Lawyer Mama

Sidetrip to Iceland

This is part of my continuing Baby Chase series. If you'd like to catch up, you can read Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4. A warning for those who know me and are male. This post contains lots of details about my lady bits, menstrual cycles, and mentions the term "cervical mucus" more than once. Proceed with caution. You've been warned.

While I was planning a trip to London with friends in Fall of 2003, several people told us we should fly through Iceland. Apparently if you stay for a night in Reykjavik, you can get really great airfare to Europe. But the last thing I wanted was a side trip to Iceland. I wanted to go to London, dammit. And I wanted to get there as quickly as possible.

That's the story of my life. When I want something, I want it now. Patience is not my strong point.

After the D&C, I was a woman on a mission.

I'm great at school. I'm great at planning. In my past experience, that's the best way to ensure that you get exactly what you want. So charts were employed, temperatures were taken daily, and I did far, far too much Googling. You see, the genetic testing results from the remains (their word, not mine) of the D&C were normal. So my OB told us what had happened was just bad luck and to try again.

Famous last words.

My daily temperature taking, fanatical charting, obsessive OPK (ovulation predictor kit) purchasing, and cervical mucus observing was quite successful. We conceived on the first try every. single. time. That's right. We were professionals at getting me knocked up. Pros, I tell you. But every single time resulted in the same thing. A questionable positive home pregnancy test, a positive beta with crappy progesterone levels, followed by a lower beta, and then a miscarriage. Luckily, I've only endured 2 D&C's. Luckily. Hah!

During all of this, we went through testing. Oh, and, ladies, if you are ever unlucky enough to have an HSG and your doctor tells you it will only be "a bit uncomfortable?" He's lying. Other than that advice, I'm going to ensure that this doesn't become a 72 part series staler than Oceans 23 and cut out most of the wallowing in depression and testing stuff. Suffice it to say that no one was quite sure what the heck was going on.

I sucked at staying pregnant, but I excelled at putting on a good face. Only a few people in my office had any idea what was going on with me. My secretary knew and she was discrete. I confided in 1 female partner who was a mentor and friend and a few of my associate friends knew. The years that all this crap was going on? I billed more hours than anyone else in my firm.

It was a hell of a lot easier to work myself to death than to go home and worry about whether or not I could ever have children. Or speculate about what might be wrong with me. Because it had to be me. I knew it was somehow my fault. This was some sort of karmic retribution for my list of 100 reasons not to have children.

Now that we knew that we were both basically normal and there was no real explanation for what the heck was causing my miscarriages, we started to weigh other options. Before even going there, T and I decided that we were probably willing to do IUI (intrauterine insemination) but probably not IVF. We would adopt if it came to that. But we would have children.

In the Fall of 2003, we decided to take a bit of a break from all this baby chasing stuff. You have no idea how hard this was for me. To stop. To watch that temperature dip on the chart, to see that great "egg white" cervical mucus and do nothing was, for me, pure torture. If I wanted to get what I wanted I just needed to keep trying, right? But we agreed to take some time off and go back to all this stuff in January. It would be a new year and a fresh start.

So, of course, T was scheduled to be in Germany for work when I would be ovulating in January.

Yep. Karmic retribution, I tell you.

So I sat back in D.C. while T cavorted in Germany (at least in my mind) and wallowed in self pity and chocolate chip cookie dough. I had my longest cycle ever. Seriously. And they were already pretty damn long.

I watched for that temperature dip that always foretold approaching ovulation. Nothing.

Holy crap! T would be back on January 6th. Maybe he would make it back in time! You wouldn't believe how incredibly excited I was to be trying that month. I didn't expect a different outcome, but we had to be doing something.

So, of course, my hopes had to be dashed again.

On the 6th, T called me at work. I was a little confused. He was supposed to be on a plane over the Atlantic. He wasn't. He was calling me from Iceland. Where his plane had made an emergency landing.

About half way over the Atlantic, they encountered a "shit load" of turbulence. (I think that's a technical aviation term.) T noticed that the plane's altitude was dropping and the plane seemed to be slowing down. A lot. Watching one of those nifty little tracking screens at every seat, he realized that the plane was now heading North. To Iceland.

Finally, the pilot let them know that they had lost an engine. On a 2 engine plane. And while they could certainly land on 1 engine, they really didn't want to continue to fly half way across the Atlantic on one engine. (Thank God!) So T got a 36 hour stay in Iceland while United flew in a new plane.

