my knight in shining... merino wool...

My beloved Daddy Mack ("DM") and his law school friends have an email group for their fantasy baseball team [insert eye roll here] and, as far as I can tell, spend between 2 and 6 hours a day talking trash and trolling the internet for random/amusing shit. A while back, one of the guys started forwarding messages from the San Diego County Bar Association list serve regarding an upcoming event - the “Lawyers Club Luncheon: Equality and Action: Dissecting the Trends of Female Attorney Representation in San Diego.” Here's a little snippet of their informed intellectual analysis of the subject matter.

Friend A: Here we go…

***

“For some reason I bet the number of hours worked by men vs women will not be discussed as a factor.” – Tom, Male Lawyer in San Diego

***

“The numbers are disturbing….None of us thinks we are sexist or bigoted.
 

BUT - the numbers don't lie.  Women make less than men --- in our own legal community.  So do minorities.
 

Please come and hear what the numbers are, what they mean, and some whys. 
 

Maybe, just maybe, when our own brethren and sistern [huh?] hear these things, we will soon be able to show the world and the business community that we as lawyers, who carry the banner of, and fight for equality, do not discriminate. 
 

We certainly cannot do that now.” – Dick, Male Lawyer in San Diego

***

Friend A: keep it going people

***

“Please take me off this mailing list. I do not wish to receive this Subject Matter.” – Harry, Male Lawyer in San Diego. Harry wants no part of this business.

***

“Tom,

I have to ask – are you suggesting that women work fewer hours than men? Because I’m a trial partner who has been in practice almost 30 years, and I have never observed that.

Sally”

***

Friend A: Heating up! Thank you Sally.

***

“I have not been a trial lawyer for 30 years, but I am pretty sure that is exactly what he was suggesting.” – Joe, Male Lawyer in San Diego.

***

Friend A: Giddyup.

***

Friend B: Lawyer listservs are the worst. I want cuntpunting to occur. Stat.

***

Friend C: Yes! Feed the trolls.

***

Friend D: There really shouldn't be any controversy about this. They guy who commented on hours is spot on. [Editor's note - this is coming from a guy/group of guys who spend more time on the internet each day than I spend with my children.]
 

In big law, there are three types of women:
 

1. Normal girls [?] who aren't obsessed with the practice of law so they get married, knocked up at least twice, and end up billing at least 1/4 less than the average male colleague for about 2-3 years. They eventually go back to full billing, but will never have a huge (2300+) billable year. They can make partner but are obviously at a disadvantage to men in their class, and woman 3 below.
 

2. Women that follow the path of 1 above, but never make it back full time and eventually leave big law a few years after the first kid. No partners here.
 

3. Women who aren't interested in having kids and put 100% of their life into the law. They make partner unless they have no social skills. They make more than most men of their class.
 

1 and 2 are most common. 3 is very rare. Average this out and of course women get paid less then [sic] men!

***

Friend A: I think there’s also a “2b” – women who follow path #1, never make it back full time, but stay at big law as “of counsel” or something similar.  I know some wives of some colleagues that essentially work part-time or from home at local BigLaw firms. They’ll never make partner and they’re cool with that – as is the firm because the firm gets work that is at or better than that of a junior partner, but doesn't cost as much.

***

Friend B: These firms are also able to tout their diversity.

***

DM: I would love to be 2b. That sounds awesome.

***

Friend C: Or you could be 2b but masquerade as a 3 and demand more money and have round tables about how poorly women are treated.  They're like Karl Rove.

***

DM: I mean, you guys are admitting that there are two sets of rules, one for men and one for women.

***

Friend C: If DM’s wife knew he was reading this, he’d never be allowed to hang out with us again.

*** 

I resent the implication, Sir. I am well aware that DM’s friends are Grade A, gin-u-wine Asshats. And I still like (most) of them.

***

DM: She’s seen worse, and assumes even worse, out of this crowd.

She illustrates the point though. She is right in the thick of figuring out if she is 1, 2, or 2b.  The way law is practiced, having kids screwed her career, there's no question about it. The only question is how badly. It doesn't help either of us that we mostly like our kids and therefore don't want to work 60-hour weeks.

