As if the mounting frenzy surrounding the July 25 opening of Portland’s first Ikea was not enough, I give you the Ikea Mobile:

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Frog’s legs are, actually, very good. They do taste quite a bit like chicken, which is reassuring when confronted with a food that used to be covered in a slick reptile skin. I was afraid that they would come like that, covered in frog skin, and I was certain I would not be able to consume anything covered in frog skin. They were deep-fried, though, battered, and only resembled the extended, leaping legs of a frog in shape.

My week was a lot like that: unexpected goodness in unexpected places. I was surprised on Thursday by an e-mail from the Portland Picks folks, saying they love my Cranky Pals and are featuring them in (last) Friday’s newsletter. Squee! The Crankies, they are all about the love. (I accidentally typed “lobe” there, the Crankies, all about the lobe, and then spent a period of time contemplating what sort of lobe the Crankies might be all about and where in the brain it was located. Although perhaps the ear. It is hard to say.)

The kid = still weaned, which is good since my supply is finally (finally!) dwindling. Apparently I am a milking machine. Several third-world countries could be sustained on my milk supply. Unsurprisingly, now that the milk is finally going the way of the dodo, I find myself suddenly deflated. This means none of my bras are even remotely functional. You’d think I’d just start wearing one of my less immense bras, considering that I had a stash of them from my less endowed days. You’d think that, but that would presuppose that I knew where any of them were, and could locate them as needed. I suspect that they are in a box somewhere, like pretty much everything else we own. Being prepared is not one of my strong suits.

Not nursing is pretty great, though. I heartily recommend it.

technorati tags:cranky pals, portland picks, frog legs, milking machine, weaning

I was all set to write a nice, pleasing post about our new place (short version: I LOVE IT OMG) but was derailed, as always, by my reflection. My belly, specifically. Belly: what did I ever do to you? I feed you. I bathe you. I sneak you treats every once in a while. So why all the hate? Why do you protrude, gelatinously, from my midsection, rather than laying flat like you used to? Remember how fond we were of each other when you were small? What happened to that, huh?

I know what happened. First, I stopped being 19. Funny thing: just because you had the metabolism of a hyperactive finch in high school does not mean that you can go through your life eating brownies and not exercising, no matter how many times you had to argue with people about whether or not you were anorexic. (Which, so not. I ate then exactly the same way I eat now, only in high school? I weighed 107 pounds. I could almost fit two of me in my skin right now. So. Creepy.)  And then, secondly, I gave birth to my lovely son. And ate brownies. And did not exercise. Except that I did! I do, I mean. Exercise. I run after a toddler all day, and I lift things, and I walk everywhere. (Ponderously, sure. But it counts.)

The hot weather is bringing my reflection-hatred to a head (as it were), since I find myself leaving the house in things like skirts and tank tops. Don’t get me started on the tank tops, either – I used to be able to wear one without looking like a low-rent porn star, and now? Let’s just agree never to speak of it. (Except I totally will.)

On the other hand, we have a full-length mirror in our home for the first time in two years, and that’s pretty keen. Assuming what’s being reflected isn’t me.

technorati tags:self-image, weight, belly

Moving sucks.

I can speak with some authority on this topic, seeing as I have moved roughly 5000 times in my life. The longest I’ve ever lived in one place was a little over three years (the entirety of my high school tenure, thank god – switching schools would have been the icing on my unpopularity cake). As a child, I rarely went to the same school for an entire year. The average is a year per abode, with a few exceptions. I’m, what, 33 now? I’ve moved a lot.

So maybe I have some relocation issues. I do not like moving. Stacks of packed boxes fill me with despair. I’m tired of it. Tired of packing, unpacking, settling in and then moving out. Is a little permanence too much to ask?

That said…I love our new apartment. Love it. I would totally date it, and let it make me breakfast the next morning. I would even kiss it without brushing its teeth first. That’s how much I love it. I love the scarred wooden floors that creak, the kitchen with its barely-there counter space, the living room with the iffy built-ins. I know, you’re thinking that none of that sounds entirely fab, but you’re missing the point: it feels like home.