Sitting in the airport bar at Keflavik (apparently the 777 was too large for the Reykjavik airport, but everyone felt the need to have a drink), T discovered that many of the passengers sitting on the side of the plane near the engine witnessed the entire thing. And were freaking the fuck out. One passenger told them that when he grabbed a flight attendant and asked about the flames shooting past his window, she had the gall to say "Oh, that happens sometimes. It's nothing to worry about." Yeah. That's reassuring.

Anyway, T didn't make it back to D.C. until the evening of January 8, 2004. My temperature dip? Happened that day. The next morning my temperature was on the rise, indicating that I had ovulated the day before.

Hollis was born September 16, 2004.

We have a great photo of the jet with the charred engine that we found on the Internet shortly thereafter. Because I'm twisted, I also printed out a few articles for Hollis's baby book further pinpointing his date of conception. I'm sure he'll appreciate it when he's 14.

I don't know why I had the world's longest cycle that month. I don't know why we endured 4 miscarriages and several "chemical pregnancies." (Although I have some theories I'll save for my "pregnancy from hell" post.) But something in me can't help but think that this is how it was supposed to be for us. That Hollis was supposed to be.

Apparently, a little side trip to Iceland was just what we needed.

Photo by Celeste Masson.

Tall, Dark and Geeky

We're now in Day 12 of Wil Wheaton watch. I'm not feeling the love.

Wil, buddy, I've been reading your blog. I know you have a writing deadline. I know you're a busy guy. So right now I'm just waiting for my copy of your latest book to tide me by.

Some say I should give up and stalk someone who will appreciate me more or perhaps take out a restraining order against me. (George Clooney has been suggested more than once.) Either action would be better than being ignored, I guess. But, see, I've got this thing for tall, dark and geeky men. I mean, look at my banner. Geeky is the new cool.

Exhibit A: My husband

Exhibit B: You

So I'm not giving up quite yet.

Your Number One Stalker Fan,

Lawyer Mama

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I have new reviews up for The Daring Book for Girls and the Day Runner Family Matters planning system. You're not going to want to miss them.

How is Breastfeeding Related to Politics?

Did you hear about the flap in the Blogosphere when Facebook removed photos of women breastfeeding from their site and then banned one woman who continued to post them? How about the recent nationwide breast-in at Applebee's restaurants? How about when Bill Maher compared breastfeeding in public to masturbating in public?

Breastfeeding in public continues to be a hot button subject in our society. Everyone seems to agree that "breast is best," the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Medical Association, the World Health Organization, even our Department of Health and Human Services. But breastfeeding rates in the U.S. are abysmal. Why? Because no one wants to see mothers actually doing it and our government, employers, and fellow citizens aren't willing to give mothers the time and the respect they need to successfully breastfeed.

Read More about YouTube banning the League of Maternal Justice Video at MOMocrats....

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Welcome to Day 10 of Wil Wheaton Watch. As part of my possibly futile attempt to get Wil Wheaton to post a comment on my blog, my good bloggy friend Julie has set up a meme to help me! You know someone is a good bloggy friend when they're willing to help you shamelessly stalk a celebrity. Get in on the action and go tell Wil to send me some love. And post about it on your blog. Maybe if enough of us annoy him to death he'll give in and acknowledge my existence. Or take out a restraining order.

A Black and White Clock

6:48 am

She sat slouching in the hard plastic chair, the nausea rolling in her stomach and burning her throat. He sat beside her, scratching away at the clipboard, asking occasional questions, "When was that last D&C?" "Is your name hyphenated on your health insurance card?" "What year were you born again? Never mind. I can figure it out."

She answered with brevity, staring at the black and white clock on the wall wondering, inanely, "Why do all institutions everywhere have that same black and white clock?"

7:21 am

She heard her name, the first name stumbled over, the last name butchered as always, "Mister Stephan ___." She stood up, moved toward the indifferent woman in the faded green scrubs who couldn't be bothered to acknowledge the mistaken gender. She remembered, hesitated, looked back at him.

"He'll need to stay there for now. We'll bring him back later."

"Oh no, it's OK. He's going to work. He'll be back to get me later."

Green scrubs looked at her with kinder eyes and turned to lead her inside.

