"I don't wanna be a doctor! I want to be a princess!" ---My sobbing niece at 4 years old

True story: When my niece was 4 a very nice lady told her: "I hope you become a doctor someday." This is apparently a blessing Arab women bestow on children. My niece was having none of that. She burst into tears, and the above was her reply. When my sis told me I burst out laughing because there are times I would much rather be a princess than a doctor.

I did not think I would get caught up in the royal wedding drama. All week long I have been watching snippets on the news, but not really caring about it either way. Then tonight I couldn't sleep. I honestly felt like I was missing something if I tried to sleep. Part of this is due to the fact that I am a wedding whore. I love weddings. Every thing about them is fun to me. Except the tanning some brides do (side note: I am on week 2 of the summer tan-a-thon and barely kept myself from running topless from my coffin a few days ago, But I lasted 9 minutes this time so there's hope I won't be blindingly pale for vacation). I just love the pomp and circumstance and the tradition.

Did I also mention I love to read romance novels?

Apparently these two parts of my personality have created the perfect storm. I am sitting here at 2am anxiously awaiting the wedding. It is a fairy tale that someone can wake up a "commoner" and by lunch be a princess. I am pretty sure this will give my niece hope that she won't have to become a doctor to be successful. I keep thinking of my niece tonight, and the thought of how different life would be as a princess. Somethings may be easier or fun, but even if I was promised a 65 million dollar wedding (apparently how much Charles and Camilla paid) I don't think I could do it. I love my privacy, and I think it should be okay to punch someone trying to take a pic of my underwear as I leave a car. But if there are any Dukes out there looking for a good time I am pretty sure I could be a Duchess.

I hope Kate and Wills are happy. I hope that they are able to lead a life full of joy and love. I hope that I don't fall asleep at work tomorrow.

You Can Call Me Dr. Knownothing

More tales from the Midwest...

While my friend's youngest daughter was doing her best to give me the bird flu, her oldest was slowing but surely learning how incompetent I am. In my defense, I blame my parents.

During my visit my she realized that Halta Lorelai can't cook anything without a microwave (which they don't have). I can't read Arabic, and I don't celebrate Eid (I "make Christmas" as she told me). I also can't speak Arabic, and this was by far the hardest thing for her to understand. One day at lunch she turns to me and says,
"Halta Lorelai can you say television in Arabic?"
"Nope. How do you say it?"
"Television (said with an accent). Do you know how to say table?"
"Sure don't. Tell me,"
"Table (said with more of a french accent, but table nonetheless)."
And then she began teaching me how to say things in English. I tried to explain that I knew English, but it was too late. I was officially dumb to a 4 year old.

Every time she asked me about the things I couldn't do she would then ask, "But didn't your mommy teach you?" I had to explain that my mom doesn't speak Arabic, she doesn't cook Arabic food, and she makes Christmas not Eid.

On my last day as I gathered up my luggage I stopped to take one last picture of my friend in her home. I had this giant travel back pack on, and I stepped wrong and fell. I ended up on my back not unlike a turtle who was flipped over. On the way to the airport, all the girls could talk about was that time I fell.
"Remember that time you fell Halta Lorelai?"
"I sure do it just happened?"
"That was so funny how you fell all the time."
"It was once, but yeah it was funny. "

I Can't Wait Until She Can Say It With A Hallmark

I know this post is late, but I finally have time and energy to talk about my traveling over the holidays. My best friend has 2 little girls and her youngest was sick the entire time I was there. I knew it was only a matter of time before I too would be sick when her darling daughter:
-Drank from my cup. Every chance she got. Because my water always tastes way better than hers. And she was usually oozing snot as she grabbed my glass.
-Sneezed in the hummus, guacamole, rice, chicken, salad, and birthday cake (although I like to think I baked the sick out of it). The only thing she didn't sneeze in was my oatmeal. Instead she coughed in her hand and then flattened out my oatmeal.
-Sneezed in my hair and wiped her hands in my hair, as she was attempting to make my hair look pretty. I didn't realize she was even doing this until I saw the videotape her father was shooting. It helped to explain why he was laughing the entire time he was filming.
-As I held her to read a story she turned and gave a nice wet cough right in my face.

