Me and Stevie Wonder

I'm not an overly superstitious person. That's not to say I deliberately walk under ladders to tempt fate. No, because someone or something might fall on me, which would prove that walking under ladders is indeed, unlucky.

However, I do have my own superstitions that I think are unique to me and therefore might reinforce the need for more medication but I heed them nonetheless.

If a bad thought pops into my head I immediately knock on wood. It's my way of ensuring the bad thing won't happen. Like a safeguard. I know my best bet is to not think bad thoughts in the first place. Have we met? If I could do that I'd have a lot less wood furniture in my home. And this post would be noticeably shorter. This knocking  on wood does not apply to people who deserve the bad thoughts because those are intentionally dreamed up. And usually painful. And no wood is harmed.

Another quirky superstition is that sometimes when I have some news I won't reveal it. Like if a magazine is considering an article I wrote I won't mention it to anyone until it's actually in print. It's like my very own secret. I think, though, it has more to do with me having less people to disappoint if the news doesn't turn out the way I want it to. So, sure I'm viewing the glass as half empty. If the news is good, I just refill the glass. And shout from the rooftops.

I also cross my fingers when hoping for something good or hoping for a good outcome. And i follow the itching hand superstition theory that if your left hand itches you will receive money and if your right hand itches you will give money. These last two are kind of common but I follow them.  Why? Because I'm ridiculous! Plus, all of this knocking, crossing and itching keeps my hands occupied so there is a method to my madness. (Madness being the key word)

So, how does Stevie Wonder fit into all of this? He doesn't. He just sings that cool song, "Superstition".
And now for your listening pleasure... 

Yep, he's still there

Ever since we brought Chris home from the hospital as a baby, I've been checking on him during the night. I only check once before I officially go to sleep just to see that he's alright. And when he's having bad high blood-glucose numbers I have to check his levels while he's sleeping. But this is more for his health and safety than for the peace of mind of a neurotic mom. Okay, so maybe it's both. 

The first night after we were released from the hospital when he was born, I checked on him  10 times. One of the last times, as I was coming out of his room, Billy asked me if I was checking on him, yet again. I sheepishly said, yes and he said that was okay because he had already gone into his room 3 times. Ah new parents.

These days when I come to bed after checking little man, Billy will say to me, Is he still there? And of course I answer with my own wise-ass response: No, he must still be out gambling. I hope he doesn't ever sneak out of the house when he's older because if I still go in to check when he's 16 or 17, I'm sure to have a heart attack. And I bet Billy won't believe me when I answer him with, he's not in his room.

When he was younger I would also look for signs of life, you know the rise and fall of his chest, breathing sounds. If none of these were easily detected I would put my hand on his chest to feel for a heartbeat or place my fingers under his nose to feel him breathing. What? So, maybe I was a little paranoid but it's not like I held a mirror under his nose for goodness sake!

These days I do it more out of habit. The checking not the looking for signs of life. And maybe this way I can sleep a little sounder. So I steal a few moments when he's fast asleep to marvel at this awesome, little man and the fact that he's mine. And he's still there, in his room, and not out on the Strip gambling away his college tuition money.

Another St. Patrick's Day down the toilet

When I was younger, St. Patrick's Day meant wearing some green and watching John Wayne in The Quiet Man on TV with my mom. When I got older it included going out to a local bar (sometimes an Irish one, sometimes not) and celebrating with beer, song and friends.

In honor of this holiday I thought I'd see how other people celebrated. Of course many towns have the traditional parade. New York City is home to the largest one but I bet you didn't know that Hot Springs, Arkansas has the world's shortest St. Patrick's Day Parade. This parade has the strangest cast of characters, too, including Irish Elvis impersonators (Erin go bragh thankyou thankyouverymuch), belly dancers, and some middle-aged Irish dancers who call themselves the Lards of the Dance. Now these seem like my kind of people. Not traditional and quirky enough to be amusing.