The rows of curtained cubicles, tubes, and beeping machines were frightening. As she followed the green scrubs through the room, she saw some of the patients were asleep. "Or maybe unconscious," she thought, before pushing the thought from her mind. At her blue curtained cell, she listened to perfunctory instructions regarding her clothes, jewelry, hospital gown.

The smell was cold, antiseptic, with a whiff of plastic.

"Do you need a pad?" the green scrubs asked.

Startled, she looked up, questioning.

"Are you bleeding?"

"No, um, no. No bleeding."

She carefully folded her red sweatsuit, gray shirt, panties, and bra. Comfortable clothing, as if it would help. She packed her comfort away in the brown grocery bag with her name labeled in thick, black magic marker. She donned the tissue thin gown and sat on the edge of the bed, covered her legs with the blanket and waited, staring at the clock on the wall.

7:48 am

Green scrubs flung the curtain aside and began efficiently preparing for an IV.

"Lie down on the bed."

The sting was quick, but it burned.

Left alone, she wrapped her arms around chest, careful not to hit the bandage on her arm. She saw the goosebumps and realized she was shivering. Her feet and hands were ice cold.

7:56 am.

Again, she stared at the ubiquitous clock on the wall opposite her curtained rectangle.

Dr. M came, the sight of his familiar face flooding her with unexpected relief. All too quickly he was gone. She watched him at the nurses station in the middle of the pre-op room, joking with the nurses and greeting doctors with small talk. As if this were any other day.

8:02 am

"Hi. I'm Dr. A. I'll be the anesthesiologist for your procedure."

"Why does everyone here call it a procedure?" she wondered. "Is it easier than remembering to insert the name of each surgery while he goes through his spiel 8 times a day?"

"Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, yes, what was that?"

"Can you tell me why you're having this procedure today?"

"Is he checking to see if I'm lucid? Or just making sure I'm not slipping in an optional procedure?" she thought.

"Missed miscarriage. Blighted ovum," she said out loud.

Dr. A left and again she was alone, with a dozen people in sight.

"Missed miscarriage," she thought. "Blighted ovum." Counting the syllables in each word, tapping them repeatedly into the arm of the bed, creating a comforting rhythm with the sterile words.

8:04 am

He appeared in the doorway, following green scrubs.

She simply said, "You're here."

"I couldn't leave."

"I'm glad," she sighed and closed her eyes, her cold hand in his warm fingers.

8:12 am

They wheeled her out of the room and into an operating room. The lights hurt her eyes. Now she was scared.

It was cold. She shivered. Unseen hands piled warmed blankets on her. There was a burning in her arm.

"Count backwards from ten for me."

"Ten, niiiinnnne...."


For everyone who's had to have this procedure and for everyone who has ever dreamed of a miracle they couldn't have. For DD and Julie and Kate and Emily and Jenny and Casey and Joker and Bill (and Mrs. Gunfighter) and Rony and Country Dew and Paula and Lauren and Slouching Mom and Kate and Joanne. And for Bon. Oh, dear Bon. I'm so sorry.

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This is part IV of my Baby Chase series. You can read Part I, Part II and Part III if you'd like to get up to speed.

'Tis the Season ... To Be Depressed

This is Part III of my Baby Chase series where I talk about all the fun times T and I had trying to have a baby. And by "fun" I mean not so fun. You can read Part I and Part II to catch up.

When we left off, I had decided that I wanted to have a baby. T said he wanted to think about it for a few months. Well, those of you who know me IRL know that once I make up my mind, things are happening now. Not in 3 or 4 months. So I basically steam rolled over my husband who was simply trying to be the voice of reason, knowing my impetuous ways.

I saw my OB for a pre-conception consultation and he told me we could start trying as soon as I finished my cycle of birth control pills. Dr. G said there was no increased risk of miscarriage the month after stopping the pill, which was my first question considering my history. Dr. G did add a caveat. He said if, "you're the type who will blame yourself if something goes wrong," then you should wait a few months before trying.

Nice foreshadowing, Dr. G.

I got knocked up the very first month we tried. I dutifully waited until day 28 of my cycle and took a test. That's when I was introduced to the gray areas of home pregnancy test results.

Me: "T, is that a line or am I imagining things?"
T: "I don't see anything. Did you follow the directions?"
Me (smacking T in the head with the box): "Look, here in the bright light. Do you see it?"
T: "Ummmm... I think so."