The first day I will admit I was grossed out. Not having kids, I forget that you have to be taught not to rub snot in other people's hair. By the end of the trip I was okay with the sneezing and coughing. I think that was her way of saying she loved me.

My second to last day as I was sleeping I heard the door open and the scampering of little feet Expecting someone to come and cuddle I opened one eye slowly and began to smile. Her youngest got really close and whispered,
"Halta Lorelai, guess what?"
"I don't know sweetheart. You tell me?"
"Your shoes stink."

To be honest I thought I was nothing more than a big kleenex to the child, and then the day after I left my friend called to tell me that her daughter woke up crying saying she wanted me to be with her. That's because I love them so much.

Tomorrow's post will be about how her oldest daughter thinks I am the dumbest person in the world.

And I Traveled A Long, Long Way...

For the last 2 days I have been in the Midwest awaiting the arrival of my best friend's new baby (or "my bay-bee boy" as her 2 year old daughter calls him). I thought it would be freezing here, so I packed only my warmest clothes. so far it has been a balmy 50 degrees here. I was looking forward to snow, but it feels like spring. Oh well, I'm not really snow people anyways. I saw something weird today. All through out the city they live in are wild rabbits. At first I thought some one's pet was loose, but then I was told rabbits are as common here as squirrels.

I have been gorging myself on Arabic food and any type of carb available. The Arabs I know believe you're not full until you've had a good 3 servings of anything. So my plans for weight loss are pretty much shot here.

Her daughters get that I am not Arabic, so they have made me their pet project. Everyday I have been learning new words. You know the important ones like, "I don't wanna!" and "Ice-cream now!" and "Mine!"

The down side to being the greatest aunt ever (which is what I am sure "halta" means in Arabic) is that I am the one they have been waking up in the morning to play and make cereal. My friend and her husband are loving this, but I could do with another hour of sleep.

Today, I played one of cd's while we were driving to the store. After Shawn Colvin's, "Fill Me Up" the 4 year old said she liked to sing the "Feel Me Up" song. This same daughter also asked me if I liked to sleep with other people (because she wanted to sleep in the bed I was in and not the floor). Not sure how to answer I said, "Sometimes." "Mama and Daddy," she said loudly to her parents, "Halta Lorelai likes to sleep with other people."

Things I Heard At Dinner Tonight

The premise: My brother and his brood came into town for a funeral tomorrow (and though my mother has been practicing singing, it was not my grandfather who passed away). It was decided that dinner tonight would be for my mom's side of the family. While at work I received about 12 phone calls, all telling me dinner was at 7pm (and that was all every message said). My mother even found the number to the school I (am almost) graduated from and called there as well. Finally I called her and told her I was seeing clients and I would be there. She immediately called me back and asked me to look on the internet for plans to an easy to assemble parakeet aviary. I reminded her I was seeing clients and couldn't do that then tried to shut my phone off.

So now onto to dinner. My mother is apparently losing her hearing and shouted the entire meal. Mostly she shouted about how great her dentures look.
She also talked about:
Her IBS (and all the foods she couldn't eat because of it)
Her anxiety (and why she could only eat at Applebee's because of her panic attacks)
The song she will sing at my grandfather's funeral (and how no one wants to sing with her)
How great her dentures look (and was there any food in them?)
Uncomfortable comments about my aunt and uncle having money (and how they were paying for dinner)
Uncomfortable comments about her being poor (and how she couldn't afford to pay for dinner)
She also drank 2 amaretto shots and then said she needed to be driven home. (My aunt was chosen to play dd, but then my mom said she was okay)

And to top it off every conversation also had to be repeated because my cousin who is partially deaf refuses to wear hearing aids but wants to know what every one is talking about.

The twins (who are about 5 months old) screamed for the first 2 hours. A chandelier bulb shattered near our table and I am half convinced their crying caused it.

I walked away full (the new shrimp salad is good), but with a headache. Good times.

