No one would yell at this Santa.

And so I wait

I've never been good with waiting. And I've never been good with the unknown. Combine those two, and you get someone who's even more nervous and anxious than she normally is.

My due date is coming up, and I'm sitting here with the cats listening to Brian do his last minor league baseball game. Sammy and Arthur are asleep, not because of Brian, just bored with me sitting around not doing much. I'm bored with myself just sitting around not doing much. My mind wanders too much, and I wonder about too much.

I wonder what the right name is for the baby. Donovan? Dominick? Anthony Lee? Lee Anthony? Vincent? Vince? Vin? Landon? Brian has rejected all my suggestions. He either knew someone he didn't like with that name, or he found the name too common. He is odd. I'm taking four options into the delivery room, and reserving a fifth if needed. I hope the kid looks like one of the names. Otherwise he better tell me what his name is. It's an odd responsibility to have, and one of the minor ones I'll have in his lifetime.

Then I wonder if he'll be born healthy. He seems to kick and move a lot. Is it the right kind of movement? Is it enough? His heartbeat is always good. Still, there's a lot that could be wrong. Not really something to dwell on.

Then I wonder if I'll be okay during the delivery. I get nervous doing anything for the first time and try to research as much as I can so I have some plan for what's going to happen. I don't think this ever does anything to help me. Did I mention I worry too much?

Mostly I wonder if I'll be a good mom. Luckily, I have a great example to follow. I just don't want to fall short of it. But what I really don't want, is to spend time worrying about it.

Fatty Jumps the Fence

It's not every day you see an animal push himself to the limits, defying all odds, becoming a super cat. Yet there he was. Sammy. The 15 pound, no tail, bad legs, asthma-prone cat sitting on top of a six foot high fence. The same cat who takes five minutes to psych himself up for a jump up to your lap.

Arthur is kind of our Derrick Thomas of the family. He's about 20 pounds, but it's all muscle. In one night alone he sacked a frog, a lizard and rushed a squirrel into an intentional grounding of his nut. He even threw in some extra power drills, shimming up the fence by gripping both sides of the panel.

Sammy? He's Dan Saleaumua. You look at him and think, no way. He'll never move quickly. And yet, there he is in the backfield, sitting on top of the fence.

I have NO idea how Sammy got up there. Arthur was on the other side of the yard so he clearly did not give Sammy a boost. There's a rock that if he stood on it, would bring the fence a foot closer, down to five feet. But Sammy can't jump. Or can he? Is it possible that all this time he's been playing me for a fool? Asking me to lift him on to the bed like he can't make it, pick him up to sit on my lap because it's just too far? Making me feel sorry for him while he watches Arthur jump from counter to counter? All the while he was just lazy?

As I heard the scratching on the fence I was determined to grab Arthur and pull him down. Yet, there was Sammy, sitting on top of the fence. For a brief moment in time we both froze, I in dumb wonderment, Sammy, as if his whole act for the last three years was about to blow up in his face. He quickly mewed, "Can you believe someone threw me up here?" He screamed like a little girl, and then jumped down and ran inside the house past me. To make doubly sure I bought the act he threw himself on to the floor, crying as if he had just been traumatized.

As Sammy lay there, I just shook my head. I went back outside and watched Arthur leap around the patio trying to catch a flying bug. He caught it. He promptly spit it out and the stunned bug lay on the ground. I pulled Arthur away from the bug. It took off, and so did Sammy. Fatty came running back outside, jumped, and caught the bug. He can run and jump! It was then he remembered I was there, let the bug go and sheepishly scurried back inside.

Too late, Sammy. The jig is up.

I Found the Sandwich Artist

So we all know KU will lose in some terrible way that causes great pain for the next year. This is especially true after Sports Illustrated and almost everyone in my office pool picked them to go to the Final Four. Not a good sign. I'm just hoping they beat Bradley.

Having resigned myself to an early and painful exit, I've also picked out the commercial most likely to annoy me the most during the game. Every year we all know there's one commercial that just GRATES on the nerves during the game. Remember the Subway Sandwich Artist and UTEP? Or the Snapple lady? Last year I didn't get a commercial because CBS in Florida wasn't carrying the game until it became clear KU was going to lose. At that point, it really wasn't necessary to become annoyed by a commercial. The game was enough.