After a few days of some positive and some negative tests (I think I went through at least 4 or 5 tests a day, an early sign of my developing home pregnancy test addiction), I went to my OB/Gyn. Well, Dr. G was going through a break up with his partners. The office was in chaos. I had to wait 75 minutes for a pregnancy test. Which, because they did a urine test, was negative. I asked for a blood test. The staff said "wait a week and test again." Um, I. don't. think. so.

I got a new doctor. They got me in the next day. By this time, by my calculations, I was 21 DPO (days past ovulation). A home pregnancy test should be positive by 14 DPO and a blood test will pick up HCG earlier than that.

The test was positive. My HCG was 63. For the uninitiated, the average HCG at 21 DPO is 1061, with a typical range of 324-4130. They had me in 2 days later for another beta and a progesterone level check. My second beta doubled nicely, so I thought I was safe. I didn't know it at the time, but my progesterone level for that pregnancy never got above 7. Again for those of you who luckily have no idea what I'm talking about, a good progesterone level in the course of your normal menstrual cycle is between 2 and 28. It gets much higher during pregnancy. My doctor later told me he generally likes to see at least a 20 with the first beta. Mine was a 7.

I had my first ultrasound, by my calculations, at about 26 DPO (5 weeks, 5 days). A transvaginal ultrasound conducted with the all-seeing-dildo-wand, put me at 4 weeks, 2 days. They told me I must have had my dates wrong. There was a gestational sac, but they wanted me back in a week for another ultrasound. I did not get a grainy, black and white ultrasound picture to take home, although I desperately wanted one, like all the happy women I saw leaving the office.

Dr. M gave me many warnings about calling if I had bleeding, abdominal pain, or pain (oddly) in my shoulder. A few minutes on Google later that day told me he was worried about a possible ectopic pregnancy if my dates were right.

I spent the next week on Google. I basically couldn't do much else except type in various search terms such as "small sac, gestational age" and "low hcg 21 dpo."

At my next appointment (almost 7 week by my dates, 5 weeks, 2 days by theirs), we again saw a gestational sac, and possibly fetal poles, but it measured 4 weeks, 6 days. Not a good sign, but Dr. M told me we would wait until I should be 8 1/2 weeks, do another ultrasound, and then we would know whether or not the pregnancy was viable if we saw a fetus and a heartbeat.

Any guesses on what we saw?

No heartbeat.

I finally had a D&C at 10 weeks (after several more mentally excruciating ultrasounds) when my body showed no sign of fixing the situation on its own. I had no bleeding at all, but lots of morning sickness. Morning sickness is usually a good sign of a health pregnancy. Ah, the irony.

I scheduled my D&C for July 3rd, rationalizing that I could take the 4th of July off from work (a Friday) without guilt and then be back in the office by the weekend.

After all, I didn't want to inconvenience anyone.

To be continued....

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Welcome to Day 9 of Wil Wheaton watch. Feel free to stop over at his blog and remind him that I'm still here. Waiting. Patiently.

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I just heard some horrible news that adds some perspective to my post above. A little girl in my son's pre-school class is in Boston right now having exploratory brain surgery for a tumor in the center of her brain. Apparently our local children's hospital can't do anything for her.

She's 3 years old.

'Tis The Season ... To Be Tacky

I have this rule about Christmas lights. There shall only be white lights on the outside of my home. We put colored lights on our tree and I certainly don't do a designer tree. I love all of the family ornaments and those we've collected over the year. Our Christmas tree is special. It's personal.

But in my yard there will be no inflatable Santa, no plastic nativity scene, no hodgepodge of lights causing seizures among the neighborhood children and sucking up enough energy to power Lichtenstein. This is pretty much Lawyer Mama's Third Commandment. It comes right after "Thou shalt put the toilet seat down" and "Thou shalt not pick your nose in public."

Why the edict on the lights? It's a slippery slope. It starts out as a harmless little lighted mechanical reindeer. Next thing you know, your yard looks like this:


I was flabbergasted when I saw this today. But then puzzled when I thought I spotted an ostrich in the plastic nativity scene. I may be a heathen, but I think I'd remember that from the Bible.


I made T drive around the other side of the house so I could check the ostrich out from a different angle.


Well, it's still tacky.

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Folks, today is Day 8 of the Stalking of Wil Wheaton. Alpha Dogma was kind enough to award me a BhD for my relentless stalking of Wil Wheaton. She even offered up some Wil eye candy for my perusal. Even if Wil never acknowledges my existence, at least I'll always have that. Thank you, my dear AD. Thank you.