***

Friend E: You guys work 60 hours a week?!?! I would have thought some lawyer would have made a law against that.

***

Friend D: There are definitely tiers of male lawyers, but men don't ask to be paid for taking time off. The slackers only get paid more if they are good at fraudulent time entries or have a book of biz.

***

DM: Do you have the impression new mothers are going on a freaking paid vacation when they leave their nice, structured professional life for a few months to stay at home with screaming thankless lumps of neediness while sleeping maybe a few scattered hours a day for months on end, only to come back to a work place where you've been blacklisted as a candidate for promotions because you have kids and will probably have to leave at reasonable hours to pick them up from their back alley daycare, which is the only one you can afford since you only got paid 50% of your salary over the last 3 months and have fallen behind on your mortgage? Because that would be a false impression. If you ever manage to knock your wife up, I'll be sure to bring her a home cooked meal a week after the baby's born, when neither of you even knows what day it is or which end is up, and I'll accept your belated apology then.
 

There should be universal family leave, open to both sexes equally. And there shouldn't be bullshit pretextual consequences when people take advantage of it.
 

Amen, brothah! This is one of at least seven reasons I love this man.
***
Friend A: That joke was hilarious, DM.
***

I don't have the time or energy to unpack all that is wrong with the above exchange. But I will say this. It's not just men who hold these beliefs. I have heard a lot of this rhetoric before - from fellow female lawyers. Those without kids snark about the women who have managed to defy this ridiculous, yet surprisingly apt, categorical scheme and make it to "the top" in spite of the fact that they have - gasp - kids. ("ew.") In their minds, she must have slept with someone (or several someones, considering how many damn babies she's had), only made partner to fill the "diversity quota" referenced above, and/or so the firm could avoid getting sued for gender discrimination. But never, ever, because she actually earned it. It bears noting that I have not once in my life heard anyone call out male laywers with children this way. If universal family leave were readily available, and men took an equal share of the burden of child rearing, and women were paid the same for the same amount of work, then the discussion would look completely different.

I can't tell you how many friends and coworkers have joked to me that they'd love to take maternity leave, that they're going to fake an adoption so they can get a "three month 'vacation,'" that they wish they could "get paid to take time off" too. I hear this from lawyers, non-lawyers, men and women - the only common thread is that none of them have ever actually suffered through the mind-blowing/mind-numbing, heaven-and-hell that is maternity leave.

My response to that is, "I double dog dare you." It's almost enough for me to bring my ovaries out of retirement, just so I can drop a colicky newborn on some smug lady lawyer's lap. Scratch that. I'll just give it to Thomas A. Hole, Esquire, above, or maybe "Friend D." Here. I'll trade you. You stay home in shit-stained sweatpants for the next 3 months, subjected to instruments of torture around the clock, such as sustained sleep deprivation, isolation techniques, and a particular tactic outlawed under the Geneva Conventions called "baby screaming in your face for hours on end, doctor has no idea why; otherwise known as colic." (YOU GUYS. I THINK I JUST SOLVED THE WAR ON TERROR. TERROR SUSPECTS MUST SERVE AS NIGHT NURSES UNTIL THEY TALK.) Meanwhile, I will wear pretty, spotless suits and have two martini lunches and interact with grown-up humans (granted, opposing counsel is often akin to an angry toddler) and bill my clients while posting douchey comments on the county bar association's list serve. Then come back and let me know how you enjoyed your "vacation." Deal?

And yes, yes, I know, we "brought this on ourselves." But guess what? Your mom made the same decision and she (probably) doesn't regret it. It's a dirty, thankless job, but somebody's gotta do it. (Though, I suppose, it isn't much worse than being a lawyer. See postscript, below.)