This year's winner comes to us courtesy of Applebees. They have these two idiots standing in water that keeps rising as they sing alternative lyrics to the theme song from Gilligan's Island. It's all an attempt to get us to buy their new shrimp sensations. Given that Applebees is based out of Kansas City you'd think they would have a little more sensitivity for the Jayhawk fan. They don't.

Coming in second this year is "The New Adventures of Old Christine." CBS is going to promote that show at every turn, including posting graphics over key moments in the game just to make sure I NEVER watch the show. Sorry, Elaine. You need a better show.

And in third place, ANY of the CSI/Lawyer saves the day/Criminal Minds shows they'll promote. Why can't I get an Amazing Race promotion? At least I like that show.

Let's hope that KU does so well I don't have to worry about hating any commercials.
By the way, anyone else the only person in their office pool to pick Bucknell in the first round? I learned my lesson last year. I guess they're the new Gonzaga. Everyone will keep expecting them to lose, and they'll keep being the "upset" win every year.

Go 'Hawks!

Buck O'Neil, Bonnie Bernstein and Neck Braces

You've obviously royally screwed up when even Kathleen Sebelius is "stunned" Buck O'Neil didn't get into the Hall of Fame. It sort of reminds me of the NCAA tournament committee. Take 2004. A bunch of people get together in a conference room and start out with some good ideas: "Here are the obvious choices for the Number 1 seeds: Oklahoma State, Duke, Kentucky and Stanford." Then, suddenly, someone in the conference room goes, "Now wait just a minute! How about St. Joe's at #1?" Someone else goes, "Now, that's goofy!" St. Joe's ends up as a #1 seed, OSU is a #2, and you find yourself agreeing with Billy Packer. At least OSU beat St. Joe's. But whose going to put Buck O'Neil in the Hall of Fame before he dies? He's 94! Way to go.

It's disappointing to hear we won't get to watch Bonnie Bernstein ask stupid questions at the NCAA tournament anymore. She's bailing out of her contract, leaving CBS. At least she made us feel a little bit better after the Syracuse loss when she got Roy to say "I don't give a shit about North Carolina." (Thanks for taking that high away later, Roy). But she's no Melissa Stark: "Shani, are you angry about something?"

Is anyone really able to watch K-State play anymore without the painful distraction of Jim Wooldridge in a neck brace? K-State got close to beating some great teams, Texas and OU in particular, and it came down to the final moments. I don't think they lost these games because they couldn't execute. (Although, failing to score in the final 10 minutes of the game against KU perhaps has proven otherwise). I think they get in those final time out huddles and can't concentrate on what Wooldridge is saying because of that neck brace! I wouldn't hear a word he said. But it sure makes it easier to make fun of them. Who needs Paco May?

Dan Glickman Does What?

I'm back. Just think of me as Joey. I've been gone for two months, but did anybody really notice?

So I'm sure I'm the only one in my family who doesn't know this. And I'm sure everyone will say, "You didn't know that?!" But in what world is Dan Glickman the President of the Motion Picture Association of America? In what world does he get to walk down the red carpet and go to the Oscars as somebody we should actually care about? This is just bizarre. It's also one more reason for people to make fun of Kansas. "Newspaper stories about Dan have described him as 'inelegant' and 'as flat as Kansas.'" (Washington Post). That's just great. At least it's not Todd Tiahrt. Do you think his immigrant relatives just screwed up the sign-in and it was supposed to be Tihart?

And the President thinks it's weird that people are bothered by an Arab company controlling our ports? His response is: "people don't need to worry about security." Whose driving this flying umbrella?

And what is the deal with K-State? As if they weren't weird enough, their coach is in a neck brace, their fans don't even cheer them on all that loudly even when they're within three of beating Texas(I guess that's what happens when no one goes to the game). And yet they'll still beat us, killing Bob.

Any baby name suggestions? I've taken a Brandon (which we're considering), but we're short on other male names. And the middle name has to be Anthony, so pick something that goes with that. If that's possible. We'll take suggestions through August.

You Can't Do That on Television

First, we won't even mention the three points that cost us the Cowboys game.

Everyone's always talking about jump the shark this and jump the shark that. This, of course, refers to Fonzie on Happy Days leaping over a shark while water skiing. It's a sign a television show has gone downhill, and the writers are desperate because they're running out of ideas or viewers are running out on the show. It is with sad news, that after only one season, I can report Joey has already jumped the shark.