Jealously, thy name is Halta Lorelai

I am totally feeling green because Supermommy (who just came back from a cruise) is going to the beach with her family for a few days. I want to lay by the pool too dammit. It made me remember all the times when my parents would bundle us in the car right before nap time and take us to a "surprise." The surprise was always the beach but I never guessed it (but I always guessed Chuck E Cheese). So here I am at my desk, while they get to be near the ocean. Being a grown up sucks.

In other news the pirate fair was okay. There weren't many people around so it was a very small fair. I heard a lot of pirate jokes and saw many a womens chests exposed in the name of being a "wench" but alas, I took no pirate lover home. Truth be told the pirate who was also a magician was kind of cute, but that romance was not to be.

And last but not least. I am going to be Halta Lorelai for the third time! Halta means aunt in arabic (which I can never pronounce properly). My bestest friend ever (the one who is coming for my graduation) is pregnant, and I was the first one they told! Dammit I can't keep news like this to myself. So I called people who have no contact with her (such as Supermommy, which is how I found out about the beach trip).
I can't wait to meet my newest neice or nephew. My prediction is that it will be a boy (she has two girls now).

The party, the dinners, and the awkward dream sex: must be another weekend recap


Lets begin with the party. Someone did try to pinch me (which wasn't even on St. Pat's). Lucky for me, I was wearing a green jade bracelet, but I told the girl if she pinched me I would cut her (I tried to sound mean too). Overall the party was fun. I got one drunk hug, played silly break the ice games, and laughed as a friend of mine got a drunk back rub (by the same person who drunk hugged me. It made my hug look tame).

On Saturday I went to a depth psychology discussion group. If you don't know what that is, don't worry neither do I. I went to support my friends and learn something new. It was all mostly over my head, and what I learned is how little I know about things.

I then tried to avoid dinner with my brother so I went shopping. I bought 2 new shirts (I wore one today and got a compliment), and window shopped for a wedding present.

Finally I had to go visit the fam. Dinner was OK (mostly because I stayed as far away from my brother as I could). The person sitting next to me leaned over and told me that my brother was intense. Then she said, "did you see him order dinner for his girlfriend and tell her what appetizers she could eat (none in case you wondered)." I didn't actually see that but it didn't surprise me. He also told my dad he was going to get diabetes from eating a dinner roll, and tried to tell him how to spend his money in general. I had a headache leaving dinner that night. But I did laugh at the impression my brother makes on people. I was reminded of Thanksgiving about 2 years ago. A friend of mine came for dinner and my brother had recently gotten out of prison. About midway through the meal she leaned over and asked me, "Who is the man that looks like he wants to stab me?" Sure enough, I looked up and my bro did look like he wanted to stab her. Needless to say most of my friends stay away from him.

On Sunday I had to go to my aunt's house for a BBQ in honor of bro and his babies. This time it was my mom's family drama. It was OK, but my mother kept getting mad at my brother (I don't really know why), and then she got mad at me for complimenting her hair (apparently she hates the cut). I spent lots of time in the kitchen cleaning.

If my weekend wasn't fun enough I had a dream last night in which I was having sex with a good friend of mine. The sad part was it was uncomfortable, awkward sex. And it was a dream that feels like it really happened so I woke up feeling sad about having awkward sex. I hope this dream isn't foreshadowing of my social life to come.

And The Winner Is...

There has been an unofficial contest going on this week since the birth of my nephews. Since their middle names are Racer and Ryder it has been a challenge for my office mates, and friends to top the ridiculousness. So far I have heard:

Ranger and Rover
Motor cross and Quad (I was calling them this, especially before they were born and I couldn't remember what their first names would be).
Driver and Biker
And pretty much any variation of these things.

So my best friend called me last night and the first thing she asked me was, "How are Low Rider and Speed Racer doing?" And I couldn't stop laughing. So those are the new nick names. And in case you are wondering they are fine as far as I know. Supposedly they are coming to town, but I am trying to make myself scarce from this blessed event. Last week filled my family quota for the month.

