Celebrating my man and his grandpa

Posted on April 15, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

Remember in my last blog post how I said my brain is like a box of chocolates? Well Forrest, you may be a simple man, but I think you got the saying right – life is too.

Right now I’m supposed to be in the Dominican Republic at Erin and Brent’s wedding. Today is Will’s birthday and we were going to celebrate by relaxing on the beach, enjoying the sun, and I was secretly trying to figure out how to get the server at dinner to stick a candle in Will’s dessert.

Metaphorically speaking, I was expecting a delicious Fannie Mae Trinidad (yum!). What I got was the nasty Caramel Cream (vomit!).

Will’s grandpa had been fighting pulmonary fibrosis for awhile and on Tuesday night, he took a turn for the worse. We cancelled our trip, thanked our lucky stars for trip insurance, and went to the hospital the next day. This morning, finally, Will’s grandpa’s constant struggle to breathe ended.

So today, I’m celebrating the lives of two great men: One man who is the center of my universe and another man who made that possible not only by simply existing, but by helping to mentor, influence and mold Will into the man I love.

With the irony of birth and death floating around in this situation, I realize I’m dangling on the precipice of a black hole of symbolism and meaning here, so I’ll take a step back. All of this sharing of my feelings is making me develop an eye twitch.

But while Will’s 28^th birthday may be marked by the death of someone he loves, he and everyone else in the family were marked by the life of someone who really loved them.

So cheers to Will’s birthday and Grandpa Wall’s life! Two things definitely worth celebrating.

Now who’s got the champagne? (Hey, if I can’t have a mojito on the beach…)

Here’s the part where I sell out

Posted on April 9, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

Guess what!? I found out that people I don’t know actually read my blog!

I had assumed that for the most part, my readers consisted of family members and friends (of the real life and Facebook varieties). Turns out that somehow, miraculously, other random people of the world have ventured onto this site of their own free will.

I have proof!

A couple of weeks ago, I was contacted by the makers of Edwards Desserts. They had read my blog (see?) and wanted to know if I would try some of their desserts for free and then write about them.

Desserts? For free? I didn’t have to think too hard about this one. I’m a big advocate of people giving me free stuff. If the makers of Dog Crap in a Paper Bag offered to give me their product for free, I’d probably take it.

But it gets better. The desserts are actually delicious. Score!

So far, I’ve tried two varieties of their frozen dessert singles: the Hot Turtle Brownie with Ice Cream and the Hot Fudge Brownie with Ice Cream. The verdict? Yum.

Both products give you the deliciousness of a freshly baked brownie with ice cream on top without the hassle of actually baking the brownies or buying a whole container of ice cream when you really just want one scoop. And it only takes 45 seconds for this tasty treat to get from the freezer to your mouth. Eating your feelings has never been easier!

But seriously folks, these bad boys are good. And how rude would I be to go on and on about them and not offer any to you, my loyal readers? I’m no Emily Post, but I do have some manners.

Unfortunately, I only have 5 free desserts to give out. So here’s the solution: a contest! Fun!

You should really pay attention to this part of the post if you like free stuff.

The first 5 people to comment on this blog post will receive a coupon for FREE Edwards Desserts from me! They can be found in all major grocery store chains. Please leave your email address or a way that I can contact you on the off chance that you, like the generous people at Edwards Desserts, are not one of my friends or family members.

And if no one comments, don’t worry my feelings won’t be hurt. That’s just 10 more free desserts for me (there are 2 in every package)!

You can follow Edwards Desserts on Facebook (http://facebook.com/edwardsdesserts ) and Twitter (@EdwardsDesserts).

If you are lucky enough to win one of the free dessert coupons, feel free to tweet or leave a comment on their Facebook wall about whether you liked it – they really want to know!

Also, if you have a mom who is awesome and likes Hollywood red-carpet events, you should seriously consider entering her in the Edwards Desserts Mother’s Day contest (see their Facebook fan page for more info). If your entry is chosen, Mom gets to glam it up and flirt with Ryan Seacrest and you secure your spot as her favorite offspring for life. Win-win.

So…let the comments roll in! May the force be with you!

Who knew selling out could taste so good??