Anyway, like most things in life, I generally think the best policy is, unless you've experienced it yourself, you should probably just shut yer' yapper...

i've mentioned this article by anne-marie slaughter before-
but i love writer jessica valenti's take on it, and thought it was apropos:
"sad white babies with mean feminist mommies"

PS, a friend of mine from law school posted this article the other day. I guess maybe I should be thanking my lucky stars that I'll never be a "real lawyer" again: The 2014 U.S. News Job Rankings: Being a Lawyer is Worse than Being a Nail Technician. I wonder where 'Mom' ranks?

escape from alcatraz

i feel like motherhood is a slightly more pleasant version of being a refugee or prisoner of war - stockholm syndrome and all. except i have to make the bread and water myself. and cut the freakin' crusts off.

on a day-to-day basis, i'm one barefoot-Lego-encounter away from throwing my kids in the river for fish food. [*editor's note: this is an old family colloquialism, generally muttered with varying degrees of affection, and, to my knowledge, no child has ever actually been thrown into any large body of water for the purpose of consumption by fish or any other amphibious creature.]

but then, when i momentarily escape my captors and delve into that magical netherworld of lounging, day-drinking, naps, sex in the daylight hours, and silence ... my heart kind of aches.

pathetic. i know. I HAVE BECOME THAT WHICH I MOST LOATHED!!!!

sigh.

don't get me wrong. DM and i still thoroughly enjoyed our 24 hour "staycation" this past weekend. but honestly, about 12 hours in (coincidentally - about the time the tequila wore off), i couldn't sleep and felt slightly nauseous from missing those buggers so bad. or at least, i really, really missed the idea of them :) not enough to leave our beachfront balcony, mind you. but still. it's weird. DM and i take turns ditching family life for a day or so here and there. but this is the first time we've been away overnight, together, since june. something about being away from them at the same time for more than just dinner and a movie brings the kid-shaped space in our hearts into stark relief. even though my sister was taking care of them and i knew they were happy as clams! man. the truth is out. i love those snot-faucets so much it makes my teeth hurt. phew. it feels really good to get that off my chest ;)

we still managed to have a good time though. we drank margaritas and ate nachos and watched football and soaked in the sunset and took a nap and brought takeout pizza back to the hotel and drank whiskey and played scrabble and watched a movie on TNT. in other words, we still know how to party. if the niners hadn't rooked the championship game, it would have been my exact definition of a perfect date. (melted cheese, booze, and scrabble? you can't lose! no. seriously. i never lose ;))

i even managed to spice things up between the sheets by taking the pillow that i would normally have reserved for use as a glorious goose down barricade, and placing it on the far side of the bed so that DM could actually be in my general geographic vicinity, instead of futilely pawing a pile of feathers (or, as is usually the case, a lumpy sack of hypoallergenic organic hemp fiber fill). yep. INSTANT ROMANCE. we still got it, ladies and gents!

i would be remiss if i did not mention one of the most memorable moments of our "peshal date," as the kids would call it. we were sharing a meal and the sun was shining and DM was gazing at me and said, "wow, your eyes are a really pretty green right now." he kept staring at my face. then he started chuckling. i asked what was so funny. he replied, "okay. i'll tell you. but just know, it has nothing to do with you. it is a total coincidence that i was looking at your face when the thought popped into my head." me: "tell me." DM: "welllll.... i was watching this sarah silverman bit... and she did a really funny joke... about how she didn't realize she had a mustache because she thought it was invisible because it was blonde." [silence.] "but you don't have a mustache." [more silence.] "not even a blonde one!" sigh. do you think siri can schedule a waxing appointment for me?

really though. look at this view. who could complain. added bonus: mustache becomes much less visible once the sun goes down.

and the morning after:

there is champagne in that OJ, and there are
TATER TOTS and SRIRACHA SOUR CREAM in those burritos.
ARE YOU THERE GOD? IT'S ME, MACKENZIE.
have i died and gone to heaven???

stay classy, san diego

i'm weird. this may already have occurred to you, but if not, i'll just put that out there.

