should have been there; because I'm sure I looked really funny and also because maybe one of you would have reminded me not to throw away the baby gifts. I'll learn, really I will.
3. See, there are two semi-colons in this post, but inserted on the say-so of Bill Gates. Anybody wanna tell me if they are correct?
I had the same best friend from the time I was about 4 all the way through high school. I'm going to call her Suzie because we haven't spoken in years and this post isn't about her anyway. Suzie had a brother named Rob. He was 6 or 7 years older than we were and I thought he was the coolest guy in the whole world. I had other friends with older brothers, but they always ignored us. Rob would play with us. More than that, he would talk to us and teach us how to do things.
Rob was a brilliant kid and a brilliant man. A true and literal genius. He went to college with a full ride and then got a job doing something very complex and secretive with computers. Once when I was in college, we went to a coffee shop. It was the first time I had really spoken to him as an adult, and it just reinforced my belief that he was one of the coolest guys in the whole world. The last time I saw him was at his wedding years ago. It was just before he moved down south, and we didn't keep in touch. His parents still live just up the street from mine, but once Suzie stopped speaking to me I just didn't have much to do with the family anymore.
Rob taught me how to do Algebra when I was eight. I was never very good at Algebra, but I always aced the bit of it he taught me as a kid. He used to play this game with me and Suzie. They had all these inflatable beach balls in their house from Radio Shack or somewhere like that and we used them to play Staying Alive. The point of the game was that Suzie and I would run back and forth up and down the hall at the top of the stairs, and Rob would stand at the bottom of the stairs and try to hit us with the beach balls. If he did hit us, we would have to play out elaborate death scenes, which frequently entailed sprawling ourselves down the stairs head first with our tongues hanging out. This was the best game ever created.
Rob and Suzie were the only kids in the neighborhood who didn't belong to the neighborhood pool. Suzie learned to swim when we were in high school. I don't know whether Rob ever learned.
In the last few years, Rob has apparently been suffering with Parkinson's Disease and severe depression. That probably explains why he decided to jump off a bridge and drown.
The world is a poorer place.
So, Coleen picked me to do this, and Colleen is funny and pretty and nice and can also be a little scary when she chooses to be, so I feel like I have to do what she says or she'll get mad. The thing is, this is really embarrassing. Those of you who know my husband know that he is an absolute music fiend and I'm sure you assume that our mutual love of and deep interest in music was one of the things that brought us together. Not so much. While I spent much of the first half of my life in choirs and choruses and various other singing groups and while there are songs I love so much that I question whether life could continue without them, I'm not much into music. I never know any groups, or who's popular, or even who sings a particular song that I really like. So anyway, I'm doing this only because I want to make Colleen love me, but the very first person who says the slightest mocking or disparaging thing will be immediately added to my shit list forever and possibly meet up with my fleet of trained attack pigeons in an alley somewhere. Shut up, I'm sensitive.
And no, I didn't ask Chris for help. But I really, really wanted to.
1. Song that sounds like happy feels:
Louie Armstrong's "Wonderful World." No, this song does not sound especially upbeat or happy, but I am more interested in the words than the tune with all music and this was "our song" at my wedding. Hearing it makes me so happy I cry.
2. Earliest memory:
Watching the Muppets the night my brother was born. So I guess my earliest music memory would be a Muppet song.
3. Last CD you bought:
Honestly cannot remember, it may have been a couple years. When you live with someone who owns over 3000 cds, buying your own is pretty pointless.
4. Reminds you of school:
"We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister. STOP LAUGHING RIGHT NOW! We used to sing it on the swing set. No, I have no idea why.
"Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog. This may not really count for high school, since I think I first heard this song at Beach Week after Senior year, but we listed to this song (and the album) all week long. Nonstop. What can I say? Sometimes a really great song meets copious amounts of, well, let's call them sub-legal substances. Hearing always gives me a complete flashback to that week. Not that I would know anything about flashbacks.
Joe Satriani, "Rubina's Blue Sky Happiness." We listened to this song constantly down in the Dungeon. In fact, there is a very high likelihood that it was playing the first time I met my husband.
"Melissa" by The Allman Brothers. This one is just an inside joke that I'm not going to explain.
5. Total music files on your PC:
Total music files on my laptop? None. Total music files I have put on our home PC? One, "The Pork Song" by The Fabulous Grier. Total music files on our home PC courtesy of my husband? 9 jillion, give or take.
6. Song for listening to repeatedly when depressed:
Jeff Buckley's version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Ok, I listen to this song repeatedly even when I'm not depressed, but it is a good play-it-to-death song for any occasion. At the very beginning of the track you can hear a single breath. When I get in the mood where I am listening to this song 20 times in a row, it becomes very important to me to determine whether that single breath is an inhalation or an exhalation. The decision I come to depends on my mood. I tend to think that if it is an inhalation it is more hopeful, and if it is an exhalation it indicates a loss of hope.
7. Song that sounds British, but isn't:
I don't think I even understand this question.
8. Song you love, band you hate:
See, this would require me knowing who actually sings the songs I like. Next question.
9. A favorite song from the past that took ages to track down:
"In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. SHUT UP! I was young, I had no idea how to go about figuring out who sang the song.
10. Bought the album for one good song:
Whatever Jerry Garcia album has "Ruben and Cherise." Yes, I could google it, but I'm too lazy.
Oh, wait! Cats Under the Stars. I remembered because I am so very smart.
11. Worst Song to Get Stuck in your Head:
My husband's version of "La Bamba." It has no words, you just sing la-la-la-la La Bamba over and over until you go fully mad.
12. Best song to dump a beer on someone's head to, then storm out of the bar?
Um, Happy Birthday? Because how awesomely cruel would that be. A bunch of people are standing around delivering a sad and off-key rendition of Happy Birthday and you dump a beer on the birthday boy's head. In fact, the next time I hear Happy Birthday in a bar, I'm doing it.
13. Who should do this next?
I hope this baby appreciates the number of zits I am enduring on its behalf.