Hey everyone! Come read about what a good person I am!

Posted on April 1, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

You’re probably wondering where I’ve been all week.

Oh, you’re not? It didn’t occur to you that my last post was almost a week ago? You didn’t miss me? You weren’t sick with worry that maybe something bad happened to me, like my hands were severed in an unfortunate band saw accident, thus rendering me unable to type and provide my unmatched wit and humor to the world?

Ok, then.

Moving on…

I’ve actually been on vacation in Charleston, SC since Saturday, but I’ll tell you more about that later. For today’s post, I’d like to focus on how I’ve been spending my Thursday nights for the past five months leading a book club for people with developmental disabilities. I know, I’m a really good person, aren’t I? So caring, selfless, wanting to give back to the community…

That last part? Not true at all. I’m usually pretty self-absorbed and unaware when it comes to community issues and volunteering my time. It just doesn’t always occur to me that I can make a difference and really help people. Fortunately, it did occur to Will and he convinced me to volunteer at St. Louis Arc with him and lead a book club.

At first, I was not thrilled at the idea. The book club meets every Thursday night. Thursday is a really good TV night. End of discussion.

Will interpreted “end of discussion” to mean “sign me up anyway” and thus I found myself heading to Borders with him a few weeks later.

Even though I’ve had experience working with special needs kids in the past, I was a little nervous about interacting with adults with developmental disabilities. I didn’t know what to expect as far as their capabilities and personalities. Turns out, they’re a lot of fun.

There are five people in the book club, not including us, and each one of them seems genuinely happy to be there. They greet us with smiles and enthusiasm, ask us how our week was, and sometimes just exclaim “This is fun!” It’s really refreshing to be around people who can be so unabashedly appreciative of the moment. I think I might try to make a point to say “This is fun!” out loud more often.

Over the past five months, after reading everything from Curious George to Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, I’ve developed a fondness for Thursday nights (despite the fact that they no longer include The Office or Real Housewives) and for all of our book clubbers.

Tonight is our last book club, at least until the next session begins in the fall. I have to admit, it will be nice to have our Thursday nights back, but I’ll miss seeing our five new friends every week.

Moral of the story: Volunteering my time to help others was actually rewarding and an all around good time. I should do it more often. Next Thursday, when I’m at home laughing at 30 Rock, I’m going to try to remember to yell “This is fun!” I don’t care if my dog thinks I’m crazy.

Baby timeshare – Brilliant!

Posted on March 23, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

A few weeks ago, we were hanging out with our friends Erin and Brent who are getting married in April. In the Dominican Republic. And we’re going. Woohoo!

Anyway, we were at dinner (using a Groupon I might add! If you haven’t checked out that site yet, you should – great deals. I promise they’re not paying me to say that) and we came up with a plan that is, dare I say, BRILLIANT.

Erin and Brent are in the same boat as us: The USS We Want a Family But Having a Baby Scares Us Right Now.

And, like us, they are testing the parental waters with their pseudo children Chauncey, Hayes, Louie, and one other cat whose name I can’t remember (but who is very sweet when she’s not peeing in their house plants).

Their dog Chauncey is actually quite adorable.

Almost as cute as Gatsby, The Cutest Dog in the World.

But back to the BRILLIANT plan. The four of us were discussing our reservations about the child rearing process – you know, creating this being who we will forever be tied to and feel responsible for and who we will worry about and pretty much obsess over for the rest of our lives – when we came up with the perfect way to have the best of both worlds: a genetically engineered baby made up of equal parts DNA from all four of us.

Yes, that’s right – one baby, two sets of parents – a baby timeshare! Both couples take turns raising the child – perhaps some sort of two-week rotation. While they have the kid for two weeks, we can be childless and free, but the following two weeks we can also experience the joys of parenting, which I imagine are especially joyful if you know that you have a two-week break coming up.

Totally brillz, right? (Or should I say “totes” to be extra annoying?)

Of course there are some logistics to work out. Namely, the science to create a four-parent baby is not yet a possibility as far as I know. Do me a favor and tell all your scientist friends to get working on that. Once they have it worked out so that the child won’t have any freakish genetic mutations (having a three-legged kid might be a bit of an inconvenience), let me know.