Most of all, though, I love the bathroom. Specifically the bath tub, which is claw-foot and deep and full of bathlike goodness. I could live in that tub. The room’s not too bad either. We painted over the dingy gray with a bright, sunny yellow and the transformation was incredible.

I hope this place is a keeper. Shackling myself to the radiator is just so much effort, not to mention difficult to explain to the neighbors.

Where to begin. Should we be linear, and start where we left off? Where did we leave off? Let’s see…ah, yes, the customer service debacle, i.e. “ten reasons to send hate mail to JourneyEd” (subtitled “I *heart* Adobe and want to have its fat little babies”). Shall I end your suspense? Lightroom came. You’re welcome.

I’m just going to skip over the last couple of weeks, since nothing exciting…oh, well, if you consider finding out we need to move to be exciting, then I guess maybe there’s something in there. Our landlord, who was all rah-rah go long-term when we moved in last year, apparently had a change of heart. We went to renew our lease, and he was all “Great! You’re great tenants! Say, how’s about we go month-to-month, wanna?” We were all “Whaaaa?” and he was like “Well, I have no concrete plans to sell, but…”

This turned out well (spoiler!) since we found the most ass-kickingest apartment anywhere, ever and (more spoilers!) got approved. Signed the lease today. Wanna know where we will be living? RIGHT IN THE FREAKING MIDDLE OF DOWNTOWN. Seriously. We will be right between our two offices, and those offices? Not too far apart as it is.

Graphical representation:

That wee blue line? The distance between our new home (at the “far” left: hello, new home!) and my office. I can practically throw spitballs at myself. This will undoubtedly be put to the test at some point.

So, yeah. Sorry for the lack of updates, readership. I will make it up to you in spitballs.

Oh, the internet has been so heavy the last few days, hasn’t it? It’s seemed that way to me, and since my opinion is the only one that matters I will simply assume you’re nodding your head (and possibly composing rhyming odes to my perspicacity). I’ve been feeling all riled-up and opinion-having, but that takes a lot of energy. Energy I do not have. Enough, I say! Let the fluffy kittens come out to play!

Today’s fluffy kitten love-fest (or, things that are happy-making and not in the least bit controversial):

My initials on a tee shirt. I am the JNB-est. (Heeeeeeeee.)

Veer has a link to The Art of The Can, an interesting way to get rid of all those Red Bull cans you’ve got laying around. (And by ‘you’ I mean, actually, you. I get wired just thinking about Red Bull.)

Kipiis: a bib clip and alien toy all in one!

It’s all kerfuffle, all the time at my favorite message board, so instead of letting the meta-angst get me down, I’m here to spread joy and love amongst my readers. I am not unlike the Tooth Fairy in that regard. Also, I steal teeth.

Here are ten things that have made me happy in the last week:

1. New shoes! I am wearing them right now, in fact, and my feet are having a little party.
2. The baby’s molars are almost all the way in, and he’s “only” waking up three or four times during the night (instead of 6-8). That’s practically sleeping through the night! If, of course, by “night” you mean “the hours between 1 and 4am.”
3. Speaking of the baby (and, er, speaking), he’s begun saying “Mama” when he means me. Tee! I’ll miss the meowing, but it’s nice that he hasn’t gone straight from infancy to calling me “Mom.” (Did I mention the meowing? A few weeks ago he started meowing in this wee falsetto that sounded remarkably like the cats. Cute! In addition, he’d come up to me and go “Mom?” in the same falsetto, leading me to wonder which one of us he thought was a cat.)
4. Our AppleTV arrived this morning, whee!
5. I have ten friends on Virb, and only one of them is someone I’m married to!
6. My kid dances like crazy, and it’s the cutest thing in the world to watch.
7. I just had a bowl of rocky road ice cream.
8. I am digging the hell out of Twitter, and Twittervision just makes it better.
9. I tweaked the template for our design blog and it looks pretty damned good, which is exciting since I know almost no CSS.
10. Tomorrow is the last day of my Art History class, at which time I can honestly say I am on “Spring Break.” Hee.

So, spill: what’s been making you happy lately? And if it’s lip gloss, post brand and color, please. A girl needs her connections.

technorati tags:kerfuffle, list, happy