Sleeping Hog

I caught a cold. Bah.

I was already sleeping 8-10hrs easily a night through this pregnancy. And taking 2-3hr naps in the weekends when I can. With this bug, I slept 10hrs the night before, took a 5hr nap yesterday, and slept 12hrs last night. Without medication. On top of that, I dreamt that I was sleeping last night. Yep. I dreamt that I was sleeping while I was sleeping. I was having a massage in my dream and I fell asleep in the dream. This is getting ridiculous.

The good thing is that I think I got over this bug with all the rest I got. My doctor was surprised when I told her I had no problem sleeping. On the contrary, I am sleeping more than ever. Apparently when women get this big in pregnancy, sleeping is problematic. I don’t know what they are talking about.

My mom said I was an easy baby cos I slept pretty much all the time. I popped out, cried for a minute, then fell asleep.

God, I hope my daughter gets my sleeping gene.

When the groove is dead and gone

I’ve been wanting to write a post about what Michael Jackson meant to me. And then I decided against it, because what can I really say that could even be remotely substantial to someone who isn’t a fan? And what is fan-dom anyway? Being a fan of a celebrity just conjures up thoughts of silliness, unimportantness, distraction in face of news that really matter, like wars, like poverty, like global warming, like [insert topic that actually cause suffering and kill people].

And it is. It’s entertainment. It’s distraction from issues in the world that “matters”. MJ is just a celebrity, yadda yadda yadda…but he was MY favorite celebrity. Hence this post. I think people don’t put enough value on entertainment. And I’m probably being absolutely biased here, but I draw a line between insipid, brain-cell killing entertainment (re: Anna Nicole Smith, Paris Hilton, et al) and inspiring entertainment. Michael Jackson was enormously talented, that we all know. But, to me personally, I have had many many many hours of joy just listening to the music and watching him dance and being that magical, eccentric, out of this world guy. And I think that counts for something in my life. While he hasn’t released anything recently, there was always the potential future album or future performances to maybe look forward to. And now that’s gone. That bit of entertainment in my life.

I was that screaming teenager, camped out outside Raffles Hotel when he was in Singapore for the HIStory tour (yes! I did that! And I enjoyed every minute of it! AND, I was in the front row, thanks to, and with, 3 of my awesome MJ-fan friends, who remain friends today…eat that!). Unlike most people who are now professing to be a fan of MJ after his death, where they seemed to solely concentrate on anything Bad album and prior, I was never part of the Thriller mania days, or even the Bad era. I was too young. I only became a fan after my brother took me to watch his Dangerous concert in Singapore in August 1993. And then I started to pick up him albums and watch his videos. And that’s when it all began. Hence, I absolutely loved the Dangerous and HIStory albums, because that’s where I commenced my interest in MJ. People don’t seem to give them enough credit. But I suspect those songs will be re-discovered and given their due appreciation in due time.

I can’t explain why the 12-year old me was SO taken with MJ. After all, that was the time where the ugly allegations of child molestation first started to surface (p.s. I never for once believed he did. I don’t know how I could stay a fan if he really was. But all signs, to me, and believe me, I’ve read tons and seen tons as a fan, points to innocent). That was the time where people started to turn away from MJ, where his appearance was more often than not described as weird, or freakish. And yet, it was the start of my fan-dom. Upon hindsight, it could have been because at that age, I had yet to be impacted by other people’s judgment. I wasn’t a kid that was at all concerned about being “cool” (I was the nerd in glasses and braces and studied all the time…being cool really wasn’t a priority) or thinking what other people thought. All I knew was that I really REALLY enjoyed listening to his songs and I was really REALLY fascinated by the way he danced. And perhaps, his a-sexuality, that gentleness, that lack of machismo, was non-threatening to this young girl. Regardless of the reason, I was taken by him. I’d watch interviews with him and think he was the sweetest person ever. So cute. So magical. Where people saw freak, I, and millions of other fans, saw only that big amazing smile, beautiful eyes, and that all-encompassing talent.

As time passed, it became harder and harder to be his fan, particularly since he really wasn’t releasing much creatively. Invincible was, to me, an okay album, awesome by any one else’s standard, but not in the same level as the prior albums were to me. Plus, he wasn’t really promoting anything, which I took as a good sign actually (I loved that the world barely knew what his children looked like and he gave them some privacy to grow up in. I question how kids like Suri Cruise and Shiloh and the gazillion other Brangelina kids could ever grow up normally while having cameras shoved in their faces all the time and being on magazine covers since they were babies. It’s concerning that suddenly, after his death, there are all these new picture of his kids splashed all over the news). Naturally, the fanatical fandom lost my interest as I grew up.

Still, the music never stopped captivating me. As I got older, my appreciation of his music took on new meaning. I’d hear an MJ song I haven’t heard in a while (remember, in my teen years, his songs were pretty much all I’d listen to on my walkman, then discman) and go WHOAH! That’s friggin’ AWESOME! For example, I only recently started to really really like Off The Wall, which was too “disco-y” (I don’t know how else to describe it) for me when I was a teen. But given my exposure to soul/disco music in the NYC party scene, I heard new things in that album I never noticed before. And that is the genius of MJ’s music. And sadly, only after his death, people are discovering the same thing and having that WHOAH! moment. I’ve been hearing MJ’s music everywhere here over the weekend. People were blasting his music from their cars. Radio and TV had marathon MJ days all weekend. And it’s still amazing to me just how much good music he made. I find it a shame that it took his death for people to come out of the woodwork and finally say, without BS reference to unfounded allegations and plastic surgery etc, that he made GREAT music and he was a GREAT performer.