Jumping the shark includes replacing a character with a different actor and acting like the audience won't notice. You know, Dick York to Dick Sargent. I'm broadening this category, and including an exception. When a series brings in a guest star that has already appeared in the same series as a certain character and then that same star is brought in later to play a different character.

Now Joey is an off-shoot of Friends, so it's not technically the same show. But it perhaps shows us what would've happened had Friends stayed on the air and continued on past it's tenth season.

Let's head back to the Golden Age of television, circa Ross and Rachel's first get together. The writers realized they had lost the tension created by the "will they won't they" of Ross and Rachel. So they needed to break-up another couple, Chandler and Joey. Joey moves out into his apartment filled with muppet pillows and Chandler moves on with a new roommate Eddie, played by Adam Goldberg. He was a freaky character, and appeared in three episodes. Eddie watched Chandler as he slept, shrunk melons with a dehumidifier and carried around mannequins for who knows what. Joey and Chandler finally got back together, but poor Joey couldn't move home. Chandler was too scared to tell crazy Eddie he had to go. So they schemed and tricked Eddie into thinking Joey had never moved out and he disappeared. Not award winning television, but Adam Goldberg was memorable. So memorable that when he appeared in Saving Private Ryan I yelled, "Hey, that's that guy from Friends."

Let's flash forward to a season and a half into the Joey series. It sucks. Yet, I still watch hoping for a Friends guest appearance. Imagine how delighted I was when NBC teased all week that a special "Friend" comes to visit. So I watched. A sucker to the end. It was Adam Goldberg, and no, he was not playing Eddie. He was not playing some random guy on the street. He was not playing a fellow actor. He was playing Joey's best friend of 20 years!! How do you put a guy in a role like that and ask the audience to completely forget that he ever played Chandler's crazy roommate? It makes no sense! It's like having the actress who played Woody's wife on Cheers show up on Fraiser as his sister. You're not going to forget that stupid song Woody sang about Kelly and believe her in that role. K-E-L-L-Y... Why? Because it's dumb!

Now the only exception to this rule is Law & Order. That show has been on for so long that they can't help but bring on the same actors to play different characters. For example, Jerry Orbach played defense lawyer, Frank Lehrman, in the second season before playing Detective Lennie Briscoe. S. Epatha Merkerson played a mom whose son was killed before she was Lt. Anita Van Buren. This, I can overlook because the show is too good to care. Plus, they've won emmys. Joey has not.

That is the exception. Law & Order can put as many actors in as many roles as they want. Joey, I just want them to put one good Friend in one good episode and I can stop watching that stupid show! Until then, I'll pathetically be sitting on my couch every Thursday night holding out that little bit of hope that this week, against all odds, someone will schedule a real Friend.

Not So Bad After All

I guess once in a lifetime a weekend comes along that tries to redeem all the horrible losses I've suffered at the hands of three points. There's such a long list of people to thank!

First, the KU defense. Thank you for continuing to play even though you had to believe in your heart of hearts that the stupid offense really was never going to get it together. Who knew? Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause. Brian Luke didn't wear a red hat, but he did perform a Thanksgiving miracle.

Second, Scott Webb. The third field goal of the afternoon was the real gem, a 34 yarder to win the game in overtime. Is this the return of Bruce Kallmeyer? (1983 All American, 233 points scored, No. 3 all time scorer). Webb was also Big 12 Special Teams Player of the week (yes, the third time this season that a KU player has been honored by the Big 12).

Third, Larry Johnson. Guess he just had to get pissed off enough.

Fourth, Greg Wesley. You of three pickoffs. He told his teammates before the game he would get three, and he did. He did the same in 2002 against the Dolphins. Predict three, get three. Make it three for three against Denver next week?

Fifth, K-State. The only Big 12 North team not to qualify for a bowl game. Sorry Stacy.

And finally, Dave McDaniel, Iowa State grad and silly fool. I am now ten dollars richer.

I promise I will no longer dwell on the number three......until March.

3 Goddamn Points!

Ever since my father slammed the basement door in a fury, storming out of the living room during 'Cuse is in the house!, I have come to HATE losing by three points, or not hitting three pointers, or missing three point field goals, or only scoring THREE points!

