Posts Tagged ‘Personal’
R.I.P. Candy’s Two-Seat Convertible
May 11, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column | Tags: Car Obituaries, Personal, R.I.P.
Babies come with a number of mind-boggling accessories, including car seat systems that even Houdini could not escape. “Rear-facing”… “anchor attachments”… “SnugRider” (Ed. note: apparently, not a condom) … all new terms to me, which add up to one big life-changing reality check:
I need a new car.
A longtime convertible enthusiast — I love the feel of the wind in my hair and gnats in my teeth — I was convinced Baby Girl and I would be fine with simply buying another convertible that has a backseat.
“Oh no,” all the mommies clucked. “You MUST have four doors!”
“Nah, we’ll be fine,” I responded, fists tightly clenched around my last remaining shreds of “coolness,” which were admittedly sparse to begin with. “My parents raised three kids and NEVER had a four-door.”
“You’ll see,” they smiled in a knowing manner that made me want to rebelliously run out and buy a Porsche Boxster I don’t need and can’t afford, much like my Uncle John did on his 50th birthday. Just before he installed some plugs… on his head.
Fast forward to this past Friday, when I spent a soul-sucking seven hours at various car dealerships trying to stuff my big stroller into tight trunks (not as dirty as it sounds, unfortunately) and resisting the urge to slap the salesmen silly.
“How much is this one?”
“Candy, we will do whatever it takes to make a deal you’re happy with.”
“But how much does it cost?”
“Candy,” they always say, lowering their voice to indicate we have become BFF. “To be honest, Candy, we have a special dealer incentive that just started this morning, so we’re actually going to lose money by selling you this vehicle.”
“HOW MUCH IS THE FREAKIN’ CAR?”
“Let me talk to my manager.”
Figuring out my Fort Knox SnugRider Car Seat is almost easier than finding out the true price of a car. Almost.
Having decided upon an Audi A4 convertible, the price still as clear as mud, I brought Mr. Candy to the dealership on Saturday evening to check out the car before signing on the dotted line. Mr. Candy was armed with his usual Excel spreadsheet and, unfortunately, a major buzz from my (in)famous sangria I had whipped up for our friends’ baby shower earlier that day. ‘Cause that’s how we roll. Our friends had warned us they were unable to fit a car seat and, you know, actual people in their car at the same time, so we also decided to bring the Fort Knox SnugRider along to ensure it would fit in the shiny new convertible I was CONVINCED would be mine by 8:00 p.m.
Fast forward to 8:01 p.m., my poor drunk husband sweating tequila bullets from unsuccessfully trying to cram that damn car seat in the back of the vehicle and me, sitting resignedly in the front of a four-door Audi sedan.
“How much does this one cost?” I asked, choking back sobs.
“Candy, we will do whatever it takes to make a deal you’re happy with.”
Okay, then, I would like a convertible that is four inches longer, please.
Turns out, my parents…? Used the Britney Spears Car Seat System of, um, not using one. “We just threw you on the passenger seat and held you there,” my mom declared when I asked her about it, adding in response to my shocked silence: “That’s just how it was done back in those days!” Which certainly explains how they drove two-seaters with children. And why the side of my head has a dent the size of a glove compartment handle.
I have not yet given up on my dream of a mommy convertible, but it is fading fast. At the present time, based on our experience and discussions with the various salespeople, we are leaning toward the Coupe de Sangria 2009-LJX.
This Used to Be My Playground
Apr 23, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column | Tags: Personal
This used to be my playground
Mr. Candy and I are regrouping from a long day o’ traveling, from LAX to Dulles to Harrisburg Airport, then down the Turnpike to my hometown of Mechanicsburg. Phew.
So here I sit, in the very same kitchen where, according to my mother, I used to clear out all of the pots and pans so I could sit in the cupboard. Sit and… well, that’s it. Just sit there.
I was a very simple child apparently.
Flying at six months pregnant was much more comfortable than I’d anticipated, no thanks to the stingy United Airlines flight attendant.
ME: [EYEING THE TINY CUPS] May I have two cups of water, please?
The flight attendant’s grip on the water bottle tightens.
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: We’re going to be coming around with drinks again, you know.
ME: But — [RUB MY BELLY IN SHAMELESS ATTEMPT TO PLAY THE PREGNANCY CARD] I’m pregnant! I’m always thirsty!
FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Sorry…
I look over at Mr. Candy, who’s snoring beside me. Drool hanging from his mouth. (Which is beginning to look startlingly appealing to me in these parched times.)
CANDY: Okay, then. May I get a cup of water for him?
The Flight Attendant knows I have no intention of sharing that water with my hubby. But she grudgingly complies — and I drink both cups in less time than it takes to say “bee-yotch!” *SIGH* I miss the good ol’ days, when complimentary pretzels and entire cans of soda flowed as freely on airplanes as my husband’s drool.