So I don’t know what the point of this post really is. I just wanted to write something to convey how someone I didn’t know personally had given me joy in my life, I guess. And how sorry I feel that he is gone. I won’t call this grief, because how I feel is obviously nowhere near how one would feel when someone near and dear passes. But there’s definitely that vague part of my heart that feels strangely hallow, because that person who had given me much joy and entertainment in my teen years and beyond is now gone.

Week 33

Your pregnancy: 33 weeks

How your baby’s growing:
This week your baby weighs a little over 4 pounds (heft a pineapple) and has passed the 17-inch mark. He’s rapidly losing that wrinkled, alien look and his skeleton is hardening. The bones in his skull aren’t fused together, which allows them to move and slightly overlap, thus making it easier for him to fit through the birth canal. (The pressure on the head during birth is so intense that many babies are born with a conehead-like appearance.) These bones don’t entirely fuse until early adulthood, so they can grow as his brain and other tissue expands during infancy and childhood.

I missed the last 2 week update. At 32nd week, I actually felt no different than I did at the 30th week. At the 32nd week, Michael Jackson died. I’ll do a separate, probably rambling post, about why that makes me sad.

Now I’m at 33 weeks. That’s more than 8-months. Wow. There have definitely been changes in the last 2 weeks. It’s the little things. Like noticing that, after I leaned over the sink, the bottom half of my (actually Pat’s, because none of my clothes fit anymore) T-shirt is soaked with water…only FIFTEEN minutes after the fact (because I no longer see the bottom half of anything, geddit? geddit?). And barely being able to walk up a flight of stairs from the subway. Or, feeling actual ANGLES in my belly. It’s not just movements I feel now. I feel actual ELBOWS or KNEES…ANGLES poking my belly. The movements feel more blatantly like a human being rotating around. And feeling tired. Really tired. I spent all of Sunday just laying in bed and watching a Weeds marathon. I was in a fog on Monday. By 3pm yesterday, I had to leave work early because I felt ready to collapse, literally, on my office table. I needed a nap sooo badly (even having a full 8-hour sleep the night before) I wanted to cry. My back started to ache and I was almost crawling on the ground to get home and I just passed out for an hour the moment I got in. And then I felt like a new person.

I have also been having more and more of the Braxton Hicks contractions. Which kinda totally freak me out about the whole child birth thing because they can take my breath away sometimes. And they aren’t even hurting right now! I have enrolled my dear friend Liz to be my doula at birth. And I’m hoping the birthing classes will help ease some nerves. As well as my good friend Epidural, because I already know we are gonna be the best of buddies.

The husband is in Singapore for 2.5 weeks. Many people seem to think that’s blasphemy, to leave your poor 8-month pregnant wife alone all by herself??. Sure, I have given him shit about it, but to be honest, I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m glad he’s having fun doing his own thing, quenching the travel-bug thirst for 2.5 of the 10 weeks of summer vacation he has (damn you, teachers!), and enjoying the freedom of movement before our lives change completely f-o-r-e-v-e-r. He’ll be home a week before full term (36 weeks). I have friends who live near me and who I can 100% rely on to help if I need to. And really, what are the chances of popping early? It happens, sure, but we can’t live our lives fearful of the rare chances. In any case, if Baby Chansidine actually pops early before Papa Patty returns, it’ll be his to miss, nothing on me…*evil laugh*.

On my end, I am relishing in the fact that this will probably be the last time in a looooong while that I can have sweet solitude. And I am REALLY enjoying having the WHOLE BED TO MYSELF. Sweet sweet sleep! Because cuddling is not what it used to be when you have a watermelon stuck a mile in front of you…and it’s summertime.

*SIGH*

iglovemj

State of Shock

I don’t really know what to say. Michael Jackson was so much part of my teen years growing up. He brought so much joy to me with his music, his dance, his beautiful personality. I’ve been a fervant supporter of his when people had doubts. He had talent like no other.

I’m at a lost for words.

Michael, you were always my King of Pop.

Weeds

I’m thoroughly enjoying the 2nd season of Weeds (yes, I know, that’s so 3 seasons ago. I like watching shows late!). Particularly the intro song, which I had always loved, but they now get various artists to sing.

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All go to the university,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
And there’s doctors and there’s lawyers
And business executives,
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf-course,
And drink their Martini dry,
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school.
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
And they all get put in boxes
And they all come out the same.

And the boys go into business,
And marry, and raise a family,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

They all look just the same.
The suburbanites in America.
Singaporeans.
The hipsters in Williamsburg.
The breeders in Park Slope.
The hippies in San Francisco.
They all look just the same.

The O.B.

The Original Belly.

kellybelly

Found from the archives. Taken in April 2004. No, I wasn’t pregnant back then. Believe you me, even having a cat, let alone a baby, was farrrr from my mind back then! Someone just liked to call me Kelly Belly as a nickname. How things have ch-ch-changed!

It’s A Slow Day At Work…

…when I find this so funny:

heran

“Her” was the start of a company name
“Anal” was the start of “Analyst”

Just Because

Michael’s awesome.

“It’s Very Hip To Be On The Internet Right Now”

Fascinating! A time when the Internet was “something called the internet”.

I particularly like the 4 pound laptop WITH the CD-ROM player and the pager.