Multiples of 7

This is my aunt story and it actually begins in July, when my brother and his I'm-not-sure-what-to-call-her (they say their married, but had no ceremony, so I just call her by her first name, Lureen) came to my neck of the woods. This was my first meeting of Lureen. She seemed nice, but my brother is a train wreck, so anyone attracted to him brings their own special funk to the mix. A week after I met her I got a phone call at 5:30 in the morning informing me I was an aunt. They just found out they were pregnant. I wish I could tell you I was happy for them, but I honestly felt nothing but dread for that poor little fetus. At this time my brother was convinced that Jesus was really the devil tricking the world, and that multiples of 7 were God's blessing. At any moment he could tell you all the multiples of 7 in his own life (they were always these crazy math problems that never made sense like: 9+3+2/2 is how he knew his apartment was blessed). Lucky for me he lives several hours a way, so I didn't see him often.

In September they found out they were having twins. Again all I could think of was those poor children. Lureen has a child of her own, a 7 y.o with Down Syndrome and I couldn't imagine how they were going to handle twins. My brother also decided in November to stop working, so he could relax before the babies came. Somehow they managed on unemployment, but if I think about this for too long I go crazy. My brother also decided to name his children Racer and Ryder because they were going to be motor cross riders. I asked him once what he would do if the boys did not want to race and he replied, "Kids will do what ever their parents tell them to." And he was not kidding.

Before this blessed event took place my mother and I worked out a system (or so I thought). She would call me once when Lureen went into labor, and I would not answer the phone if it was middle of the night. Let me tell you what happened.


The first of many calls came at 4:30 Wednesday morning. It was my brother telling me Lureen may be in labor. Then my mother called me to repeat this information. For the next two hours my phone rang about 20 times. By the time I answered the phone all I could say was stop calling me I have to go to work. Unfortunately that has never stopped my mother. I think she reached an all new high for phone calls in one day (I think she reached 25). Did I mention I had an important presentation first thing in the morning? Well I did and it pretty much sucked ass.

The babies were born about 5:30pm. Racer came first, then Ryder. They were almost 7 pounds each, and were about 20 inches long. All I know is that everyone was healthy, and my mother hated Lureen's mother (this was their first meeting). I actually heard more about that then I did the actual birthing. Both my mother and father attended the blessed event, but my father booked it right after the babies were born (smart man). I drove up on Friday. I really wanted to stay in a hotel room. Instead I was placed on an air mattress in the nursery, and had the joy of getting woken up and stepped on when ever a baby needed to be changed. It will be along time before I go back.

The babies are fine. My brother is convinced that if he keeps them up during the day they would sleep at night. Did I mention they are only 5 days old? I tried to explain how much sleep babies need, but he didn't believe me. He is convinced they will be on a schedule any day now.

Highlights from my trip include watching my brother yell at his 7 y.o. stepson for putting on a pink pair of socks ("boys don't wear pink!"). He also yelled at him for giving him a kiss too (I believe what he yelled was, "boys don't kiss"). I also got to hear in excruciating detail how Lureen's rectum was all messed up from the delivery. I tried to walk away, and I tried to change the subject, but in the end all I could do was seek out my happy place.

During one midnight changing my brother came into the nursery (aka my room) and mentioned he might be wrong about the whole Jesus-is- the-devil thing. Given the fact that his babies were born on Ash Wednesday, and their birthday is a multiple of 7 (how he figured that out I can't begin to imagine) he thinks JC may be OK. He mentioned he may have to rethink the whole Catholics-are-going-to-hell-for-believing-false-Gods. I made the stupid mistake of asking "Why only Catholics?" To which he replied, "They're the only ones that believe in Jesus." and then walked out of the room. All I could do was go back to reading my book. I also got to drive my mother home. Needless to say she traveled with 3 jamba juices and one big gulp of soda, all were spilled at one time or another in my car. And I got to hear her reasons why Oprah's leadership academy will fail, and how parakeets exercise/eat/groom/sleep.

Someone once asked me if I was excited to be the aunt, and if my brother was going to be a great dad. I told them with my brother it will end up going one of two ways. My brother will get all Tyler Perry and have fatherhood make him a man, or he will kidnap the babies, move to Idaho and join a white supremacist group. It's really any ones guess.