Despite that NASTY little speed bump, it was a fairly drama-free day and I’m happy to be back in the ‘Burg, where my family is holding a baby shower for us on Saturday. Hard to believe this could conceivably be the last time I spend alone with my parents. You know, before Baby Girl arrives and thinks she’s the center of attention or something. (Can you tell I’m the baby of my family?) This is definitely a time of celebration and sentimentality; a time to comb through my own childhood photos, and sit and reflect.
You know what that means: time to clear out the pots and pans! I’m sure I can still fit my, um, head in there.
Yes, I’m still very simple.
23 Weeks
Mar 31, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column | Tags: Personal
Growin'-Growin'-Growin'
Today marks my 23rd week of pregnancy. Frankly, I have no clue how many months that equals.
“Then you must be an idiot!” you are undoubtedly shouting at the picture of me and my ever-growing bump.
With this, I cannot argue.
By my uncertain calculations, I am about five months along. However, according to What to Expect When You’re Expecting — which SHOULD be called Scaring the Hell Out of Pregnant Women with Worst-Case Scenarios and Having a Good Laugh at Their Expense — I am already well into my sixth month.
Well, okay.
They’re the so-called experts, so I guess I’ll just accept their chart without questioning it… much like I did with my AP English teacher’s interpretation of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man — which apparently symbolizes the gestation of a soul and, therefore, James Joyce’s new principle of order.
Well, okay.
I know what you’re thinking and, yes, today also marks Baby Girl’s evolution into a large mango. Every week I look up baby’s new developments on BabyCenter.com, a site that likens my child to fruits and vegetables. Which amuses my mom to no end. “This week, your baby is the size of a baked potato!” “You have a banana-sized baby gestating in there!” Last week, she was apparently a spaghetti squash.
No wonder I’m always so hungry.
The Laughing Stork Newsletter and Imminent Launch
Mar 16, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column | Tags: Par-tay!, Personal
The Laughing Stork is finally going to “officially” launch with a snazzy new design, expanded offerings, more frequent updates and a weekly video blog lampooning children’s programming and family reality shows within the next two weeks. Woo-hoo!
Don’t miss out. Get notified when the site launches and kept apprised of other news & announcements by signing up for The Laughing Stork’s newsletter:
I PROMISE not to share your info with anyone or spam you — my hubby thinks spammers should be electrocuted and I do value, um, living — and you can opt out at any time. You can also follow me on the myriad social networking sites: Twitter; Facebook; MySpace. Okay, well, maybe not myriad, but there are three!
I’m taking a pseudo-Spring Break this week to work on the TLS launch, finally work on that book I’ve been blathering about for years, figure out my new snazzy camera and spend some quality final days with my two-seat convertible (*sniff* *sniff*), but will still be posting on The Laughing Stork when I can. In the meantime, here are some of my fave columns thus far:
“All’s Fair in Pregnancy and Parking”
“Ultrasound Reveals… A Belly Party?”
Looking forward to seeing y’all at the launch par-tay!
Candy
candy@thelaughingstork.com
The One-Armed Typist
Mar 12, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column,Featured,Marcy & Matty | Tags: Marcy & Matty, Personal
“You’re gonna have to learn how to type with one hand,” people often inform me when they find out I’m having a baby, anticipating my continued writing addiction and Candy Junior’s desire to be held (apparently, babies like this or something?).
Little do they know I’ve been a one-armed typist for some years now:
Cats have a reputation for being aloof, disdainful and Satanic plotters of their owners’ demise. This may be true for a small handful of felines — in fact, my aunt’s cat Tigger (R.I.P. thank GOD) possessed a very calculated plan to whack my grandma, leaping from the tops of armoires, claws outstretched, in an apparent attempt to decapitate Grandma as she walked by — but not so with our kitties.
No, Marcy and Matty think they’re dogs, running to the door, tails a’waggin’, as soon as we come home. Hell, they even enjoy watching “The Real Housewives of Atlanta/New York/Orange County” with us. (Okay, okay… we all know who “us” really is: my husband). Little Marcy, pictured above, begs to be walked outside on a leash, purring as soon as I get the harness. True story. And, as you can see, she also begs to sit on my lap ANY time I happen to be seated at my computer. Which happens to be 95 percent of the day.
Don’t be jealous of my glamorous life.
In fact, Marcy has become OBSESSED with me ever since Mr. Candy’s swimmers hit the jackpot. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, or that I’d inadvertently given myself a catnip body wrap (trust me, Pregnancy Brain can make you do some VERY strange things of which you’re completely unaware), but I’ve since learned that some cats can sense pregnancy and become incredibly maternal.
That’s my Marcy.
I take a break to watch a “Seinfeld” rerun — Marcy needs to sit on my belly. Like, needs in the way Amy Winehouse needs vodka cocaine-tinis. I wake up in the middle of the night — Marcy is nestled tightly against my bump, guarding our Baby Girl from the evil Tiggers of the world. I try to pet her head — Marcy turns the tables on me, licking my hands with a vengeance because my dirty paws are clearly not ready to handle a precious newborn. Ex-cuuuuse me.