Really? LJ who? So much for being potty trained. Perhaps Priest needs to spend a little more time with our friend and teach him how to actually use those 100 yards to get into the end zone. Or is the vaunted Bills defense too much to handle?

(okay - post Texans note - he redeemed himself. I guess a team rushing record is okay. But it was only after I yelled at him.)

If I ever had to see Nick Lowery send it wide right in Miami, or see Jerod Haase clank another shot I think I would have gone insane. It is only Kirk Hinrich who saved me in the end. It is sad that I should know how well Cuttino Mobley shoots and how poorly Aaron Miles does. And no, he is not better than Jacque Vaughn. Vaughn is Magic-esque, Aaron is muggle through and through.

And thank God for graduation. (after damning him some praise is owed). Without it, I would still be watching Johnny Beck's unheralded pathetic career. Who gave this kid a scholarship? How many extra points do you have to miss before someone says, "eh, uh, he can't kick."

And then there's the Granddaddy of them all. 1997. March. Sweet Sixteen. 34-1. Vance Lassey, who became fast friends with Raef LaFrentz after pushing him into a vending machine (after the Virginia loss in 1995 - oh, yes - involving threes - Harold Deane and KU season lows in three-pointers made) happened to be hanging out in Memphis for the regionals, as one does. He came across some rather tall, Arizona clad basketball players. Vance, as he does, was wearing his KU t-shirt and Bennett Davison took it upon himself to inform Vance that Arizona was going to beat KU. Did Vance tell Raef? No. Did he remember the history of the THREE??? No. Vance would later have his revenge in 2003, fittingly. He borrowed the used ticket of a girl leaving the West Regional so he could go watch KU play Duke. She was the girlfriend of an Arizona Wildcat. He sat next to Salim Stoudamire. No joke. Stoudamire was injured and Vance conjectured perhaps they would not beat Kansas. Of course, KU did win, but then lost on a THREE to Syracuse in the National Championship. But even THAT is too much. (And I won't mention Roy Williams winning a National Championship on his THIRD trip to the final game.)

So poor little Raef, who no one really ever feared, went into the game unarmed with the knowledge that he was about to lose, by three, to a team that would go on to be the only team to beat three number one seeds in the tournament (Kansas, North Carolina, and Kentucky.)

Mr. Bibby, the son of former UCLA star Henry Bibby, who won three college championships himself as a player, showed no mercy and the 'Hawks were soon down. With THREE-and-a-half minutes left KU trailed 75-62, but they started to score. Threes. Billy Thomas, say what?, scored and Paul Pierce of NBA stardome scored. Pierce started it all with a dunk after a Bibby, what else, three pointer. That dunk gave him 27 points, which can be divide by three, the last points he would have in the game. He also scored in double figures for the 30th consecutive game and led KU in scoring for all six of his postseason games. Divide by three!

KU had one final posession. Down by three. No less than three players took a shot at the basket. It would have been four players if Vaughn had taken the WIDE open three he had instead of passing it off. We all know what happened. They lost. By three.

So Larry, try a little harder, would you? And Trent, not so many interceptions. Three was quite enough.

Not So Much

So these two Carolina Panthers cheerleaders walk into a bar. Stop me if you've heard it. We all know what guys hope happened next. We know what the cheers want you to think happened next (think Playboy deal even though they deny the incident). And yes, for once, two cheerleaders got it on together. Girl on girl. In a bathroom! Personally, should I ever choose to have sex in public I don't think the nearest stall would be my choice. However, on further investigation, I now realize I have some expertise and additional background to help shed light on this story.

I have been in the restaurant where it happened and I have in fact used said restroom in said restaurant. I was dining at the particular establishment with my friends in Tampa when I felt the need to excuse myself. When I made it to the ladies room, there were two women already in there. Apparently, this is a trend that does not limit itself to gossip anymore. However, I was unaware of the new restroom rules and did not return to my table to get my friend (who was there with her young daughter and husband - whose husband probably would not have minded if I had brought her into the restroom to experience new rules). These women eventually left and I was able to use the restroom as any normal person would.

