Yes, this IS a book report.

Last Christmas, Ned's Aunt Irene recommended The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo to me. Ned's Aunt Irene has a very distinct way of speaking that makes me hang on to every word, and kinda wish I was best friends with her. She lives in Chicago and travels a lot, and is awfully busy with Uncle Wes, so I don't think it'll happen, but I do like listening to her talk when she comes to visit.  She's borderline hypnotic, in the sense that when she's gone, her strong influence is gone too. When she was telling me, I desperately wrote the name down on a Post-It note on my fridge. When she left, I glanced at it every few days, and tried to summon the effect Aunt Irene has on me. It took me a few months to get it.

  I had always imagined it to be about some Chinese girl flitting about a garden somewhere with a magical dragon tattoo. Lisbeth Salander is far from Chinese. Or flitting. She is the character I have always wanted to read about. You don't want to be her, exactly, or even friends with her. You just want to read about her. And Mikael reminds me of my dentist (who just fathered a love child), who has become a bizarrely huge part of my life, much thanks to Kiwi H. The characters are brilliant. The only reason I could put the book down is because I am in my 1st trimester (!) and keep falling asleep. When Ned comes home from work, I barely glance up from the couch to ask him how his day was, and pray to God for a one word answer. I hit ignore on the phone yesterday when Kiwi called. Might be a first time thing. (Except for when she was socially depressed in '06). I took my 2 youngest to the Science Museum yesterday, with reading as my sole motivation, and read for 2 glorious hours.
It's safe to say that the transition from not pregnant to pregnant has been made smooth by Lisbeth Salander. It ain't easy bein' queasy. All. The Time. But with Mikael (Dr, Walker?) and Lisbeth, and peppermint tea, all seems fleeting.

Ned might have a substance abuse problem.

So, remember when I said that my blog misrepresents my actual life? That Ned is not Negative, and I am not a booze hound? Well, it may be harder (and more humbling) to prove this theory than I thought.
On Fat Tuesday, I didn't stand a chance against 6 vodka tonics, 4 Sam Adams, a shot of Jameson, and a hand rolled cigarette. (Numbers may or may not be accurate. Who's counting?) I also didn't stand a chance against the awfully respectable Meg McCardle. And it didn't help that Ned was living up to his blog reputation by sitting on the very end with one eye on the Sabres game the entire night.  I'm pretty sure Ned told them he calls me "skank." I'm also pretty sure it wasn't apparent that he was kidding. I'm wondering how distorted or accurate my blog version of my life is.

Kiwi asked me the next day how it went, and I said "Fun. For me, anyway. I may have caught Ian (Meg's husband) off guard on more than one occasion. Overall, a little 'FML' but whatever.'  Kiwi's response? She asked if I had Meg's husband eat a maraschino cherry off of my (nursing) bra. I think she was trying to keep things relative, but the thing is-  I may or may not have. I did threaten to punch him in the face. I was kidding. LMAO?

Anyway, I am enjoying not drinking. And Ned is thoroughly enjoying me not drinking. He said today that beer can be just as expensive as cocaine, if you don't watch it. Ned? Who are you, anyway. He does honk when he blows his nose. Is that a sign of a coke habit? Not drinking has really given me an almost divine ability to discern substance abuse problems.

Maybe someday, Ned won't honk when he blows his nose, I'll wear cleavage-less cardigans (forgot to mention the cleavage part. I'm feeling like a real tranny these days), drink Sprite, and we'll both wake up real respectable-like. Until then, thanks for the sympathetic smiles.

My last (really) hurrah. Plus some taxes.

My version of Fat Tuesday. Plus some good Irish beer.

It's 9 A.M. and I am celebrating Mardi Gras. With a McSorley's Irish Pale Ale. Alone. Ned just left for work, and I am happily guzzling away.
Ned and I have plans tonight for beer and wings with Meg and her gloriously Irish husband at 7:30. He calls her 'darling'. Ned calls me Joe. Just sayin'.

In true Ned fashion, he made an appointment to get our taxes done at 6. On Fat Tuesday. When I've made it all too clear that I'm giving up drinking for Lent, and today is my last (of many) hurrahs. Ned gets me every time. But he was pretty cooperative about it, after me asking him to be, and he left the house texting the tax guy.

Ned's version of Fat Tuesday.

He might have been cooperative because he finally has something to look forward to. Those Buffalo blues strike Ned more than anyone else I know. So I booked us a beach house for 2 weeks at the Jersey Shore. Positively glorious 2 week stretch of sun, sand, and....Kiwi Herman. She's looking into it, folks. And my sister will be an hour and a half away with the cousins and, of course, Mimi is coming with us. Vacation ain't vacation without the little ones' beloved Mimi. And Ned and my beloved escapes. Ned stared at the sky last night, nodding his head, listening distantly to me chattering away about the beach, and said "Yea. should be sweet." If it weren't for him nodding his head the entire time, I wouldn't have caught on to the intensity of his emotions. Ned is looking forward to vacation.

And I am looking forward to tonight. Ned's always been a little more long-term than me.

Ned's losin' me till Lent

Ned came home from a long day at work the other day, looked at me, and said "I'm concerned about you." He meant it. I was at the kitchen table littered with beer bottles and snuff, with Dan the D-bag and my cousin. My cousin is a gambler from Vegas (actually a small town by Vegas, but we tell everyone Vegas), who gets Dan and me addicted to snuff every time he comes to visit. Snuff is pulverized tobacco that you inhale through your nose (in other words,  blow. That's kind of Ned's point.). It makes Ned's sinuses hurt, but Dan and I took to it immediately, and have had one hell of a week. On day 2 of his trip, my cousin said incredulously, "Most people don't take to snuff this fast!", turned slowly to me, "Especially girls." Welcome to Buffalo, Bret. I even overheard Jackie asking for it in a high, clear voice.
     Top my cousin coming to visit with the fact that there was one week left till Lent, and I'm giving up drinking. For 40 days. I wonder if Ned and I will still get along. I wonder if anyone and I will still get along, for that matter.
So, of course, I have been on as much of a bender as I can pull off while still taking care of Ned and the girls. I informed Ned yesterday that, since not only will I not be going out without him, but since I will be his cheerful DD for the entirety of Lent, the next 5 nights are to be spent at my discretion. As amiable and supportive as Ned wants to be, this kind of stuff does not sit well with him. He is the nicest chauvinist you'll ever meet. Last night was the 1st night I had plans to go out. My friend and I were waiting for Ned to come home so we could leave, when he texted me that he was going out. "LOL!!!" I wrote back, trying to keep it light. That was Ned's way of asking if he could watch the last 15 minutes of the hockey game. Sure, Ned. You're being so supportive of my bender, and all. He made it home, asked Jessica all the right questions (Ned's great in social situations) and warily showed us to the door. We drank beer and after my 'mild' periodic suggestions, Jessica agreed to split nachos. They filled a void. Ned better really love me, cuz somehow my unhinged pre-Lent boozin' has come to include unhinged eating as well. Is my Lent Ned's Penance? I'll have to ask Ned tonight, in between him coming and me going.