Monday, February 25, 2008

Flibbertigibbet Express

I'm at work, and I have to keep a careful eye on the little rear-view mirror I have velcroed to my monitor, so I can quickly act like I'm Getting Stuff Done if I see, for example, the publisher approaching my office. Too bad I wasn't quick enough to keep him from catching me sipping iced tea and filing my nails -- literally -- when he popped in just now. Oh, well, I'm not the queen of stealth. And this is my lunch break, after all.

So, I have been neglecting this space. I've been glued to Shaken Mama all week, wondering when she's going to pop out Baby V. At least this time, I don't have to be there to witness the horror movie that is natural childbirth (not that there's anything wrong with that). Or listen to the moo's or the horse whinnies she employed throughout her hours of painful labor before Chebbles emerged into this world. Still, I'm strangely hyper-aware of SM's imminent childbirth, and worried to the point I have dreamed about it. Mother Hen, that's me. At least she's packed her hospital bag this time.

Other random musings from the woman who dressed up as Flibbertigibbit along with Shaken Mama (Maria) and friends for the Castro Theatre's showing of The Sound of Music a few years ago:

* Only in SF?: On the way to retrieve lunch at "Pumpkin's" (so-called because the proprietor calls everyone "Pumpkin" or "Cupcake"), I witnessed a homeless man, with two shopping cars of belongings, talking on his iPhone.

* I am inordinately tickled by the fact that Cuba now has a president named Raul. I think this comes from the time I was an extra in the film Bedazzled. If you saw this ill-advised attempt at comedy, you may recall Brendan Fraser's stint as a bumbling Colombian drug lord of that name.

* I have beome addicted to two shows: Chelsea Lately (I want to BE Chelsea Handler in another life) and -- don't judge me -- Paradise Hotel 2, with that ho' Tanya. Oh, and Lipstick Jungle, though I must say I liked the book better; it's always a mistake in my opinion for the dramatization to fall under the authority of the author (in this case, exec producer Candace Bushnell).

* I sent a very difficult letter to my brother and sister this weekend. It dredged up a lot of anger and sadness, and now it's in UPS's hands. Wish me luck.

Oh, and if the "good" friend who hasn't talked to me for 12 days is reading this: "What's up YOUR butt?"

3 comments:

Chebbles' Mama said...

If you must know, it's an eight-pound baby.

Oh, you didn't mean me? I'm not "good" enough for you? Oh well, I'll be over here making my own friends (with my uterus).

Anonymous said...

This posting has brought up all MY insecurities about not being a good friend, too! I don't have an extra-large fetus to blame, but I did have a minor family crisis and have been managing the client from hell and I've been available via email and IM . . . Am I the bad friend?
~Vic

Stella Haven said...

No, it's not you guys, silly! It's (adopt Mike Myers' voice) that "bald-headed preek."