As restrooms go, it was not great. It had a strange odor and the doors didn't lock as well as one might hope. However, there was a lovely mirror and the sinks were fairly clean. Still, I certainly did not feel "in the mood" just by having stepped into the restroom. It was upon hearing the story in later weeks of the cheerleaders that I re-examined my memories of the restroom. Could I easily put both arms out without hitting the walls? Did it feel cramped? Was I loath to let my purse touch any area of the stall? I have come to the conclusion that they may have been trying to have sex, but it was probably an adventure fraught with peril. It is perhaps their good fortune to have been so rudely interrupted as they would have ultimately realized said bathroom provides not so much room.

Having reflected on my time in the infamous restroom I feel I can confidently rate it as a fine place to use properly, but any other use, perhaps not so much.

Dazed and Confused

Have you ever loved that one movie that just gives you line after line after line of great things to say? "Give him back the beer, man." That's how you know you've seen a great movie. If you can walk out of the theater and turn to your friend and say, "How about that scene where..." and you've got five of those "how about wheres" then you've seen something good. Take Jarhead for instance. No less than 10 scenes off the top of your head as you walk out of there.

That's how you know if a TV show sucks or not as well. And that's why "Joey" will NEVER be as good as "Friends." Have you ever turned to anyone and said, "Did you see Joey last night?" No. Matt Le Blanc is funny, but not on his own. I'm BEGGING for a Chandler guest appearance.

Same goes for great games. If you can say, "I couldn't believe.." at least five times after a game you know you've seen a classic. Even touchdowns that get called back count. (See Dante Hall at Oakland Raiders 2005). Having attended a great game, your ears must be ringing in order for it to count as a great game, and there must be at least two jaw dropping plays. (See Jacque Vaughn vs. UCLA, Kevin Ross vs. John L. Williams, etc.)

Politics is a little bit trickier. You should not vote for a candidate if on more than one occassion you've said, "Can you believe he said..." If this is followed by laughing and cutting up you definitely don't want to be voting for him. (See "Want to buy some wood?" Presidential Debate 2004).

JKL Man, JKL.

30 and 25

Those are the numbers that now rule my life. 30 years of age, 25 pounds I've put on since my metabolism decided it would not work past the age of 28. They really aught to give you a manual with your body. Under the section of "Enjoy it while you can" you would find me nodding my head in agreement.

16 and 10 used to be my numbers. 16 the number I wear on the pitch, fearless as can be, Captain of the soccer team. 10 the number I wished I could wear on the pitch, the number reserved for the star of the team. (See Pele, Maradonna, Baggio, etc.). 10 was also the number of pounds I was always underweight. "The acceptable weight range for a woman your age is 130 - 155. You're now at 122, so you could stand to gain some weight." I would laugh.

It's not like I wasn't trying. Something was going on with my body that had cursed my mother, she of 5'4" and 100 pounds on her wedding day. I was never that tiny, growing to 5'7" and leveling out at 130 through college, then down to 120 after a breakup, then back to 130. On my wedding day I weighed 132. And yes, I do know exactly what I weighed on my wedding day. Just like my mother.

Three moves to the land of mormonism and now the sunshine state have left me at 155. It's also the number of times I tell myself during a course of a day that I'm going to seriously work on this weight thing this time. This is it. No turning back. I'm getting up at 6 in the morning and working out. Seriously.

Of course, the cats stare at me as 6:10 rolls by. Then 6:15. By the time 6:30 rolls around they're seriously pissed off at me. This is their dinner time, and no amount of laziness is going to keep them from getting their food. It is only this peer pressure that succeeds in getting me out of bed. I feel my way through the darkened apartment as my husband continues to snore. He sleeps as late and as long as he can, but when he has to be awake he is awake. It's an obscene sort of discipline that drives me insane.

After I've managed to feed the cats in the dark I go back to bed. At this point, my husband is ready to get up. He gets ready for work while I continue to steal a few more minutes of sleep. The irony is I will have to leave the apartment before he does to get to work on time.

I give myself ten minutes in the morning. Wake up, put the English muffins in the toaster, while they're toasting, brush my teeth and get dressed. Muffins up, I'm dressed, time to stuff the makeup in the purse, kiss my husband goodbye and head to work. I accomplish this everyday in a span of ten minutes. Why? Maybe the nostalgia of never having worn the number 10. Mostly, a stubborn refusal to turn over any more of my day than I absolutely have to to do something I don't particularly want to do.

Perhaps I'll wake up at 6 tomorrow. It's only one number away from 16.