I'm so putting that on my resume.

And now I'm passing the BhD on to Jenny from Mama Drama and The Blogess, the inspiration for my Wil stalking campaign. Jenny is so damn funny it's almost sad. In a funny way. Her Halloween post nearly gave me a stroke. Jenny excels at funny, but she also excels at the personal and she's a fantastic writer. Plus, she really gets me. I mean, she's semi-stalking Amy Sedaris and even wrote her a letter. With pictures. And gave it to her at BlogHer. Dude. I want to be Jenny when I grow up. Or don't grow up.

Seriously, what is with those Houston bloggers? They all seem to be amazing. Jenny, Julie, and Kyla are almost enough to make me move to Houston.

'Tis the Season ... of Rampant Consumerism

But H&H look awfully cute with Santa. How could I resist?

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It's Day 7 of my campaign to get Wil Wheaton to comment on my blog. Still no sign of him. I hope he's just coming down off the high of his appearance on NUMB3RS last night and will cave soon!

The Age of Why?

Conversation overheard one night:

Hollis: Daddy, why is it dark?
T: Because the sun went down.

Hollis: Why?
T: Because the earth rotates on its axis and we're facing away from the sun right now.

Hollis: Why?
T: Because of the gravitational pull of the sun.

Hollis: Why?
T: Because ... um... it just is.

Hollis: But why?
T: The sun went to sleep.
Hollis: Oh.

Hollis: Daddy?
T: Yes, Hollis?
Hollis: Does the sun have his pacifiers?
T: I'm sure he does, buddy.

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This is Day 6 of Wil Wheaton watch. He's guest starring on NUMB3RS tonight, so I've set my TIVO for some prime time stalking.

Ode to Flutter

Thou still generous bride of pastriness

Thou baker-child with saucepan, sage and thyme

Souffle historian, who canst thus express

A floury tale more sweetly than our rhyme

What leaf-fring'd foodstuffs do you bake

Of deities, or mortals or both,

On Table or the trestles beneath Plate?

What women or gods made these? Your process bold?

What mad pursuit? What struggle to a taste?

Made this yummy sugar-free red velvet cake.


With my sincere apologies to Keats.

Recipe by Flutter. Leaves by Hollis.

Soundtrack of My Life

Julie's Hump Day Hmmm topic for this week is music. Egads! This is really a hard one for me. I love music. In fact, I hear music in my head almost constantly. (Not in an "I really need some anti-psychotics" kind of way, I swear!) But music is part of my inner monologue. You know, the stuff I don't let people know about?

My dad is a huge music lover and he passed his music down to my brother and me when we were small. I remember my dad sitting my brother and me down when I was maybe 6 and my brother was 2 or 3. He had us listen to In-a-gadda-da-vida by Iron Butterfly, paying careful attention to the drum solo. Yeah, the song is 20 minutes long. Seriously. Now, I find it a little amusing to know that my dad thought it so important to play us a song where the name came about because the band was too drunk and/or high to actually get the words "in the garden of Eden" out coherently. But that's just the way my family rolls.

When I was 8 years old, I desperately wanted a Blondie album from Santa Clause. (Let's not talk about what a geek I was. I believed in Santa until I was 9, being the oldest child and all that.) I was a little upset that Santa brought me Puff the Magic Dragon and the Sesame Street Disco Fever album. (Both of which, in hindsight, were pretty damn cool for an 8 year old and I secretly listened to them for years.) But my dad knew I was upset, so he gave me my first cassette tape. It was AC/DC's Back in Black. My dad was the coolest dad evah. Seriously, half of the concerts I've ever been to were with my dad. He rocks.

Music is deeply personal to me, but I don't often share it. I'm a car listener. I can't work while listening to music and we don't even have a stereo system in our home. But in the car, I sing at the top of my lungs and dance around. My kids love it. My husband thinks it's hilarious, particularly since I can't carry a tune. But no one else really ever sees that part of me.

In the car though... well, I'm more me. I'm me and everyone I've ever been in the past. I hear a certain song on the radio and am instantly 7 years old, riding in the car with my dad with the stereo cranked. I'm 11 years old and playing softball in the backyard. I'm 14 and I've just had my first real kiss. I'm 20 and my heart has been stomped and mangled for the first time. I'm 22 and I've just married the love of my life. I'm 32 and I'm driving my newborn around to get him to sleep.

