Coming Out Irish

Over a year ago, my mom’s friend Aunt Kath did an ancestry search on our family and found out something shocking: we’re Irish.

me with red hair. maybe I should’ve guessed.

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Yes, I’m Married. No, I’m Not Pregnant.

Back in the days when I was single (last year), I used to frequently and fearlessly ask any woman I knew if she was pregnant or planning on getting pregnant.

kate preggers

Kate knows what it’s like

I was told this was rude. I didn’t care. I had a superstitious Catholic friend tell me it was terrible because you could be forcing a woman to choose between announcing a pregnancy in the first 3 months (bad luck) or denying the existence of her unborn child (even worse luck). I thought that was just silly.

Since I got married (and a little before), people have been asking about our plans or, even worse, joke-asking me “Uh oh! You feel sick? You’re not pregnant, are you?!” and I have to admit, it’s really fucking annoying. (Can I curse here? Sure, my blog, my rules.)

The reason(s) I used to ask my friends if they were getting pregnant was because I was (a) nosy, (b) hoping that they weren’t having kids because I want them to still be fun, and/or (c) mentally preparing myself so I wouldn’t be blind-sided when I found out in 6-9 months that my friends were no longer fun. I don’t know the intentions of everyone that asks me these questions so I just assume nosy, which translates to annoying.

That said, here’s a list of rules for asking me if I’m pregnant or working on it:

1) Ask yourself if you know me well enough. The answer might be yes. I’m pretty open with a lot of people and, you know, all of the internet. But if you have to think about it for more than a second, the answer is probably no.

2) Just come out and ask it. Don’t joke-ask or hint at it, for God’s sake.

3) Don’t give me your opinion afterwards.

4) If we’re real life close friends, you can pretty much disregard all of these and the worst I can do is to tell you to shut up.

5) If you’re a nail salon technician, you can get away with anything.

nail scene

Or, I could just answer the question for the world:

No. Check back in 3-5 years.

6 Things You Forgot About Using The Phone In The 90s

Apologies for not getting my posts out this week but I get a hurricane pass. Daddy got power back yesterday but now the Internet is out. Also went to the library today but their wifi was out too. So I’m typing this on my phone and hoping to upload it in a rare moment of 3G coverage.

So much to talk about. For example…
Crazy gas lines + traffic lights out = full-tilt jungle madness

[Imagine your own Mean Girls gif here. I really can't from my phone.]

Computer edit: try this one.

But my family was very fortunate that we didn’t have flooding and none of our persons or property were lost. Daddy’s power was out for 4 days and Mommy’s has been out for 5 and counting, but we’re making the most of it. We’ve been drinking wine and playing board games at Mommy’s every night.

My point is that I have nothing to complain about. However, I am now going to educate you on a little something we call “landlines.”

actual phone

We are lucky Mommy kept her old landline from before they got Fios, or we wouldn’t even have service. Plus her old corded phone that she dug out of somewhere. And when you can’t charge your cell (and then the cell towers go down) it’s nice to have a landline. But here are some things you may have forgotten about old school landlines.

1. No caller ID. The phone rings and you have no idea if it’s a loved one, a telemarketer, or your stalker. You just pick it up.

1a. Besides not knowing who it is, you also don’t know who it’s for. At one point we had up to 7 people hunkered down at Mommy’s. So you just answer it like “hello?” and then the caller has to, like, say who they are and why they’re calling.
Except sometimes they don’t. Because they’re not used to 90s phones either. So they’re just like “Helllloooo having fun???” and you’re like “um what?” and eventually figure out it’s Aunt Kath’s sister in Colorado.

2. Everyone shares one phone. So, if you want to call someone, but someone else is using the phone? You have to… wait.

3. The phone is connected to the wall. So, you can’t really walk places. Even if everyone decides to start having a conversation and/or turn up the News Radio 88 right next to you.

4. If you hang up but don’t really hang up right… you might hear “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again…” and if you don’t hear that you’ll almost definitely hear some super loud beeping.

5. Sometimes, after dialing, you might hear… “All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.” or this weird thing called a busy signal. This has actually been happening kind of a lot.

6. There’s no browser on your landline. With no internet, you dial 4-1-1 and tell a recording the name of the person or business whose number you need. You are charged extra for this service because they know you must be desperate.

Seriously not complaining. I actually think its funny to relive my childhood. Makes me grateful for the device on which I wrote this entire post. Oh, and now that I’m done, I found out the internet started working again. But since it’s 2am, this is what you’re getting.

Feel free to share your most cherished inconveniences of the 90s.

On Commuting

Some thoughts on commuting…

Ok, so… I’m going to commute for a few months… possibly longer (eek!) and it’s going to suck. But then I’m either going to move back into the city or, failing that, get a job on Long Island. I don’t understand people for whom this is the life plan. Like, you’re ok with never having a life or seeing your kids and shit?

Alice: Yeah, no. I can’t. I’ll just get a job curating the Hecksher Park Museum.

Aunt Kath had to commute into the city last week for training but she works on Long Island…

Aunt Kath: I don’t understand it! Who are these people? Who would choose to do this everyday?
Cutie (realizing I’m right there): Yeah, it’s for the young.
Aunt Kath: It’s for the stupid!

Well said, Aunt Kath. Well said.

But my new blogfriend from blurtblog made me realize I should just be grateful for the option of alcohol during the commute.

Alice got fancy wine (and fancy wine glasses) for Monday’s ride home
credit: Alice

So, explain it to me! What makes you ok with commuting 1.5+ hours indefinitely? Do you just love your job but can’t move? Do you love where you live so much that you would never think of moving? Or, if you don’t commute, feel free to rub it in my face.

I need answers, people.