Under the Artificial Sun

This past week has been rough for me. I think a lot of us have experienced some weather-related depression as of late. But not everybody freaks out about it the way I do. I kid you not, yesterday I was lying on the mat doing something at the gym with the trainer, and I was like, Ohmygod my depression is bad what am I going to do I'm never going to be able to get a job because I'm mentally unstable what is wrong with me what if I lose control and end up spending the second half of my life in a mental hospital?

And then I was like, "Okay, I'm done with my crunches now."

Light therapy is supposed to be good for weather-related depression, or Seasonal Affective Disorder. What you are supposed to do is buy an expensive lightbox designed for such a purpose, and then sit next to it for 20 minutes a day or something like that.

I'm with my lightbox right now. Hence the title of this post.

Side note, it is the ugliest freakin' thing in the world.

What you should probably not do when you're depressed is imbibe depressant substances, even if those depressant substances are red and pair nicely with a cranberry goat cheese.

Guess what I did last night?

I went over to visit my oft-mentioned, oft-hyperlinked friend Katie, who has a sweet pad with a killer view of Lake Michigan. I had the goat cheese and some crackers in my bag, along with two bottles of wine, which I presented with the statement, "I brought two bottles in case one was gross, and not because I think we should drink one bottle each or anything like that."

Uh huh.

I don't want to make it sound like I'm some kind of lush. In actuality, I'm more addicted to the cheese than the wine. As I always say, I have my demons (see: this blog), but alcoholism isn't one of them.

But it's fun to have some wine sometimes, and especially when it means I get to take the whole night off from my life's responsibilities and engage in such frivolities as lying on the floor, Googling people, and doing metric conversions. Did I mention that Katie and I are like the coolest people ever?

I somehow stayed coherent enough to change from my Pajama Jeans into my actual pajamas, because I was sleeping over at Katie's. I don't really like to take the train home at night, because the Metra commuter train to the suburbs is kind of a buzz-kill.

Then I passed out underneath a quilt made of Katie's Math Team t-shirts from high school. One of the shirts had a horrific calculus equation that normally gives me the shivers, but I'm pretty sure I solved after drinking all that wine.

This morning I put my Pajama Jeans back on (boo, they have salt stains) and rode the 9:35 train back to reality.

And today ... ugh. Because you know what's really awesome when you're hungover?

Lights.

Pajama Jeans!

In an effort to achieve new levels of schlubbery, I decided to order Pajama Jeans. Pajama Jeans are a product sold via an infomercial, or maybe it's just a commercial because it's shorter than the old Ronco half-hour spots. Now, either the ad doesn't run where I live, and/or it doesn't run on the shows I watch (high-brow as they are), and/or it does run but I always fast-forward through it. So I didn't find out about Pajama Jeans until somebody put up the ad on Facebook, at which point I watched it and only had one thought:

I have to have those.

I mean, is it really convenient for me to wear jeans all day and then have to waste 30 seconds changing into my pajamas around 4 p.m. when I decide my day is over? Hellz no, not when you could have the style of jeans and the comfort of pajamas all in one garment.

(You have to imagine my old, terribly inconvenient life would be depicted in black and white, with me doing a lot of unnecessary sweating, as indicated by a dramatic brow-wiping.)

But seriously, I thought maybe pajama jeans would solve two main problems I have with jeans, which are (1) low-rised-ness, and (2) the muffin top.

Regarding Item (1), it seems like your options these days are the unflatteringly high-waisted "mom jeans," or else showing some crack. According to my mom, you can solve the crack-showing problem by taking your jeans to a dry cleaner and having them sew two little darts in the back. Now, she gave me this advice approximately 3 years ago, and considering I go to a dry cleaner twice a week, that is 312 visits to the dry cleaners when I could have had my jeans altered. And did I? No. (I mean, yes, Mom, yes I did.)

I did buy some really awesome "no-gap waist" jeans at Target last year, and when I realized the awesomeness of them I went back to buy at least 7 more pairs. But, alas, by then they were gone.

So, Pajama Jeans, with their fashionable hot pink drawstring, would solve the low-rise problem. And also the muffin top problem, because you wouldn't cinch that hot pink drawstring tight enough to create blobs of abdominal fat. (I'm told another solution to the muffin top problem is "stop eating.")

Now, I erred on the side of too big when ordering my Pajama Jeans, because I sensed that the Pajama Jeans return process would be a really big pain in the ass. I'm thinking my senses were right, because it took 3 weeks just for them to get the Pajama Jeans to my door. (And BTW the site says, "16 shopping days until Christmas," which means you won't be getting those Pajama Jeans in time to gift them for Christmas. Get ready to say, "Happy New Year! You'll be spending 2011 in Pajama Jeans!")