e.g., i often say i don't really like people. but that's not entirely accurate. i mean, i am a sort of hermit homebody, and i do have a fair amount of social anxiety, and schmoozing and making small talk with a bunch of strangers/acquaintances sounds about as fun to me as an evening plucking out my eyelashes one by one. i'm also weirdly cynical about certain things, e.g., i have literal panic attacks about global warming and renewable energy resources and fresh water supplies and getting attacked in my parking garage aka rape dungeon. and when i listen to the news i often find myself asking, what in the flying F*CK is wrong with people?! (side note: someone needs to come up with a f*ck-version of H-E-double-hockey-sticks... KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN, MIXED UP, WITH.. A... "U"! Yeah. Take that! ;)) still, somehow, despite all this, i believe that there is a lot of beauty in the world and that most people are generally good and kind, or at least, well-intentioned. so i often feel broadsided when reality does not comport with this hopeful ideal. and one place guaran-friggin-teed to disprove one's theories re: general human goodness is the internet.

did you guys hear this "Oprah: Where are the now?" interview with Tia & Tamera Mowry of "Sister/Sister" fame? i never watched the show and barely know who these people are. the headline just caught my eye: Tamera Mowry: "I have never experienced so much hate, ever." apparently, Tamera has a new reality show featuring her (white) husband and their son. and, well, the filthy internet trolling scumbuckets of america seem to have forgotten that it is TWO THOUSAND AND FOURTEEN, because some of the stuff they said in response to Tamera's interracial marriage is F*CKING INSANE. for example, that she is a "White man's whore," and "Back in the day, you cost $300, but now, you're giving it away for free." wwwhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaat????????? you guys! seriously?! what in the H-E-DOUBLE-F*CKY-STICKS?!?!

so yeah, that just blew my mind. (not in a good way). but this post was originally about another, albeit less outrageously out-of-line, example of bigotry a little closer to home.

if you read this blog regularly, you probably know my little brother is gay. he came out to us early in high school, to little fanfare. except when stuff like Prop 8 goes down, i don't really think about it too much. it's usually a non-issue. obviously, i am aware that there is a segment of society that is homophobic and hateful toward gays and lesbians. i even have family members who say things that make my blood boil on this topic. but until recently i assumed, apparently naively, that this was just a very vocal minority whose antiquated thinking was geographically quarantined to places far away from me - places where people didn't feel comfortable coming out, and whose residents, therefore, had never actually met or interacted with many gay or lesbian folks and were just regurgitating some backwards, bigoted BS held over from another era. mostly places with crocodiles and burmese pythons. i never for a second thought i would encounter that crap in San Diego, California. this is "The Left Coast," after all. (of course, until 6 months ago, the "left coast" approved a constitutional ban on gay marriage, so i'm not sure what alternate reality i was operating under.) still. while it's no san francisco, san diego has a large LGBTQ community and i have always just assumed it was totally cool to be gay here. just goes to show the straight middle class white girl don't know shit.

my brother was in town for christmas, and we had tickets to go see our friend's band, Hot Buttered Rum, play at Winston's in the Ocean Beach (OB) neighborhood of san diego. while we were getting ready to go out, i noticed my bro was putting on "guy liner." i told him that OB is a bunch of beach bums and bikers and the place we were going was basically a dive so guy liner probably wasn't required under the dress code.  but hey. i was wearing makeup. who am i to say he shouldn't? and it's not like he'd listen to his big sister anyway :) this is not an integral part of the story. not sure why i felt the need to mention it. just to paint you the full picture, i guess.

anyway, we went to the concert and interacted with some people who put the "strange" in stranger, which is par for the course in OB. one guy in particular was definitely high on something other than life and was kind of bugging us but i didn't think a whole lot about it. we enjoyed the concert, but as we were walking back to the car we started talking about the creepy dude. then my brother tells me that, among other things, the guy said to him, "oh, you're one of THOSE." my brother inquired as to who/what one of "those" might be and the guy replied: "either a meth head or 'a' gay." okay, first of all, you're forgetting a third, completely legitimate category - long lost member of fall out boy or some other punky emo band. and second of all, eff you, man! that is so rude! and what does that even mean? that all gay men look like drug addicts? i was so pissed! i was like, WHAT?! we're goin' back in there! don't hold me back! that douche bonnet's goin' DOWN!