I pull my car to a stop, turn off the ignition and open the door. The music ends and I'm 35 again.

Music is still very important to me and H&H show every sign of following in Mommy's footsteps. Hell, Hollis already has his own ipod with a more extensive play list than I have in my Treo. The Backyardigans feature very prominently, but his favorites also include "One Little Slip" by the Bare Naked Ladies, "Kaboom" by Ursula 1000, "Fly Away" by Tim McGraw, and "Blister in the Sun" by the Violent Femmes.

I've never done any of the music memes that have floated around BlogLand for the simple reason that it would be insanely long. I listen to anything and everything, although I'm not all that fond of country music. But even then, I make exceptions for songs I really like. So, I've created a soundtrack for each of my decades on planet Earth. These aren't necessarily my favorites from each decade, nor are they necessarily from the decade where I've listed them. But these songs would all be on the soundtrack of my life if it became Lawyer Mama, The Movie. (And why does that last line make me think of Spaceballs, The Toilet Paper?)

To start it off, I have some background music for you and it's one of my all time favorites. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.




The Seventies:

• Styx: Come Sail Away and Paradise Theater
• Harry Chapin: Cat's in the Cradle
• The Doors: People Are Strange
• Don McLean: American Pie
• Queen: Bohemian Rhapsody
• Abba: Dancing Queen
• John Lennon: Imagine
• Carly Simon: You're So Vain
• Jefferson Airplane: White Rabbit
• Van Morrison: Brown Eyed Girl
• Pink Floyd: Comfortably Numb

Damn! There are a lot of songs about drugs in there. Maybe I shouldn't feel so bad that my 3 year old can sing the lyrics to Blister In The Sun.

The Eighties:

• Bryan Adams: Summer of '69
• John Cougar Mellencamp: Paper in Fire
  
• Violent Femmes: Blister in the Sun
• The Smiths: How Soon is Now, Stop Me, Frankly Mr. Shankly (OK, pretty much anything by The Smiths)
• Erasure: Who Needs Love Like That (I'd like to clarify - I started listening to Erasure in the 80's, long before they became a hit in the U.S. with Ship of Fools)
• Psychedlic Furs: Pretty in Pink
• Beastie Boys: Pretty much anything. (Yeah, I know.)
• The Clash: Should I Stay or Should I Go
• INXS: Mediate
• Peter Gabriel: In Your Eyes

I'm just going to stop now, because I could keep doing the 80's for a few hours.

The Nineties:

• Wil Smith: Wild, Wild West (C'mon, I went to B_______ West High School and graduated in 1990. It was obligatory.)
• Garth Brooks: Friend in Low Places
• Tori Amos: Crucify, Silent All These Years, Winter (OK. Anything by Tori Amos. Still love her.)
• Eric Clapton: Wonderful Tonight
• Tracy Byrd: Keeper of the Stars (My first dance with my husband as a married woman.)
• Dave Matthews Band: Crash
• Barenaked Ladies: The Old Apartment, Alcohol, Who Needs Sleep? (The law school years. Go figure.)
• Meredith Brooks: Bitch (My personal theme song.)
• R.E.M.: Losing My Religion
• Indigo Girls: Shame on You, Closer I am to Fine

The Next Eight Years:

• Black Eyed Peas: Pump It
• KT Tunstall: Suddenly I see
• Fiona Apple: Paper Bag
• Eminem: Yellow Brick Road, Lose Yourself
• Five For Fighting: 100 Years, The Riddle (Yes, I know these are schmaltzy but I'm all hormonal since giving birth.)
• Eric Clapton: Tears in Heaven (Now that I'm a mother I cannot listen to this song without crying.)
• Scissor Sisters: I Don't Feel Like Dancing
• Anna Nalick: Breathe
• Badly Drawn Boy: The Shining

This post has taken me down memory lane. I think I downloaded about 50 songs while I was writing it.

Now I'm off to go listen to my life.

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Welcome to Day 4 of my campaign to get Wil Wheaton to comment. Now, even Jenny said that I must be patient.

I can understand why you commented for Jenny, Wil. She's funny, she's smart, yadda yadda yadda. I've met Jenny, she's also HAWT! But me? I may not be hot, but I am persistent.