My initial assessment of the Pajama Jeans was, like hell these look like regular jeans. What jeans have a hot-pink drawstring (or, okay, any drawstring) and no zipper? I thought they looked baggy and unflattering, but due to their amazing comfort, I decided to give them a try yesterday. I mean, given the general level of formality in my day-to-day activities, I could very well just go around wearing regular pajamas and nobody would say anything.

So, right after changing into my Pajama Jeans post-workout, somebody gave me a compliment at the gym that indicated that I have improved my physical appearance along the lines of Jared from Subway. Could Pajama Jeans really be flattering after all? No, I'm sure it's my extreme discipline in eating and working out that led to this drastic body change.

Stop laughing.

Anyway, I wore my Pajama Jeans the rest of the day, basking in comfort. And although I did not sleep in them because my difficult child has stopped napping, I did briefly zone out while wearing them during his completely inaccurately-named "quiet time." For those 4 minutes between shrieks of "I hate this show" and general climbing on top of my body, I actually fooled myself into thinking I was wearing pajamas.

I think as the Pajama Jeans stretch out throughout the day, they get a little bit big. But I wish they had been around while I was pregnant, because I think they would make good maternity jeans. For my current lifestyle, perhaps they will make good cheese-eating jeans.

The bottom line is, Pajama Jeans are kind of like a $40 pair of sweatpants. Which means that they are (1) overpriced, and (2) not ideal for most moderately-formal situations. But good luck trying to pry them off my body. I'm never wearing actual pants again.

A Smattering

My mental health has been a little bit sketchy lately. I alternate between wanting to sleep all the time and not being able to sleep at all. I don't know if it's the weather or what, but as I've said before, it's terrifying to think that I might be headed Back There again. So terrifying that I could easily just sit on my couch and work myself into a frenzy until the whole depression thing becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

No, no, no, no, no. NO.

The Big D knocks on my door fairly frequently, but he has not won for a very long time. (I figure Depression is a man.)

Well, by now you have probably clicked over to Cute Overload looking for something vaguely life-affirming because For the love of God why is Shannon such a downer? If you're still here, I'll spare you the trip:


Who wants to read about some random suburban housewife's depression when you can see a picture of a hedgehog (?) being bathed in the sink?

I'm just gonna say that if there are people out there bathing woodland creatures in their sinks, I may not be the only person with questionable mental health.

In other news ...

If you live in a Trader Joe's-having state, you must go out and buy the Gingerbread Man Kit! When I saw the box, I assumed it was one of those kits where you have to add other ingredients, and then roll out dough, and then bake and decorate. But no. It's a fully-formed, giant gingerbread man with a little bag of icing and some candies. You'll be Mother of the Year to your child(ren) when you show up with this little guy. It's $4 to avoid having a kitchen floor covered with flour. Worth it!

Speaking of Trader Joe's, I got some of their already-risen, ready-to-roll-out pizza dough and some goat cheese yesterday and made The Pizza That God Eats. Plus I got some other goat cheese with cranberries in it, and a bottle of Malbec wine (which I learned from that 1800baskets party is a wine that so in it's out again). I know, I know, Weight Watchers. But I'm thinking I can be like the French and just eat a very small quantity of rich foods. I'm pretty certain that going totally French in my attitude toward food with be really simple, despite the fact that I've spent 32 years cultivating my American food sensibilities, and the closest I've ever been to France is the Paris hotel in Las Vegas.

Also, I have not purchased one Christmas gift yet. Lest this make my family feel unwanted and unloved, my real reason for procrastination is that I focus better at the last minute. Early on in the holiday season, I'm a waffler when it comes to holiday shopping. Should I get this for So-and-So? I don't know, I might find something better. I'll wait. But around December 15, I start Having a Purpose in my shopping. I am suddenly decisive. And my loved ones end up getting something like a combination lint roller/tortilla maker because that's all they have left at Target. Okay I look like kind of a jerk.

And finally, at the recommendation of my trainer, I'm drinking a protein shake. It's kind of nasty, but I'm pretty sure that protein shakes are all that have been standing between me and six-pack abs.

For the rest of us

As you know, I'm trying to add a little holiday diversity to my blog. And since I probably won't be invited to any Kwanzaa parties, I thought I'd put up a post celebrating my favorite Seinfeld-based holiday, Festivus!