I guess in the meantime, we’ll have to plan on going the more traditional route. At least our BRILLIANT plan made for some good dinner conversation, if nothing else.

Random thought of the day: Why is it that some people, when discussing their favorite sports teams, use “we” instead of “they?”

As in: “Yeah man, now that we have <insert athlete’s name here>, we’re going to be really good. It might be our year. We just can’t have too many injuries. Dude.”

Last time I checked, fans were not actual members of professional sports teams. It’s just semantically incorrect. But hey, if it makes them happy to use the collective “we” and perpetuate the delusion that they are somehow involved with the team (motivational vibe sender, maybe?), so be it.

Happy green beer day!

Posted on March 17, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

I LOVE St. Patrick’s Day. I love parades, drinking green beer and going out to Irish pubs. I even love Guinness. I am slightly Irish, after all (not sure exactly how much).

As I sit here writing this quick post AT WORK (not a fun bar or a parade, mind you), I have to say I’m a little depressed.

So to cheer myself up a little, I’d like to present an homage in pictures of St. Patrick’s Day celebrations of yore!

2006

Duffy's, Chicago. I'm the crazed reveler in the middle.

2007

Mystic Celt, Chicago. Forget Irish eyes. I've got your CRAZY eyes right here. And Will has the drunk eyes down.

2008

Old Town Pub (or OTP), Chicago. With Megan and Emily, St. Paddy's Day regulars. You can tell we're getting older by the fact that we look sober.

2009

Costa Rica. Ok, I wasn't exactly celebrating St. Patrick's Day, but this is where I was at this time last year. Still better than a cubicle.

2010

No comment.

To those of you who were lucky enough to take the day off for the parade or even celebrate last weekend – Slainte! I wish I was you.

I will be consuming a Guinness AND a Shamrock Shake tonight. So there.

Our place

Posted on March 16, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

Do you have a local restaurant or bar that you like to think of as “your place?”

I haven’t exactly been bowled over by the vast array of unique and affordable eating and drinking establishments in St. Louis since I’ve moved here. It’s not that there aren’t any. Let’s just say I can’t throw a stone out my apartment door and hit two Irish pubs, a wine bar and a cute little Italian place, as was the case when I lived in Chicago.

I can, however, walk for 25 minutes (or drive for 5) and get to Sasha’s. This is “my place.” Actually, I’m pretty much always with Will when I go there, so I like to think of it as “our place.”

Sasha’s is a cute little wine bar in a cute little neighborhood next to a cute little park. It has charm and character, good wine, and a great outdoor seating area. It also has Sofia sparkling wine that comes in a cute little can with a cute little straw. What’s not to love?

Niebaum-Coppola Winery

Apparently being cute and little will get you far with me. Take my dog, for example.

But back to Sasha’s. Will and I have been regulars ever since I became an official St. Louis resident. We’ve made some great (albeit fuzzy) memories there.

There was the unusually warm November night when we were sitting outside and got caught in a thunderstorm. (This was more fun than it sounds. We didn’t get that wet. And we were drunk.) There was the sunny summer day we decided to walk over with Gatsby and I ate my salad with him sitting in my lap. Then there was the time that we went for an early dinner and promised each other we would only get two drinks, but we ran into Will’s aunt, cousin and grandma and ended up staying and drinking with them until the wee hours of the night. I think we probably quadrupled our self-imposed drink limit for that night.

The thing about Sasha’s, and the reason we always make a pact not to drink too much when we go there, is that we end up enjoying ourselves so much that we don’t want to leave. So we stay. And we drink. And we get sloshed. And until the hangover sets in the following day, we have a really, really great time.

We love the place so much that we actually have a sketch of it hanging in our dining room. The picture was a thoughtful wedding gift from Sarah, one of my bridesmaids, and if we ever move from St. Louis, at least we’ll have a cool-looking piece of art to always remind us of “our place.”

One early summer evening, we were sitting outside at Sasha’s when another young couple sat down next to us. With a baby.