for some reason my brother and husband would not let me fight the guy. but you will not have the last word, sir! i will write about you on my secret blog and 37 people will read about it! so, there! kentucky-fried-chicken-steak-head! (yeah. you like what i did there?!)

my brother also told me some other guy bumped into him by the bar, knocking his drink, and was like, "hey bro, you dropped your umbrella." like, his drink was a "fruity" cocktail because it was being drunk by a gay man. it was a freakin beer. and did he intentionally bump him??? what in the ever loving f*ck?!

my brother handled both situations with a sense of grace i myself would not/do not possess. i was/am so angry on his behalf! and i got the feeling that this was not an infrequent occurrence in his life. that just makes me sooooooo sad :(

but at least they didn't call him a $300 slave.

in that vein, the other night i made DM watch "The Help" with me, and we got to talking about the parallels that are often drawn between "The" civil rights movement, and the current struggle for equal rights being fought by the LGBTQ community. we wondered if any african americans resent the comparison? (and/or japanese americans, or really, any people of color who lived through such appalling atrocities as slavery, segregation, internment camps, etc.) not to undermine the battles being fought by and for LGBTQ folks. clearly there are similarities in their struggles. but it's a different war.

that being said, i couldn't resist tossing in some Martin Luther King Jr. quotes - thankful as i am to his legacy, which allowed me to drink mimosas on the beach and ponder the mystery of human existence this past monday. cheers to you, dr. king.

in other words, don't punch the skeeve ball talking shit on your little bro

but do tell the skeeve ball to suck it. then maybe give him a hug. then sanitize accordingly. 

hope springs eternal.

and how could i forget this?!?

okay. so. my sister and i may bear a small portion of the kid's love of cosmetic experimentation.

also. i feel like i may possibly have over-used the F-word today. sorry. just kidding. i'm not really that sorry. unless you are a child. then, earmuffs. or, eyemuffs. or, wait, why are you reading this blog? anyway. my cousin sent me this on pinterest. i kinda like it.

deal.

i carried a watermelon?

...continued, sort of, from my last post, "what time is the midnight buffet?" about my first time on a cruise...

one more thing that struck me about the cruise experience was the not-so-latent pubescent sexuality that abounds on a cruise ship. it seemed wherever i was, i could hear awkward introductions and adolescent machinations happening around me. it was like the pick up scene at a bar except with people who cannot legally drink alcohol. the setting: combination floating amusement park and denny's.

i was reminded of this time in high school when my best friend came with me and my family to maui. we met a couple of older guys - hot surfer brothers. i think they were maybe 18 and 19 or something. i can't remember if we were 14 and said we were 16, or 16 and said we were 18, or what, but anyway, we pretended to be older than we were. we forcefully inserted our sober, Mathlete, goody-two-shoes selves into the burgeoning "stuck on a family vacation in a mega maui condo complex" teen hookup scene. unfortunately for the two unsuspecting saps we snagged, to us, "hook up" meant have long meaningful talks and possibly, if you're lucky, first base.

if i remember correctly, my BFF was actually seeing someone at the time, so she more or less just observed the tomfoolery from the sidelines. but i was in a neck-and-neck competition for the hottest guy. my opponent was a pretty, insanely skinny, yet ridiculously busty blonde who, i believe, was actually 16. or 18. or whatever she said she was. we soon discovered that the reason she was so thin was that she was a meth addict. this was basically like telling my girlfriend and me that she was a zombie unicorn, for all the knowledge and understanding we had of drugs at this time (what am i talking about? the only reason i know anything about it 20 years later is from watching breaking bad). anyway, while "Crystal" and the rest of the "crew" were busy sneaking booze and extolling the virtues of Maui Wowie, my BFF and i were regurgitating portions of the D.A.R.E. presentations we remembered from fifth grade.

