Life Lessons for Pistachio: Don't be a Phone Stalker

On Sunday afternoon, Joshua and I were in the car talking about a certain creep totally lacking in any social graces. This particular creep happens to be the subject of many of our conversations and often said conversations end with one of us saying, “What an [INSERT UGLY AND/OR PROFANE NAME].” During the latest conversation, we wondered out loud: How do tiny little babies evolve into such cretins? Do their parents wholly fail to instruct them about common courtesy? Do they just “come by it honestly” as we say in Creek County? In short, is social retardation nature or nurture?

Although I will not begin to speculate about whether Pistachio comes by his or her future jerkiness honestly (after all, his mother is a lawyer), I believe I can say with confidence that we will do everything possible to instill in Pistachio a few manners in the fleeting hopes that one day he or she will behave with some level of decorum and/or social grace. Today is a Monday at my office, and I am already prepared to offer Pistachio his or her first life lesson in manners: Don’t be a phone stalker.

During my life, I have had my fair share of phone stalkers. I remember one quite vividly: I was in the 6th grade. He went to a local charismatic mega-church. His name sounded like a sneeze. His name was supposedly biblical-You know, one of those names that appears one (1) time in some long list in Judges in the Holy Reformed King Charles Spaniel Unified Revised Canadian Charismatic Version of the text? Although his mother may have believed his name was rooted in the Holy Word, I maintain its origin rested soundly in a sinus infection. I used to imagine the nurse standing over his mother in the delivery room. “What name will be given to this child?” she asked. His mother sneezed, and it stuck like…..well, I digress. This particular phone stalker decided he liked me, and he called my parents’ home telephone number at least twenty-five (25) times in two (2) hours. Each time, he had nothing new to report. He just wanted to see “what was going on.” I loathed him after about two (2) hours and one (1) minute. My feelings were so strong that even as I started writing this column, I shuddered and then laughed at his expense…fourteen (14) years later. The sad thing, however, is that he really was a genuinely nice young man, but after all those phone calls, the recipient thinks you are either a total stalker or moderately retarded. I suspect he was a little of both. Regardless, neither seems conducive to making a good impression on girl.

On my way to adulthood, I encountered several phone stalkers. Many seized upon modern technology (i.e. text messages, instant messages, e-mail) to compound the level of contact with me. I even had one creeper that saved all my e-mails and instant message conversations with him, particularly the last ones when I was telling him rather emphatically never to call me again. When I became a professional, I discovered that physical maturity does not necessarily weed out the teenage phone stalkers. In a professional setting, however, they up their game. First, whenever they call, it is ALWAYS an emergency, and they must speak with me directly. They are distrustful of my assistant, because after all, I admittedly do not return each and every one (1) of the thirteen (13) calls they placed to my office yesterday. It must be that she is failing to give me the message. It certainly could not be that I am absolutely not interested in hearing about how your former spouse sent you a “mean” text message about your dog after you told her that her cat looked overweight. A phone stalker never truly needs a lawyer. They need a baby-sitter.

During a moment of total stupidity on my part, I once gave a potential phone stalker (not a client, mind you) my mobile telephone number. He called me seven (7) times on Sunday afternoon to tell me that his child was throwing up at a local amusement park, and he wanted to know if I was going to hold the child’s mother accountable for his physical condition. The child ate two (2) baskets of chili cheese nachos and an entire package of cotton candy before jumping on a roller coaster in 100 degree temperatures, but phone stalker thought mom was to blame for a little upset stomach. Frankly, if the child eats all that garbage before hopping on an amusement ride, he sounds just like a chip off the old block, as we say in Creek County. Give him a few years….he’ll be calling me every fifteen (15) minutes after his baby mama gets a protective order against him for stalking. He will become one of those folks that appear on the Caller ID, and I literally cringe.

I was watching The Office last night on my laptop, and in this particular episode, Michael Scott gives his assistant, Pam, a list of excuses to give people if they call him. For example, “I’m sorry Michael can’t come to the phone. He’s at a Civil Rights Rally” or “Michael isn’t available. He’s having a colonoscopy.” I am thinking about starting my own list for phone stalkers, a list of items that might make the phone stalker feel as uncomfortable and/or astonished as I feel while on the line with them: “I’m sorry Lauren isn’t available. Her goldfish died last night, and she is taking a bereavement day.” Perhaps, “I’m sorry, Lauren is out of the office today for her annual pap smear” or “I’m sorry, Lauren had a nervous breakdown and lost her ability to hear last night because of all the stupid people that called yesterday. If you have a message for her, submit same in Braille.”

So, Pistachio, one (1) call per day is acceptable. If the call is romantic in nature and you end up being a girl, never, ever call him first. If you call, you need not text, e-mail, and IM as well, and if I catch you, I’m taking your phone away. It’s for your own good. Your mother does not want you to be a social moron.

Ok, life lesson over…..My phone is ringing. And I just got a text. Creeper.

Pistachio's Campaign Slogan.....

