Go away.

I'm sicking of seeing this face everytime I log into my Yahoo mail.

The trees are stripped bare of all they wear, What do I care.

Well, tickets for the Houston U2 concert in October went on sale Saturday. The concert is on the 28th, which is two weeks and three days after our baby's due date. Clearly, I cannot go. At first I didn't care. Jeremy and I are going to the Chicago concert in May, so I was pretty happy that I get to go to at least one. The thing is-- Jeremy and I have seat tickets for Chicago, but for Houston, Jeremy wanted to get floor tickets so that he could get up nice and close. Well, on Saturday, Jeremy went to stand in line at Randalls in Spring to try and get tickets, and he had me stay at home and try and get tickets online. Surprisingly enough, we were both able to get general admission tickets for the concert. Completely forgetting that I wasn't gonna get to go, I go so excited that we actually got tickets... and then I realized... oh yeah. So, Jeremy, Andrew, Trent and Jenna get to go instead. I know that by then I'll have a baby and I won't care about the concert as much, but for now I'm a little depressed. Jeremy and I were talking about it and we decided that instead of holding the whole "I was in labor for ____ hours with you!!!" over our kid's head, I will be able to hold the whole "you made me miss a U2 concert!!!" thing over his head. It will be great. Is it healthy that I'm already thinking of ways to make my kid feel guilty? Probably not, but it helps me pass the time.

"We figured there was too much happiness here for just the two of us, so we figured the next logical step was to have us a critter."

Man, I am SO pregnant.

It's been pretty weird for both me and Jeremy because it still seems very abstract. I mean, I haven't been to the doctor yet, and it will be two more weeks until we get to see the first ultrasound (but amazingly enough I believe we will be able to hear the baby's heart beat at that first appointment. Un-be-lievable.) But until then, all we have to remind us that I am pregnant are annoying, but welcome pregnancy symptoms. The feeling I get several times a day that I need to eat or I'll hurl. The fatigue I feel after doing something as easy as washing dishes. The craziness (last night I almost put this

on my toothbrush instead of this

The emotions (weeping like a baby after the "Say Something" episode because Luke and Lorelai broke up-- which, to be honest, would have made me cry anyway, but normally would have produced only a few tears.)

And ALWAYS with the PEEING!!

Anyhow, I am pregnant and although I really don't feel so great most of the day, it's really the most amazing thing that has every happened to me. To think that God is using me as an instrument to create a person...

Here's what Parenting.com says about my baby this week:

"If you could see your baby now, you'd be able to make out her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and her upper lip. She's approximately three-quarters of an inch long from top to bottom, and her brain, spinal cord, heart, kidneys, liver, and stomach have begun to take shape. The aortic and pulmonary valves are distinctly present in the heart, which has now divided into right and left chambers and gallops at twice your rate (about 150 times a minute). She has distinct, slightly webbed fingers and toes and see-through skin."

(Boy, Lucy. That's amazing.)

So, everyday I am reminded constantly of a miracle occuring in my body.

Thought you ought to know.

Well, what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today.

When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn't imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.

The fairer sex, but not the fairest

I don't understand. How is it that women can complain about men leaving the toilet seat up, but guys can't get upset about women not putting the toilet seat up when they're through using the restroom? I mean, it's bad enough that men have to touch the toilet seat to lift it and then have to touch it again to put it back down. Men, I insist that you start complaining about the inconsideration of woman. It's your turn to condescendingly say "Is it really that hard to lift the seat back up? Hmmmm??"

On my tombstone I want it to read " Amy hit the atmosphere, she caught herself a rocket ride out of this gutter."

Mustard? Don't let's be silly.

Oh, cruel fate!

Some girls look really pretty when they sleep.





And then there's me.

A man for all seasons.

(Per RvsB's request)

My evil plots are so unused and wasted.

As you well know or may have guessed, my Christmas gift to my grandmother (known to most as "Meemaw" and to some as "Cheetah Juanita") is a life-size cardboard cutout of our president (I'm typing this with the confidence that Meemaw will not somehow gain access to the internet before Christmas, and if she does that she will not stumble across Hello Please.) I made the purchase on Saturday, and decided to get as much use out of it as possible before having to hand it over to the old broad. Yesterday I got Cardboard George out of the trunk of my car, folded him out, walk up to the door of my apartment, knocked on the door, put Cardboard George in front of the door, and moved to the side. I think I really freaked Jeremy out (success!!) Then we moved him into the living room while we watched a movie (of course we turned Cardboard George so he could watch the movie as well.) After the movie, Jeremy went to the bathroom, returned and on seeing Cardboard George was startled once again. He then decided Cardboard George must lay flat on the guest bed, so that he would not make Jeremy wet his pants when he wakes up in the morning and goes into the living room. Now I am tempted to place Cardboard George in places that would really freak Jeremy out: in our entrance way for when he comes home, outside of the bathroom door for when he gets through going potty, on his side of the bed when he wakes up... Oh the possibilities! But I definitely have reservations about doing this. The first and obvious one being that he can do the same thing to me and it would scare the froop out of me. The second one being that it is indeed Christmas time-- and I gotta be good. Blast.

I love making up words like "froop".

I also love Christmas music; however, I left my Christmas CDs in Andrea's car, so I am forced to listen to "Sunny, 99.1 FM-- playing constant Christmas music until Christmas night!" The downside of this is that I sometimes have to be subjected to Christmas renditions that should not exist, such as Elton John's "White Christmas" and John Mellencamp's "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" (shudder.)

Curiouser and curiouser.