still, somehow, i managed to eke out a win over my adversary, and i got the guy. or, rented him for the night, anyway. he took me out for a moonlit walk along the beach, and then he wanted to lie down on the sand and "look at the stars." you can imagine where that headed. i didn't have a ton of experience at this juncture in my life so i think i tried to approximate some sexy moves i had seen on, like, 90210. after a minute or two the guy was like, "what are you doing?" i said, "um, i don't know?" and he responded, "well, can you stop? it's super weird." needless to say our romantic rendezvous didn't last long. he walked me back to my room shortly thereafter. my girlfriend was already there, so she overheard our painfully awkward goodbyes. but i didn't know she could hear us, so when i got inside i was like, "yeah, he said it was just so refreshing, hanging out with someone who was smart, and motivated, and wasn't a total waste-oid." my friend: "really? because that's not how the conversation sounded on this end." me: "dang. busted. okay. i basically said 'isn't it so nice to hang out with someone sober rather than some gross drunk drug addict?' and he was like, "um, i guess." translation: i'm pretty sure the drunk druggie would have put out.

interestingly enough, the guys did actually seem to enjoy our company* and we spent the rest of the vacation hanging out ... during the daylight hours. the hot younger brother and i even ended up talking on the phone periodically and becoming pen pals for a long time thereafter. wracked with guilt, i quickly came clean about my real age. i remember one of the first letters he wrote me he said something like, "well, you lied about your age, so how do i know you didn't lie about everything else, like being on the honor roll and stuff." (why on earth i thought i should discuss my grades while being interviewed for the position of "vacation fling" is beyond me.) in any event. i did NOT take to kindly to him calling my academic prowess into question, so i set out to clear my good name. in my next letter... i.... mailed him.... my... report card. lolol... ooohhh myyyyy lord, please, just kill me now. i even remember explaining in great detail why i had one mere A amidst all the A+'s (naturally, the result of a highly unreasonable high school teacher).

* i just had this random recollection. one other potential explanation for the brothers' eagerness to befriend us (aside from our charm and devastating good looks, obv ;)) could be that they were holding out hope for some hot lipstick lesbian action. this may or may not have been the result of my girlfriend and i casually mentioning one day after the beach that we were going to go shower. guys: "together?" us: "yeah, why, is that weird?" omg. don't even ask because i don't have an answer. water conservation? a holdover from grade school? ummmm, yeahhhhhh. all i can say is we were honestly zero percent aware that (a) yes, in fact, this was a bit bizarre, and (b) to certain audiences, this might give a misleading impression of what was really going on in there. good lord. i just asked DM if he thought it was okay to include this part of the story, but he can't get past his initial reaction, which was, "wait, what? both of you? in one singular shower? and you were how old? but... why?" so, without the benefit of his helpful editing and guidance, i choose to overshare! i hope my friend, who shall remain nameless and blameless, doesn't divorce me for publicizing our idiocracy ;)

so, yeah, there's that. file it under "things to show my kids when they are 16 and think they're too cool for school," (alongside this post). also, file under, "don't let my daughter out of my sight, ever, between the ages of 12 and 33. (either that or make sure she's as big a tool as i was)."

that is all.

WHAT?! SOMEONE BUY ME THIS SHIRT!

what time is the midnight buffet?

this is me approximately 3 hours into my first cruise:

OHMIGOD, WTF WAS THAT?! DID WE JUST HIT AN ICEBERG????

DM: um, we're off the coast of mexico. don't think there are too many icebergs 'round these parts.

me: iceberg, lochness monster, wtf ever, WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE!!!

DM: did you bring any xanax? for me, not you.

the following is a non-exhaustive list of things that cause me major anxiety: small spaces, large crowds, public restrooms, hot tubs and swimming pools, large dark bodies of water, buffets, "organized fun" and mandatory camaraderie, etc.... add to that a nasty case of motion sickness and, at first blush, a week-long cruise with my in-laws on an enormous ship crowded with 3,000 hungry strangers determined to have a good time so-help-them-god might not seem like the best fit.