Ever since we learned about the impending arrival of little Pistachio Almond Allison, we have done a little bit of baby shopping. Our main purchases thus far have been the little infant one-piece body suits affectionately called "onesies." I recently found one that I knew Joshua would love: It has Darth Vader on it and says, "My Dad Rules the Galaxy." We have another that has a little pink pig on it and says, "Little Ham," and I have already told the Blog world about my green onesie with the bumble bee on the front. It says, "I'm What the Buzz is All About." Joshua found a camo onesie at Kemp's Drug in Bristow that says, "Shhhh....I'm Hiding." We even discovered a UFC onesie that says, "My Dad Can Make Your Dad Tap Out." Needless to say, Joshua feels we cannot have a child without that priceless and um, classy garment. Last week, Joshua and I started laughing about what catch phrases or slogans would be great for a onesie for Pistachio, and I thought I would ask the Blog world to submit a few suggestions. So, post your ideas! We may have to see if we can have a few of these made! I'll start......here is my slogan for Pistachio's onesie:

I am the Next American Idol!

Heifer in the Hay Ring

This is Sophie. She is an adventurous punk with a propensity for getting herself into trouble. Needless to say, she is my favorite. She is also an enthusiastic eater, trying to munch on Joshua’s pants occasionally when he goes out to feed the girls in the evening after work. She escaped one day only to make a beeline for the hay bales we had stacked just outside the fence. Joshua walked the fence multiple times, but he could not find any place where she might have escaped. I believe she saw the hay bales, thought “Jackpot!”, and decided she was going to exit her fenced enclosure. Joshua lured her safely back inside the fence...with food. Today, however, her curiosity and love of food got the better of her once again: I looked out our living room window when I woke up this morning, and I swear, I saw Sophie eating out of the hay ring. A little bit later, I looked outside and she was literally inside the hay ring. We have no idea how she managed to trap herself in the hay ring. I suspect she started leaning farther and farther in the hay ring until she squeezed herself right inside. Farmer Joshua had to go rescue our little free spirit! He received slobbery lick with her huge tongue in gratitude.....

After the rescue!

Pre-Rescue Imprisonment. Doesn't she look like trouble? Her inner monologue: "What? I meant to do this."

One Last Hurrah...

Joshua and I are slowly coming to the realization that our life is about to change, and as excited as we are about Pistachio Almond Allison, we admittedly have had a pretty sweet six and a half years of childfree spontaneity. We invite our friends and family over and act like morons playing Mario Cart and Guitar Hero on the Wii. (Emily did a lovely rendition of “Livin’ on a Prayer” just last night). We stay up late on Saturday nights to watch grown men pound one another to a bloody pulp on Pay-Per-View and then sleep late without remorse. We watch the Dallas Cowboys, eat queso, and drink….soda on Sundays during the fall. During these games, I pace and occasionally use harsh language at full volume, and one time, I was so geared up, I rode the exercise bike in front of the TV for the entire game. We sneak fast food into movie theaters to watch obnoxious actors that used to appear on Saturday Night Live and laugh hysterically without ever wondering, “Is this movie appropriate for children?” We eat exotic things like spicy stir fry with bean sprouts and never dream of baking frozen fish sticks and canned peaches to serve with it. We take off for Tulsa on a Saturday on a whim without loading our vehicle to capacity with car seats and baby gear. We run the vacuum at any time during the day, the dogs growl at every bird in the backyard, and I listen to Sirius Satellite Radio at full volume without consequence. Best of all, every living thing in our residence currently is potty-trained. In short, our early married life has been pretty sweet, and even though I know it is bound to get sweeter, it certainly has been fun while it lasted!

Joshua and I decided a few months ago that we need a vacation. After all, we haven’t been on a real vacation since well, our honeymoon. Since Joshua and I have the same birthday only five years apart, we always do something special around our big day in April, so April seemed like the perfect time for our last rendezvous before Pistachio’s world premiere, especially since my doctor is going to officially ground me around June. We knew we wanted to go some place grown-up, because frankly, the next eighteen (18) years will provide ample opportunities for our family to visit Disneyland and Seaworld. We also knew we had to go somewhere relatively cheap since we have a few major purchases to make before September. It would have to be some place fairly memorable because we know we aren’t going to be doing much vacationing for potentially a few years till Pistachio is old enough to cry with his or her face covered in blue cotton candy while we are sweating bullets in an incredibly long line to ride the Merry-Go-Round at Six Flags Over Texas in August. So, we needed someplace memorable, cheap and grown-up for the soon-to-be parents to relax and play….I mean, did we really have a choice? That’s right….Viva Las Vegas!

I teased Joshua that Las Vegas may not be quite as fun if he has to tote around the pregnant lady with a pooch belly in her Ked’s tennis shoes. He said something charming and sweet about it not being any fun without the pregnant lady, so he is continuing the trend of winning lots of brownie points with his baby mama. We are going to take things very easy: Go casual, visit the spa for a massage, sleep late, order room service, and see a few shows. Most importantly, we will be together and not at work! We made our final plans today and officially booked our hotel and flights. So, how many days until April?

The Concept Looks More Like A Reality....

Since I only have a few minutes, I thought I would relay a quick update on Pistachio Almond Allison who, as you can see, is starting to look less like a blurry blob and more like a tiny baby. We went to the doctor on Friday, and Pistachio is doing just fine. He or She is apparently quite the little wiggle worm! We think he or she is exactly 12 weeks, 3 days today. The heartrate was 157 beats per minute. In all of the pictures, Pistachio has his or her fist up by the face, so we've decided that he or she is either throwing a punch (highly likely with my child) or doing a little fist pump-Both are equally awesome explanations. For the past few weeks, if a peppy song comes on the radio like "Don't Stop Believin,'" I tell Joshua that the baby is fist pumping to the song. Well, I think I have confirmation. This child likes Journey, but really, who doesn't?