In Chicago they dye the river green for the occasion. Talk about extreme. That's a helluva lot of food coloring to add to an entire river. Be kind of funny if the river ever backed up into the sewer system. Then everyone could have the luck of the Irish in their toilets. Yellow and green mix to form what color?




*These traditions and today's history lesson provided by smithsonianmag.com

You say Venitian, I say Venetian

It happened, again. In another of those unlikely places, too. I found a misspelled word. I can't help it, my eyes just zero in on the typo/misspelled word. I could be reading War and Peace or the back of a cereal box and Bam! there it is. I don't actively look for them, I mean I'm not some crazy spelling nazi who critiques everything she reads. I just, see words.

It was just like that time on the (fake) bridge of the Enterprise at the Star Trek Experience when I glanced down at Worf's post and saw the word "torpedo" spelled "torpeod". Hundreds of people tour through there. I see the mistake. And yes, I did tell the guide. He was surprised, especially since he thought I had a Trekkie-related question when I rose my hand. He came over and acknowledged that torpedo was indeed spelled wrong. I always wanted to go back to see if they corrected it but the attraction closed in 2008.

Anyway, I have a self described, unhealthy fascination with all things mafia. Which leads me to my recent spelling error discovery. We were at the Mob Attraction located in the Tropicana. [Shameless plug for my city: This is a great attraction to see. It's interactive, informative and reasonably priced. Plus they renovated the Tropicana and it looks fabulous, all bright and newish.]

As we were making our way around, reading about the gangsters of old Vegas, there was this exhibit with a fake explosion box that you can push down the plunger as if you were imploding an old casino. It was hooked up to a screen that played the actual hotel explosions and the screen would tell you what hotel you blew up and what exists there today. One of us, I think it was Christopher, blew up the Sands and the screen informed us that the Venetian now sits on that site. Except it was spelled "Venitian". The writing comes on and disappears quickly. I mean, blink and you miss it. I didn't miss it. And then I blew up more hotels to come back to that one just to see if what I read was true. And yes, they spelled the hotel incorrectly. Bill looked at me as if to say, only you would spot the mistake.

This time, however, I didn't tell anyone. It's a Mob exhibit for goodness sake! I don't want to end up at the bottom of Lake Mead for being a know-it-all!

Oh technology, why do you mock me?

I started this post a week ago and now it's partially outdated because we recently bought new cell phones. I'm still posting it though because it's all true. And funny. Or annoying, depending on whether you talk to me or Bill.

I'm an admitted techno-phobe. Gadgets and appliances with lots of buttons and bells and whistles can sometimes freak me out. I have gotten better over time, even though I still don't know everything my ipod can do. How 5 songs I had transferred onto it suddenly found themselves gone from my playlist, I'll never know. But not every techno-fail is my doing.

Take for example, my old cell phone. It has taken it upon itself to shut off randomly. With no help from me. It could be sitting on my desk while I'm on the computer and then I go to maybe check the time and suddenly, it's off. Just like that. So. Irritating. Thankfully this is no longer an issue and my uncooperative phone has been retired.

I'm still navigating my way around my new high-tech, James Bond-y type Samsung Galaxy S III. It has so many cool features and fun things to do and has turned the husband into an even bigger child  than he was before. As if that was possible. Good to know we spent X amount of dollars so he can download and play all the Sci-Fi ringtones he can find.

In keeping with the theme of this post....

I have a DELL laptop and I love it. My problem is the electric unit that plugs into the thing. It has this habit of unplugging from the computer itself. This I know to be a DELL problem. Their plugs break. My previous dell had a plug issue too and I would have to wind it around the screen to keep it in place.

With this laptop, the part that inserts into the computer is a little loose. I think something in the prong area broke off or something like that. Also, the wire is breaking and will soon need to be held together with electrical tape. I've been putting off getting this fixed or replaced. I'm not sure why but I think it has to do with the fear of somehow not being able to use my computer and going through severe withdrawal. Oh wait, I now have this new fangled phone that does everything but cook dinner. Problem(s) solved. See who's laughing now technology!