i admit, i basically spent the entire time suffering from a constant, low-grade panic attack. i kept having to suppress this feeling that i wanted to, like, scrabble up the walls, railings, or even a crowd of people, like a cat climbing curtains, just to get above the press of humanity, industrial carpet, and formica that was constantly coming at me from all sides. except for the few times that i've been inadvertently caught in an impromptu mosh pit, and a little incident on a junior high field trip involving some amateur spelunking, this is probably the worst my claustrophobia and social anxiety have ever been. i'm getting the feeling again just writing about it. i felt like i was one of those tightly coiled joke snakes that come in a can - like at any moment i might just spring violently open. it was better on deck and sort of okay when i was lying down in our bed, but other than that it was pretty intense, particularly in our room (four humans, three beds, and a shit-ton of stuff in 200 square feet (aka, "thirteen size-eleven Keds long by twelve Keds wide,")) and in the loooooong windowless corridors that were like hallways to hell. one night, DM cornered me in our stateroom to give me a kiss and i started to have heart palpitations and my whole self got itchy, like i just wanted to bowl him over in search of the nearest breath of fresh air. luckily he sensed my animal-in-captivity vibe before i had to resort to fisticuffs, and carefully backed away. ah, love ;)

photo credit: word info (not shockingly, the entry for agoraphobia, though it kind of looks like a flash mob)

my anxiety was also particularly pronounced when we attempted to take Super Why and Squirmy McShrieky Pants to the nightly high school musicals and other "so far off broadway we're in the middle of the ocean" Princess Cruise productions. actually it wasn't really so bad. there was usually enough volume and commotion to distract from the personal noisemakers i had in tow. but one night there was this "hypnotist," and as we walked in (late) he was giving a straight-faced spiel about how complete and utter silence was absolutely crucial in order for him to put the volunteers "under." this was me:

(if you're wondering why we would even consider taking two wildly volatile critter babies to grown-up entertainment that required total silence, ask DM.) needless to say, we failed to comply. which might explain why none of this guy's victims were even good at pretending to be hypnotized. actually, it seems that he may have inadvertently hypnotized Colby. he was trying to get some of his volunteers to "forget the number 6," and while it was a total bust on stage, she's been counting "one two free foy fie seben" ever since. or maybe she just never knew six in the first place ;)

sorry. didn't really intend to go on a stroll down mental health lane but there ya have it.

anyway, beyond (or perhaps, in part, because of) the anxiety, my overall impression was a bunch of happily sedate and dangerously overfed tourists, peering through their peepholes at the "natives" when we came to port. experience all the "culture" you can find within the immediate five block radius! it was pretty surreal, actually. it was like a zoo in reverse, with the same slight but pungent undercurrent of desperation. "we are going to have FUN, dammit!"

another impression: people who say that you can't feel the boat moving and/or you won't get seasick on a cruise ship = BIG FAT LIARS.

however, once i ascertained the proper mix of alcohol, dramamine, and cheesecake to assuage my psychic and physical ailments, it was pretty alright. though perhaps not my preferred method of travel, i think all in all the cruise goes down as a win. the kiddos got a huge kick out of the whole thing, and were able to put in some serious quality time with their grandparents and cousins (and aunt and uncle, too). i also got to do a lot of nothing (my favorite thing), stare at the ocean, sunbathe, read in bed, and love on my munchkins 24/7 for a week straight, which is a rare treat (or trick, depending on the hour ;)) and the littles made friends with the staff everywhere we went so we now have a lifetime supply of pillow mints ;) i also got pregnant. with a giant food baby. seriously. my waistline survived thanksgiving and christmas unscathed, but i think i packed on a pound a day at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

okay, so, i was going to add this tangential part at the end, serving to sort of counteract my snobbery, and, in my humble opinion, it was going to be the funniest part, but then i remembered how my husband says each of my blog posts is like reading a faulkner novel, so you'll just have to wait with bated breath until next time. (not that he's ever actually read faulkner. (or, for that matter, an entire blog post.) my man's "wicked smaht," but literature isn't really his thing. nor is vocabulary. the other day he used "verklempt" in a sentence (correctly) and i reacted as though my 3 year old had said it. (love you, mister cheese! ;))

until then - i'll leave you with this little slice of sweetness:

about to "bark"

*recommended reading:

Shipping Out: On the (nearly lethal) comforts of a luxury cruise, by David Foster Wallace (excerpt in Harper's Magazine, included in the larger collection A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. < Yes. This. All of it.