More exciting news, for me, anyway

I get to see widdle Greg on Wednesday. AHH! SO EXCITED! I dressed, inadvertently, like a mom today, and therefore I believe that it is only fitting that I will get to be the one getting up that night every two hours to feed the little tyke and change his diaper.

Normal people, I know, don't get excited about losing sleep for an adorable, helpless infant, but I make no claims and try to tell no lies. I first started sleeping lightly, anyway, when I was 13, which is when my littlest sister was born. I would wake up in the middle of the night and bring her to mom. It was very traumatizing, one night, after she'd developed a bad cough that would only go away if she were picked up, when my mother and I both rushed to the crib during a particularly awful coughing spell, and mom, getting there first, broke her toe on a little stool accidentally left there by one of my many other siblings.

I hope to break no toes this Thanksgiving, get very little sleep, and eat plates of ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, stuffing and pumpkin pie. I might eat some vegetables, too, but I'm not sure about that yet.

AHHHH!! SO EXCITED!!

I make up words when I'm lonely

Hup-lah (hoop-la) (noun): An epic trip that usually takes place after college graduation to stave off the real world. For example: Abigail plans to go to California after May to go on a huplah with her friends.

Huplah must not be confused with hoopla (bustling excitement or activity; commotion; hullabaloo; to-do), even though spelling and meaning are oddly similar.

--

I had been thinking of going on a huplah to Peru. After all, when would I really ever get the chance again to blow some hypothetical dollars using a credit card and have the adventure of a lifetime, all without worrying about classes (because they've ended), and student loans (because they're not due for six months)? My sense of adventure is not as strong as Jamaican rum, however, and, as a result, I want to share my huplah with someone. That someone is a good friend who lives in a cozy little town somewhere north of Sacramento, California.

Which means, of course, that I've got some plannin' to do. Huplahs have very specific guidelines, especially because they signify the end of freedom as relatively carefree college students know it.

I get hit on at the most random times

"I apologize for my curtness."

"I like your curtness. It's cute."

"Are you hitting on me?"

"No, I'm way out of your league."

"Oh?"

"You're like an eight, and I'm like a negative three."

In other, more exciting news

For our "extra credit" quiz/mid-term/whatever in Spanish, I earned a 9/10. I'm not sure what that means for my grade overall, but a 9/10 is much better than a 61/100.

Next Tuesday, for more "extra credit," these three slackers from my class and I will give a presentation on Peru. I will be talking about the weather, and giving the introduction. During the rest of my research, I will be trying to stay from any sites involving airplanes and booking possibilities, because I've already discovered that a flight there and back, not flexible, costs about $500. It's so very tempting to purchase such a ticket when the wind in Brooklyn sneaks up your sleeves and into your bones, while it bites your nose and clips off the tips of your ears.

I don't care if the weather in Peru is unpredictable. The natives are going to the beach this time of year and what am I doing? I'm sitting in a drafty apartment and trying to figure out how to fix the computer-related mistakes I foolishly made.

Trying to be an adult, yet always failing miserably

Insert an inappropriate curse word here. Several times.

Yesterday, I decided, in order to increase my laptop's start-up time and to clear disk space, that I would delete the programs I don't really use. I deleted about 10 such programs, including several expired "free trial" MSN games, AOL, and an instant messenger program.

It took a little time, but I soon noticed that my saved Word documents no longer were identified by the little 'W' icon. They were now rich text documents, as revealed by the little notebook and 'A' icon.

Additionally, a little warning '!' thingie announced in the right hand corner of the screen that my computer was no longer protected by an anti-virus program, and that I should get one ASAP--AS IN, RIGHT NOW--if I wanted to avoid losing my computer all together as a result of a malicious email or website designed by someone with waaay too much time and IQ.

I haven't discovered yet what else I may have inadvertently deleted, but, whatever it is, I hope it wasn't important.

A little bit of crooked sunshine

She was a little taller than waist level, bundled up in a pink coat, with a blue hat and white flower. She was standing in front of me, not exactly looking at me. I glanced down, smiled, and said, “Hi!”

Children usually make my day better. There is no guile, no sarcasm, no cruelty. Their smiles are genuine, their energy infectious.

She smiled, still not quite looking at me, not quite looking away. Then she started walking toward me, as her parents, waiting to pay for their Starbucks drinks, watched.

She hugged me. Confused, I patted her back as her father said, “She never gives me hugs!” and her mother, handing a card to the cashier said, “That’s just the way she is. She says hi to the people she wants to say hi to.”

The hug over, the little girl retreated, and then started to wander away, behind a pillar. Her mother grabbed the receipt and then quickly grabbed her daughter. The Starbucks drinks disappeared into a bag, and then the small family was gone.

Mornings and brand-new babies

The last few tendrils of sleep had begun to barely drift away when my cell phone buzzed.

I was so warm--so warm, and cozy, subconsciously delighted that the winter drafts had not yet begun to invade my sleepy mornings--that I groaned, thinking, no, please, it can't be time to get up yet. Not yet.

I reached for my cell phone, saw a text message--two text messages, three.

He's here; he's finally arrived.

I'll text them back at a reasonable hour, I decided, the ache in my head winning out over the joy I might have possibly felt if I'd possessed full, coherent thoughts.

Five minutes later, my phone buzzed again, this time repeatedly. A call. I groggily reached for my phone again, and managed to get one eyelid open enough to see the name. My 8-year-old sister, calling from her brand-new cell.

I'll call her back later, I decided.

Two seconds later, another buzz. Voicemail.

I reached for my phone and turned it to "alarm only." I still had another hour before I got up, and it was best for everyone if I slept until then.

When I finally made it out of bed, I had three or four pictures texts, two regular texts, one missed call and a voicemail.

The baby is finally here, the delivery went well, he's an absolutely doll, mom is doing fine.

I, and the rest of siblings, are now aunts and uncles for the third time. Hello, beautiful Baby Greg*. I can't wait to meet you, hopefully at a decent hour. As in, some time after 10 or so, perhaps.



*Not his real name. His real name is so interesting and unique that you probably wouldn't believe me if I told it to you. I decided to nickname him something "normal." Greg is very normal.