For those who don't know about Festivus, please go grab yourself a blanket because it was probably pretty cold under that rock. Then read this history of Festivus from Festivus inventor, Frank Costanza:

FRANK: Kramer, I got your message. I haven't celebrated Festivus in years! What is your interest?

KRAMER: Well, just tell me everything, huh?

FRANK: Many Christmases ago, I went to buy a doll for my son. I reached for the last one they had - but so did another man. As I rained blows opon him, I realized there had to be another way!

KRAMER: What happened to the doll?

FRANK: It was destroyed. But out of that, a new holiday was born. "A Festivus for the rest of us!"

KRAMER: That musta been some kind of doll.

FRANK: She was.

--From Seinfeld Season 9, Episode 10, "The Strike"

In actuality, Festivus was not invented by Frank Costanza (who was fictional), but by the family of Seinfeld writer Daniel O'Keefe. I learned this from watching the special features on the Seinfeld DVDs, but it's confirmed here on this Wikipedia entry. The Wikipedia entry also states that the O'Keefe family actually celebrated Festivus in February, but it is now officially celebrated December 23.

The only Festivus decoration is an aluminum pole. In doing "research" for this post, I discovered a website that is solely devoted to selling Festivus poles. Here's a picture I stole from that site of some service men and women celebrating with their Festivus pole:


Another fun fact I learned from Wikipedia:

In 2008 and 2009, a Festivus pole was erected in the rotunda of the Illinois Capitol building located in Springfield, Illinois. In 2008, the handle of a pool cleaner was erected by 18 year old student, Mike Tennenhouse, who along with Governor Rod Blagojevich began "airing grievances" on behalf of the people of Illinois. The 2009 display was an unadorned aluminum pole.

I love my home state! And in 2008, I'm thinking the people of Illinois had several grievances to air about Rod Blagojevich. (Also funny, a guy named Rod putting up a pole.)

So, besides the pole, the other Festivus traditions are: (1) The Feats of Strength, and (2) The Airing of the Grievances.

I'm going to be performing the Feats of Strength today at the gym with my trainer. And so that leaves The Airing of the Grievances.

To quote Frank Costanza, "I got a lot of problems with you people!"

No, not you. Other people. And some of my grievances aren't about people at all. Here you go, my list of grievances:

1. Winter: Yeah, I know, way to take a stand. I know it's December, and I know I live in Chicago, but each year I forget just how big of a hassle winter is. This year we had a nice, long fall, but then winter came from outta nowhere. Now I hear things like, "Tonight's overnight low is 2 degrees." Two. And do you know what a big pain everything is in the winter? Anybody looking for a stress-inducing activity for some kind of psychological experiment should have subjects put gloves on toddlers. Plus this kid takes off his coat the second we get in the car or inside a building. Statements such as, "You don't need to take that off, we're only going to be in this store for five minutes," are completely lost on him.

2. Holiday-related Bitchiness: The other day I witnessed two women having words at Target over a misunderstanding about who was first in line. And then there are the annoying, impatient honkers on the road. The closer it gets to Christmas, the angrier everybody gets. Way to get in the spirit, people.

3. The Three-Year-Old Phase: Blogger of awesomeness Ask Moxie suggests that when your child is going through a particularly stressful phase (a phase known as "childhood"), you love the child but hate the phase. So, Three can suck it. Does getting one drop of water on your pants warrant a high-pitched, glass-shattering scream? In the car?

4. Sanctimommies: I don't want to hear that your child never had a drop of formula. La-di-frickin-da. Ditto to, "My kids have only been out to breakfast once." And don't brag about how awesome your homeschool lesson was, or loudly announce at the library that your kids should get books for your new unit on thus-and-so, because I know you're just talking loud enough so I can hear and (hopefully) be impressed with you. Please get a life of your own.

5. Myself: So, speaking of breastfeeding, I wrote this article on Technorati about how I think people who use Facebook to trade breastmilk might be "breast is best" gone too far. I personally would not feed my baby the bodily fluid of strangers on the Internet. But the thing is, I knew people would disagree, and when I wrote the article I was all excited about creating a minor stir. However, when the comments came out, I was sad and offended. So this grievance is for myself for being too thin-skinned.

6. Electrical Appliances: Quit breaking.

7. People who talk about "The War on Christmas": Please celebrate your own holiday and let others do the same.

8. Laundry: Why is there so much of you? In college I did like two small loads a week, if that. Now I'm doing a load every other day in my "canyon capacity" washing machine. (It actually has that label.) How can one tiny family wear so many clothes. And then you have to fold the clothes, and put them away. How has there been no technology invented that can automatically fold clothes and put them away? It's the 21st century. We're cloning sheep.

