What was going on in my head?

So back in high school, I had myself convinced that if I could just ride a unicycle, I would be cool. Clearly, I was never destined for coolness.

I never did get a unicycle.

Four eyes, zero dates

So. . . we've hit a bit of a dry spell on the gigs. I'm going to switch gears here, and post about the awkward things I did while growing up. Random memories keep popping up lately--maybe my brain is hoping my daughter will avoid doing these things. Or maybe I'm just overtired.

When I was 16, I got glasses. And braces. And I had the world's worst bangs. They wouldn't do that giant poufy thing that all the popular girls did with their bangs (and now, looking back at the pictures, I am grateful for that). They were just a giant, dark mat. So to go with all this awesomeness, I decided that I needed Becca Thatcher glasses. Remember her, from Life Goes On? With Corky? And while we're at it, remember that show with Wilford Brimley and Deidre Hall, and that blonde boy who I totally had a crush on, but later learned was gay (as were most of my early crushes--I'm looking at you, Doogie).

So I got giant, burgundy framed glasses, to be like Becca. And then I met Chad Lowe, and we fell in love, but he turned out to be HIV positive, and I didn't care, and we got married, and then he died. OR, I got my Becca glasses, and then didn't date ANYONE for four years.

So very awkward.

Next time, I'll tell you about Teenage Jen's belief that unicycle riding = popularity.

Giggity giggity

We have a gig tonight. Today, I got up at 6am with the baby, nursed her, gave her cereal, made myself breakfast, played with the baby, got her down for a nap, did two loads of laundry, nursed the baby again, cereal again, got frozen pizzas and pop at the store for the sitter, helped my husband jump-start the SUV when the battery died, took a shower, did my hair, and now I'm waiting for the sitter, while the baby takes her 2nd nap. I am so NOT focused on performing. It's funny, though--as soon as I get to the gig, I'll be in rock mode. And as soon as we finish our last song, I'll immediately be thinking about getting home to the baby.

Right now, I need a nap.

Baby's First Gig

Miss Morgan went to her first gig this past weekend. It was outdoors, and our bass player's girlfriend took her for a walk in the stroller. They sat across the street from us for awhile, so Morgan got to hear us from a distance. Let me tell you, it was so hard to stay onstage--I wanted to go smooch my baby!

I'm still feeling sleep-deprived from the gig. Morgan's sleep schedule was normal, but mine was not. Staying up until 1am, and then getting up at 6 with the baby wiped me out. It is now 8:30pm, and I'm thinking about calling it a day.

I'm with the band

Mannnnnnnnn. . . it's been awhile since my last post. Turns out babies keep you busy. And I like naps.

So we have a gig in a couple weeks up near Duluth. It's a two day deal. What will we do with the baby, you ask? That's a very good question. I'm thinking she'd make an excellent tambourine player. Or maybe we'll just see if Grandma wants an overnight visit. But seriously, if I didn't think it was going to be too loud for her, I'd just throw on a Baby Bjorn, and bring her onstage with me. As you can see from the ultrasound, she had a predisposition to rock, even in utero. The ultrasound tech said she was signing "I love you". I burst into joyous tears, and said, "No. . . we're in a band!".

Dr. Feelgood

I've been watching A Baby Story on TLC, and I've noticed a trend. Many of the women on that show kiss their doctors on the cheek--BEFORE the epidural. And the doctors kiss them back! What? Is this a common practice in other areas of the country? Are we Midwesterners out of the kissy-kissy loop? Personally, I save my kisses for my great aunties and my husband, and not for the guy checking my cervix. Well, sometimes my husband checks my cervix. . . heh. ANYWAY, I want to know if other people are kissing hello. "Hello, Mailman Pete! Thanks for not bringing me any bills!". Smooch. "Greetings, Butcher Nadine! Awesome pork chops!". Mwah. "Hi there, Doctor Zbornak! I lost my mucous plug!". Kissy kissy. Really?

Everybody's Working for the Weekend. . . except me

So I lost my job in January, four weeks before the baby was born. Let me tell you, looking for employment while 9 months pregnant is difficult. Looking for employment with an infant in tow is damn near impossible. I know you're supposed to sleep when the baby sleeps, but that's when I send out resumes. Here it is, 11pm, and I'm looking for work.

I've been doing most of my job searching online. I am so sick of the fake ads that reroute you to a temp agency's website. And the companies offering $8/hr for administrative assistants. Come on. And the job postings riddled with spelling errors. If you can't spell "receptionist", then I'm pretty sure you're actually porn.

On the upside, we have a gig this Friday. Yay. And I already have a sitter. YAY!