I fully expect to wake up one day to find Marcy has singlepawedly decorated the nursery, her fluffy brow furrowed as she tests the sturdiness of the bassinet she just assembled, ’cause she doesn’t trust us dopes with these critical baby tasks.
From my lips to Marcy’s furry ears… that would definitely earn you an extra dollop of Meow Mix, Marc. (I know, I know… I’m too damn good to her.)
20 Weeks
Mar 11, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column,Pregnancy | Tags: Personal, Wide Load
CANDY’S MOM: Your dad and I got your e-mail with the pictures. Got quite a chuckle out of ‘em.
CANDY: Chuckle?
CANDY’S MOM: Well, yeah. (PAUSE) You’ve gotten so BIG!
CANDY: (INSTANTLY DEFENSIVE, AS ONLY A DAUGHTER CAN BE WITH HER MOTHER) I’m still wearing my old jeans, you know.
CANDY’S MOM: (INSTANTLY SKEPTICAL, AS ONLY A MOTHER CAN BE WITH HER DAUGHTER) Yeah, mmm-hmmm.
CANDY: I’ve only gained seven pounds! I’m all uterus!
CANDY’S MOM: I believe you. Whatever you say.
CANDY: I swear. I positioned it to make me look even more pregnant!
CANDY’S MOM: I’m sure you did.
Candy stews silently for a moment — before unbuttoning her ridiculously tight jeans, breathing a sigh of relief, and ripping open the box of Thin Mints that her husband cruelly brought home from work.
CANDY: Oh, screw it. Who am I kidding?
CANDY’S MOM: Not me, that’s for sure. (PAUSE) Did I mention your skinny arms make your belly look even bigger…?
CANDY: (SPITTING THIN MINTS) Point made, Mom.
The Pregnancy News Reaction Awards
Mar 6, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column | Tags: Personal
MOST UTTERLY DISAPPOINTING REACTION GOES TO…
Mr. Candy!
CANDY: So, honey, I took a pregnancy test today and — I’m pregnant!
MR. CANDY: Oh my God. (TURNS PALE) That’s scary.
MOST DRAMATIC RESPONSE IN A CRACKER BARREL RESTAURANT GOES TO…
Candy’s Mother-in-Law!
Candy’s MIL opens her Christmas card. An ultrasound picture falls out. A moment of silence, then:
CANDY’S MIL: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Candy’s MIL jumps up from the table in the middle of the Cracker Barrel, hopping up and down and fighting back tears of joy. Other diners stare, then return to eating their Hickory Smoked Country Ham.
MOST BACKHANDED BEST WISHES FROM A READER GOES TO…
The reader who e-mailed THIS to me:
“Congratulations on/to/for your pregnant self. Because, I know, you would not have allowed yourself to become this unless you wanted to do this.”
Um, thanks?
REACTION THAT LEAST WENT ACCORDING TO PLAN GOES TO…
Candy’s Mom!
CANDY: (SITTING ON HER MOM’S BED) So… do you think you’d visit us in L.A. more often if you had a little grandchild out there?
CANDY’S MOM: [INSERT DUMB STARE HERE]
CANDY: (TEARS OF JOY STREAMING) I’m pregnant!
CANDY’S MOM: Huh? What? YOU — pregnant?!
CANDY: Yes. Me. Pregnant.
CANDY’S MOM: [INSERT DUMB STARE HERE]
RESPONDENT MOST LIKELY TO HAVE THE BABY NAMED AFTER HER IS…
The server at the Brandy Library bar/lounge in Tribeca!
Candy announces to her friends that she’s pregnant. Moments later, the server brings Candy free celebratory dessert and instantly becomes Candy’s Favorite Person Ever.
Thump, Thump, Thump
Mar 3, 2009 | Filed Under: Candy's Column,Pregnancy | Tags: Crazy Husbands, Personal
I’ve recently taken a break from my iPod’s usual Kanye/Katy Perry/Rihanna/Cold Play/Young MC (Shut up! I love me some “Bust a Move”) rotation to listen to something a little more, shall we say, New Age:
That would be my prenatal heart listener. My prenatal heart listener with which I am OBSESSED, to be frank.
Oh sure, those noises I hear could be just my tummy requesting its fourth bowl of Frosted Flakes of the day or my ass shifting uncomfortably in my ever-tightening jeans. However, in MY deluded mind, those thump, thump thumps are CLEARLY my baby’s kicks of joy — her way of letting me know she’s in there working on a new constructivist approach to the Pythagorean theorem, if you will.
Clearly.
As I was lying on the couch listening to my little mathematician the other night, my husband stared at my huge, exposed belly with the monitor strapped to it so tightly, that it caused little pockets of flab to floweth over.
“You know what we should do?” he exclaimed excitedly. “We should have everyone listen to your belly at the baby shower! You can just lay on the couch like that, and people can line up to hear the baby!”
I mulled over this idea and responded as any sane pregnant lady would.
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!” I cried, looking at Mr. Candy as though he’d just suggested naming our baby Lucifer.
Ha! You see, that was a trick set-up. There is no such thing as a sane pregnant lady.