Wow, that's only 8 minor grievances. I guess things are going pretty well for me.

It's a Festivus Miracle!

Christmas songs I never want to hear again

As I have mentioned in the past, I am opposed to the playing of Christmas music before Thanksgiving. Remember in the movie About a Boy, where Hugh Grant really hated the Christmas song his father wrote, "Santa's Super Sleigh," despite the fact that he was living off the royalties from that song? And he was in the grocery store and they were playing the song, and he was lamenting how early it was to play holiday music, saying, "November the sodding 19th!"

Well, that is how I felt when our local easy listening station, WLIT, switched over to all holiday music on November 12. November the sodding 12th!

You should not play Christmas music before Thanksgiving. But after Thanksgiving, when the weather is appropriately cold and/or snowy, I like to switch over to WLIT sometimes. I really like the song "O Holy Night," and also some of the kid-oriented ones like "Santa Claus is Coming To Town." I like to do the silly add-ons to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" (like Pinocchio!) and recreate the hand motions to some of the songs we sang in elementary school chorus. (Yes, I am the dork doing hand motions in the car.)

But there are some Christmas songs that make me switch stations. They are:

"Baby, It's Cold Outside": Basically, this song is about Dean Martin trying to get some girlfriend to have a sleepover with him, using the adverse weather conditions as an excuse. He keeps pursuing, she keeps coyly saying no. At one point she says, "What's in this drink?" What did he do, try to roofie her? Hey, no means no, creep.

"Santa, Baby": I have to say what really poisoned this song for me was that I once saw an overly made-up tween performing this song at the mall, gyrating on the floor. But even before I was treated to that awesome visual, "Santa, Baby" kind of pissed me off. The woman seems so materialistic. And "slip a sable under the tree"? Fur is murder!

"I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas": Because the plural of "hippopotamus" is "hippopotami," dammit!

"I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus": So, embarrassing confession, I didn't realize until well into adulthood that the joke in this song is that the mom is kissing the dad dressed up as Santa Claus. (I also realized, around that same time, that the Target logo is actually a target. Yeah.) But anyway, it's a stupid song. Because even if the Santa is really the mom's husband, why would she be getting off on Santa? And it goes farther than kissing. The kid also saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus. And the idea of a kid thinking his mom is unfaithful to his dad, and that Santa Claus is some kind of adulterer, is upsetting to me.

"The Christmas Shoes": This is the one where the guy is in the store on Christmas Eve, and some kid comes in wanting to buy some shoes for his dying mother. And the kid doesn't have enough money for the shoes that ... hold on, choking up here ... his mom will wear to meet Jesus that night. His mom is dying. On Christmas Eve. Why would anybody write such a song? WHY?! This song is so emotionally manipulative, it's like the Jodi Picoult novel of holiday songs.

"Domenick the Donkey": Now, I only recently heard this song, which was originally written in 1960. It's about a donkey that helps pull Santa's sleigh in Italy, because the reindeer can't climb the steep hills there. If you've never heard it, and you want to, click here. I guess what bothers me is the cheesy Italian-style musical riffs, which sound like something from a pizza commercial. This song makes me glad I'm only half Italian.

Do you guys have any contributions to my list?

Put on your yarmulke, it's time for Hanukkah!

I don't want my blog to become too Christmas-y. Although Christmas is the holiday I celebrate, I'm more of a "Happy Holidays" than a "Merry Christmas" kind of person. I took enough of those weird college courses that taught nebulous, unattainable ideals about diversity to know that we have to celebrate all people. But, you know, not single them out. Or point out how we're different. But don't say we're all the same, either! Appreciate differences but make everyone feel welcome. It's not a melting pot, it's a stew. Or something.

My point is, what the hell were half the professors at my college talking about? They needed a giant dose of the real world to get them to shut their traps

Oh, I mean my point was, yesterday I went to a Hanukkah party! It was hosted by my friend and training partner, Amy.

My contribution to the party was cookies. I considered making something fancy from the cookie runway, but I decided to go with the classic Toll House instead. But I wanted to put blue M&Ms in them for Hanukkah. Target only had the red and green Christmas M&Ms, so I had to go to two other stores to find blue ones. I finally ended up at Party City, where a small 7-oz bag of all blue M&Ms cost $5.99. The M&M-Mars company sure isn't being fair to our Jewish brothers and sisters. I'm thinking boycott!