Now, we were also accompanied by our pseudo-child Gatsby, but bringing a real human child to a wine bar is a different story. However, after recoiling a little at the site of the tiny stroller troll at “my place” (my very adult place), I took another sip of wine and pretty much forgot that he/she/it was there. A little while later, I glanced over, and the couple was enjoying their wine just as much as we were, with their baby happily and silently looking on. Heck, with Gatsby nearly choking himself after winding his leash around a table leg, having a dog was almost more trouble than having an infant in this case!

So, I don’t know. Maybe babies don’t cramp your style quite as much as I think. Not that I want to find out any time soon…

Here’s the part where I shamelessly promote myself.

I was inspired by my love for Sasha’s (and my desire for a free trip to San Francisco) to enter a writing contest on trazzler.com. I whipped up a cheesy little blurb about the wine bar, and if I get enough votes, I can win a trip to San Fran (my second favorite American city after Chicago)!

If you want to check it out, click here:

http://www.trazzler.com/trips/sasha-s-wine-bar-in-clayton-mo#

If you feel like voting, you just have to sign up for Trazzler (they don’t send any annoying emails, I promise), go to my trip and hit “save.”

I don’t think I’m going to win at this point, but you never know! And if I do get to go to San Francisco…I will think of you all fondly while I’m there. And maybe take a few pictures and post them on this blog. Exciting, right?!?!?

Random question of the day

Ok, how many of you girls out there (or guys, I don’t judge) had this awesomely nineties pastel radio/cassette player when you were growing up?

I had it in purple and my best friend Debbie had it in pink. And I feel like every other girl my age had it too. I’m just curious if I’m right. I heard Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” on the radio at lunch today and the image of my old girly boom box immediately popped into my head. I made some purely magical mix tapes by recording songs off the radio with this bad boy.

Reason #1,235 that I am not ready to have babies

Posted on March 4, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

I want to be able to go to a wine tasting class then drink margaritas and eat copious amounts of chips and salsa at a local Mexican restaurant where it just so happens to be karaoke night. All on a Wednesday after work. There’s no room for babies in that scenario. There’s barely room for a full grown toy fox terrier. (Gatsby was not happy that we left him alone for so long, as evidenced by the explosion of hyperactivity that met us at the door when we got home).

Let’s just say that if it’s wrong to find it hilarious that through some weird misunderstanding, my friend Erin accidentally led the host of karaoke night to believe that she was a scout from EMI talent agency, then I don’t want to be right. There’s something beautiful about the sparkle of hope in a small Asian man’s eyes when he believes that maybe his big break has finally come.

Witnessing a college frat boy methodically recite all of the lyrics to The Bloodhound Gang’s “Ain’t Nothing But Mammals” is the kind of experience I am not yet willing to give up. If anyone deserves to be discovered, it’s that guy – I was beyond impressed.

And then there was Don. Adorable, scruffy, Vietnam vet Don who sang several country songs about stars and stripes. And also Neil Sedaka’s Calendar Girl. His wife, when she wasn’t trying to get his attention by barking “God Damn it, Don!” could be found dancing in the back of the room with one of college frat boy’s friends.

God Bless America.

And birth control.

Being a #2 is just a load of crap

Posted on February 25, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

I had an interesting thought on the way home from work yesterday.

I commute every day, 30 minutes each way. These 30 minutes, whether in the morning or evening, can be summed up as follows:

Get in the car (this step is key).
Adjust seat and mirrors. Due to my OCD tendencies, I’m always searching for the perfect seat angle/height/distance-from-wheel combination. I’ve never found it and I’m pretty much always uncomfortable until I just start driving and forget about it.
Put on seat belt. The ordering of steps 2 and 3 is essential and very intentional, as I’ve discovered that adjusting my seat with the seat belt on does not work well. Having your esophagus and bladder simultaneously squished by a tightening strap of thick nylon is unpleasant to say the least.
Turn car on and hope it doesn’t make that unnerving squealing sound. My car is getting old, and apparently very irritable as well. If it could talk and own property, it would be yelling at all the neighborhood kids to get off its lawn.
Put the car in drive and, well, drive.
Merge onto highway.
Decide that the semi in the lane next to me is drifting and getting a little too close. Start panicking. See my life flash before my eyes. Ok, this reaction may seem a little extreme to you, but in the back of my mind I see all trucks as evil Carlie-killing machines. I’m pretty sure this stems from an unfortunate incident (or fortunate since everyone in my family is still alive) involving an evil, drifting semi-truck, my family in a small rental car, and spinning across 4 lanes of traffic on the Washington DC beltway at rush hour. So yeah, thanks for making me re-live that moment. Moving on.
Realize that my ears are bleeding because a Nickelback song is playing on the radio (AGAIN).
Curse myself for living in St. Louis for 5 years and still not changing the Chicago stations on my radio buttons. Hey “seek” button – you annoy me.
FINALLY come across a song worth listening to. I bless the rains down in Aaaaaafricaaaaa…. (no, I’m not kidding)