Last night, as Jeremy and I were about to go to sleep, Jeremy said "Welp, I guess I'll see you in my dreams" to which he added "you'll probably be wearing a blue hat and a red shirt and a blue skirt, probably" (because he was tired and that is the sort of thing crazy people say when they're tired.) I then replied to him "You'll probably be wearing a yellow hat in my dream" to which he replied "and a monkey?" to which I replied "yes, and his name will be... " to which he interrupted "George."

Well, that wasn't as pointless as it seems. After I thought about that I thought "why did people call george's owner "the man with the yellow hat?" Did they not realize he was all dressed in yellow? Why not "the man dressed in yellow" or "the man in yellow"? Sure, call this guy "the man with the yellow hat"

But not this guy.

Happy Christmas, Henri.

He's just so happy it's Christmas time.

The finest farewell there ever was.

Something amazing.

Hello please. As you may have noticed, there has been somewhat of a draught in my blogging. I'll just be honest with you. I only want to write what I feel someone else will want to read. Like a blog about what I drink every single morning or a blog about toads crossing a busy highway (AUGHHHH!!)* But I have not been feeling inspired lately, or "blogspired", if you will.

I'm in a blog slump.
a frog grump.
a dog rump.


(* a little Ernest allusion for my siblings)

Lootin' always be a good time.

Jeremy and I went out to eat tonight. We ate at Pappasitos.



Their salsa wasn't very good.



However, if you look closely, toward the top right, you will see a little man in my salsa. He's screaming.



About these chips, Jeremy said "these taste like a movie theater. " I tasted them expecting him to be crazy, but it was true. These chips tasted like a movie theater.



I got Flautas. They were good.



Jeremy got beef enchiladas.



He did not think they were so good.



We both had Dr. Pepper to drink.



It was quite good.



We had to put salt down to let our Dr. Pepper's know who was boss.



I had refried beans, and Jeremy had black beans. At one point he attempted to steal my beans.



So, I made him pay for supper.



Saul was our waiter.



I wanted to take Saul's picture, but Jeremy said I was going overboard.

Anyhow, this is what he looked like.

Common Potatoes.

Ducks are funny. They waddle. They quack. They have two legs with webbed feet. There are few things that make me happier than seeing a duck upside down in the water. Cat's are funny too, but in a different way. Actually, I don't know why cat's are funny. Somewhere along the way, Andrew made them funny for me.

Roaches are not funny. I hate to be one of those girly girls who can't handle killing insects on her own, but I suppose I am. Late last night, long after Jeremy fell asleep, I went into the kitchen to get some water. Then I saw him. Not Jeremy, a roach. My desire to ingore him and not have to kill him myself was strong, but my desire to not have a roach in my kitchen was even stronger. I grabbed some roach spray and did my thing. I was completely terrified, I squealed the whole time, but I did it. Then the worst part: picking it up. Glugch. (That was his name.) I grabbed a bunch of napkins, picked him up and dumped him in the trashcan. Then I went to bed and for ten minutes had the creeping suspicion that a roach was going to crawl up my leg. Well, I know I was pretty girly about it, but I killed that roach. I'm not girly about lizards and spiders, so there! (I've decided to end all my blogs with "so there." So there!)

My Bloody Valentine.

This is a screen shot from MY favorite Itchy & Scratchy episode. Drew think's it's second best, but I disagree.

It's Valentine's Day, and Scratchy has given Itchy a Valentine shaped like a heart that says "I love you." Itchy is touched, but feels bad because he did not have a card to give Scratchy. So, logically, Itchy rips Scratchy's heart out and gives it to him. Scratchy is touched! He takes his heart home and sets it atop a shelf and looks at it lovingly. Then Scratchy sits down and reads the paper. After reading the headline, he screams and frantically tries to grab his heart off the shelf, but it's too late.

So there.

Happy Birthday, Hello Please!

Yes, you heard right. Today Hello Please is 1 year old!

In that 1 year, Hello Please as accumulated 93 blogs. 93! Count 'em!

Today I ask that you all honor Hello Please by following your sentences with "please."

Observe:

"Hello, please."

"How are you, please?"

"Go away, please."

Do you think you guys can manage that?

Thank you, please.





First blog EVER:

Oct. 10, 2003

"Plastic pearls?? Whaaaat????"

Oh Snap!

Jeremy is in bed, so that means I am up all by myself. It's quite sad, really. I don't want to go to bed because it's only 11:32. I was trying to think of something to post. Then I decided I would measure my arm span-- fingertip to fingertip. Then something bad happened. I accidentally let go of the measuring tape, and it sped back to the base and slit my finger on the way. I post this picture as proof. You can see it, there, on my ring finger, just below the middle of the finger. That has never happened to me and I hope it never happens again. So I am going to try again. I have decided that I cannot do it alone. I must wake up Jeremy. He grunts and I take it as "go away". I guess you'll have to live without knowing my armspan. I can tell you how long my leg is though. It's about 43 inches from the bottom of my foot to my hip!!!! Whoa!

Grace, thy name is Amy.

I'm starting to notice that my clumsiness isn't decreasing as I get older. I had hoped that it would, but if anything, it has increased. I have never really seen myself as a clumsy girl, but it seems that every day I get scratched or bruised because of my carelessness. Someday, I hope to get pregnant, and I'm starting to get a little nervous for my future child as he/she abides in my womb. I guess the reason I am so scared about this is because...hey, i've had these long arms for a long time, and I am constantly scraping them on tables, counters and bookshelves. When I get pregnant, I will have a large ball of baby up front. ! . Maybe I should get some sort of body armor when I get pregnant?

By the way, as a testiment to my clumsiness, I was discussing this matter with Hannah at McAlister's Deli. I said "Hannah, I'm just so clumsy!" and as I said "clumsy," (I was talking with my hands, apparently) I knocked the table number off the table.