Anyway, I made these cookies, which I photographed in various stages of development, a la the blog Smitten Kitchen. Here's the batter:



Here they are on the cookie sheet:


And here they are in a too-Christmas-y plastic container:

Anyway, the party was super fun, and Bill, Nathan, and I all had fun hanging out out with our various demographically-segregated groups. You know what I mean? At parties, it's always the woman in one room, the men in another, and the kids somewhere running around in packs together. Which is a phenomenon I kind of love, because I hang out with a man and a child all the time, but I don't always get to hang out with other women.

But I don't have pictures of any people at the party, because sometimes I don't know if random strangers want pictures of themselves and their kids on the Internet. You really have to think about the dangers of this kind of widespread photo distribution when you write the 23,592nd most popular blog on the Internet.

So, no pictures of people. But I did take pictures of latkes!

First off, this cute latke plate:



And here are the latkes:


So, as you can see, there were actually two different latke plates, because there were a lot of latkes. And I ate most of them, I think. People, it is hash browns (good) fried (good) into pancakes (good). And the dips are applesauce, which provides the sweet/savory combination I love (the one behind my future invention, chocolate-dipped bleu cheese), and sour cream (which should be put in a pool so we can swim in it).

After dinner the hosts lit the menorahs:


Those cookies in the background are not from the Jewish culture; they are actually the Italian pizzelles. Because, you know, diversity.

Then we all ate the traditional Hanukkah red velvet cupcakes. And also my cookies got totally eaten up, which is good because I admit that I feel really insecure when I make something for a party or potluck and it doesn't get eaten.

After that I hung out with the other moms and complained about various people we know in the community. I believe in Yiddish this is known as kvetching.

And then my little family dragged our overtired, latke-filled selves back out in the cold, warmed by the afterglow of a pleasant evening with friends.

No animals were harmed in the writing of this post

First off, did you see I'm (crazy and) doing NaBloPoMo for December? The theme is Zeitgeist, which is kind of a word I hate. As a refresher for me, I looked up zeitgeist on dictionary.com:


Anyway, I don't think I'll have to go out of my way to capture the spirit of the times, because doesn't this blog always capture the spirit of my times? I'm not sure what that spirit is, though. Bitterness? Cynicism?

So, since I will be traveling this month, some of the December posts will be from the iPad. And since I don't have the external keyboard for it (Christmas gift idea!), I'll be using the built-in keypad, and my posts will probably be something like:

im no a fcuking train with a 3yo please klil me whre the hll is the period kye on thsi tinhg

And speaking of NaBloPoMo, I finally figured out how to register myself on the blogrolls. It turns out the whole "hover over the tab" thing doesn't work with Firefox. So I did it in Internet Explorer ... et voila! I am now on their blogroll, and I'm hoping I get a few visitors from the NaBloPoMo site. Because right now my blog is ranked #23,592 on Technorati, and I think I can get up to #23,591! Take that, Bob's Poodle Blog! Same Old Shannon FTW!

Okay, enough housekeeping. (Isn't that what people always say in college courses and meetings?) I'm drawing a line.

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The main subject of this post is my trip to the zoo yesterday!

I went with Katie, of marathon-running, musical-loving fame, to Brookfield Zoo's Holiday Magic! That's when the zoo gets all lit-up with pretty holiday lights and Christmas trees. And remember how it was snowing yesterday, and how I dropped something heavy on my foot the day before that? Well, cold weather, adverse driving conditions, and injuries weren't going to stop us from going to see a light display that blinks in coordination with a continuous loop of "Feliz Navidad."

So nobody is allowed to call me a wuss or a Californian ever again.

Now, of course we wouldn't start our zoo trip by seeing some actual animals. First we rode the carousel!

That animal he's riding is called a Barbarusa. I called it a purse hook.

Katie picked the more mainstream penguin. I remember she had penguin pajama bottoms when she slept over at my old house, back when I was young and fun and we started the tradition of wearing hats while drunk.

Next stop: The Overpriced Kiddie Train! But this is a really cute photo, right?

And then we went to see the Great Bear Wilderness, which I don't have any photos of, but here's a picture of us in a Three Polar Bear Open Sleigh.

You can't actually see the polar bears.

Blah, blah, blah Katie with the Abominable Snowman:

Best. Picture. Ever.

In the spirit of the holidays, Nathan wanted to paint himself up like The Flash.


Yadda, yadda, yadda they had a neat model train set. (You can see why I'm not a scrapbooker.)

Also note that he is tearing off his coat, because he does that 3 seconds after he gets indoors.

And that was our trip to the zoo. And not one of those pictures featured an actual animal. Oh well, most of them were in their indoor hidden enclaves, because who would be dumb enough to be outdoors in weather like that?