And then I feel it – the urge to sing! And why not? I’m completely alone in my car, my tone deaf screeching audible to no one but me. So I go for it. GONNA TAKE SOME TIME TO DO THE THINGS WE NEVER HAAA-AAA-AAA-AAAVE! OOOHOOOH. Yeah Toto. You rock. And so do I. So ready for this next verse. I can belt it out at the top of my lungs because no one can hear me! No one can see me…except that middle-aged bald guy I’m passing on my right. Did he just make eye contact with me? Crap. Did he see me singing? Ehhh….

Thus brings me to the aforementioned interesting thought I had. You’ll be glad you stuck with me because this will blow your mind.

My theory is that there are three different kinds of people in life:

Those who unabashedly sing along to the radio in their car no matter who can hear or see them.
Those who start singing but become self-conscious and worried that they will attract the stares of fellow drivers, so they tone it down a little and sing between clenched teeth giving the outward impression that they are in fact not singing at all like some sort of idiotic, paranoid ventriloquist. (I fall into this category.)
Those who do not sing ever, no matter what.

I think your car singing habits or lack thereof say a lot about you as a person. The #1’s are confident free spirits, enjoying life and just being themselves. The #2’s want to be like the #1’s but care a little too much about what other people think of them. And the #3’s are just no fun at all. I think if we all lived like #1’s, the world would be a much happier place.

So on your way home from work today, sing along to the radio like you’re freaking Pavarotti – I dare you. And if the person driving next to you starts staring, motion to them to sing along! And, if that thought alone isn’t making you smile, here are a few pictures of some super cute baby meerkats because this is my blog and I want it to make people happy.

You’re welcome.

Happy Surviving Childbirth Day, Mom!

Posted on February 22, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

Readers, I lied to you. In my post last week, I told you that I’m 28 years old. This is untrue. Or I guess I should say this was untrue. When I wrote that post one week ago I was 27 (ah, the good ol’ days), but today I can officially say that I have been a member of the human race for 28 years.

Yes, today is my birthday, but more importantly in my opinion, it was 28 years ago today that my mother survived what I imagine to be one of the most horrific and gruesome of all human experiences: chidbirth. I know that may sound a bit dramatic, but when you get down to brass tacks and think about what giving birth means and what supposedly happens during this process, it is not completely dissimilar from the plot of a horror movie. And I hate horror movies.

Suspense, pain, screaming, blood, and then a small creature emerges from inside you. Hello, did you see Alien???

I’m sorry about that. Hopefully you aren’t eating while reading this post. But let’s be honest, you didn’t need that second granola bar anyway.

I have several friends who are labor and delivery nurses, or “baby catchers” as they sometimes refer to themselves. I know that when they talk to me about what they’ve experienced in the delivery room, it’s all matter-of-fact for them and they are not trying to turn me off to having kids. They are also not trying to make me feel nauseated and light-headed, but that’s exactly what happens when I hear the word “tear” in that context. Ugghh…again, I really hope you’re not eating right now.

Here’s a fun story: Once upon a time (3 weeks ago), I had to get my blood drawn for a life insurance physical. This experience ended in me passed out on my dining room table. The last thing I heard was the nurse saying to Will, “I think we’re losing her!” So now you know where I’m coming from. I’m not sure if it would be possible for me to stay conscious during my prenatal doctor’s appointments, let alone childbirth itself.

Also, did you know that labor and delivery nurses actually notice and discuss amongst themselves whether or not you have a pedicure? Well apparently they do. So that’s one more thing to worry about.

To sum up, the thought of giving birth is very, very scary to me. And realizing that my mom was willing to go through that just to have me (and then do it again with my sister!) is proof that she is amazing. Further proof that both of my parents are amazing is the fact that they were willing to drive 5 hours to St. Louis on Saturday just to take me out to dinner for my birthday only to have to turn around and drive 5 hours back on Sunday in the face of a possible snow storm. So if creating a life makes you care about someone that much, I guess it might be worth it. Plus, hundreds of thousands of women give birth every day so it can’t be that bad right? Right?

Welcome to my not-a-mommy blog: My future babies scare me

Posted on February 15, 2010 by carlieblissirwin

So here I am, a happily married textbook editor living in St. Louis with my husband Will and loving the “young couple” lifestyle. We hang out with friends, try all the new restaurants, travel whenever we want, and obsess way too much over our pseudo-child, Gatsby (a five pound toy fox terrier). All of this is great and I pretty much never want to give it up. But I have a feeling it’s going to change. And that change begins with a “B” and ends with an “aby.”

No, I am NOT pregnant (Mom – you can stop freaking out). Nor will I be within the next couple of years, at least not according to the “life plan” I have carefully crafted for myself. Will and I have always said that the magic number is 30 – we’ll wait until we’re 30 to have kids. Great! Thirty is OLD. Heck, I might not even live that long. But wait – NEWSFLASH – suddenly I’m 28! And I can feel the freedom of my childless years slipping through my fingers. A tiny person-to-be is looming in the not-so-distant future, plotting to invade our lives and my uterus.

FUTURE BABY: Hey Mom, you know how you like to go out to nice restaurants more often than you probably should? Well you better soak that up now because when I’m in the picture? Not gonna happen.

ME: Huh? Mom? Wait – are you talking to me, baldy?

FB: Also, you better start planning and saving for that trip to Europe, stat. I’m not a huge fan of history, museums, good wine, or even solid foods for that matter.

ME: Wow, way to be a party pooper.

FB: Oh, I’m an expert pooper. You’ll see.

ME: <throwing up in mouth>

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t want to have kids. (Again, Mom, stop freaking out.) I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we are lucky enough to have that experience because I know that many people aren’t and it’s often taken for granted. But whether biological or adopted, I’m guessing that in the relatively near future there will be mini people dictating what we can and cannot do in our day-to-day lives. This scares me.

I’m not what you might call a “baby person.” I’ve probably held about five babies in my entire life, and I think I can speak on behalf of myself and the babies when I say it was not good. I mean really, when someone hands you her baby, what are you supposed to do? Support the head – ok I know that, but then what? Do you just look at it? Pat it? Pet it? Bounce? Stand still? I don’t know. And then there’s the whole issue of baby talk. In the presence of a baby, it seems that pretty much everyone in the world suddenly loses the ability to pronounce the letter L, as in “Wook at this wittle cutie!” I cannot compel myself to do this. My conversations with babies go more like this:

ME: Hi! Awww, you’re cute. Yes you are!

BABY: <blink>

ME: You’re heavy…

Note to friends and family members whose babies I’ve held: Don’t worry, I actually loved holding your baby. It’s the other four I’m talking about.

Another sign my maternal instincts haven’t kicked in yet? I don’t think babies are cute. Granted, they do get progressively cuter as they get older. I think most four and five year olds are adorable. I always want to take them by the shoulders, look them in the eye and say “Enjoy it kid, the awkward middle school years are not too far down the road.” But if you’re talking actual babies – most are wrinkly, fleshy, spitty Verne Troyer look-alikes.

Not cute.

So that’s where I stand right now. I do feel like I might be slowly warming up to humans of the ankle-biting, rug rat variety thanks to the fact that I have several friends who have babies or are pregnant. From what I’ve observed, motherhood does have some perks. However, I obviously have a ways to go. Thus begins my quest to enjoy living spontaneously and selfishly while I still can and to mentally prepare myself for what I like to refer to as Babygeddon…