Tag Archives: Oirish Tirsday

Oh yeah… it’s a holiday today, isn’t it?


No Oirish Tirsday this week. Sniffle. Socks has her near and dear ones gathered around. I plan to get a bit tipsy and then ring my dad – sis rang me before I had much booze on board. Must have been a change for her…

I’ve had a muscle jumping in my right knee all day. It makes me CRAZY. I went nutso a few hours ago and added to the bruises by beating my own leg in an attempt to make it stop. Yes, I’m one of those people who goes insane when hiccups last more than, oh, say, 2 minutes.

For those who would like a few Thanksgiving tunes, my hubby loves to do a theme radio show and of course, toikey is the one tonight. My second plug… Go to radio23.org channel A, he’s live right now on the air and will be for the next two hours. You’ll get to hear an Irishman with an American accent – its a bit of fun. XE

Socks has a… prune?


Right, so it has come to my attention that new readers have no idea why on earth I’m talking about socks that have olives and prunes, and heartbeats!

Short version: Socks is the nickname of my best friend, and she is having her first baby. Since I can’t be there with her, I’m chronicling her journey on my blog.

Long story: go here, then here, and the rest are my weekly updates: one, two, three, and four. That will catch you up to now!


Socks had another doctor appointment this week. Doc couldn’t hear the heartbeat at first so did another ultrasound, all is good. Baby Prune had…

Ok, no, I can’t call it a prune. I just can’t. Instead, I’m going to share the nickname Socks has started using in her head: Button. I love it! When she told me her secret baby name, I sang a little bit of ‘Button, button, who’s got the button’ and made myself cry. Keerist, I’m not even the pregnant one.

Baby Button (oh, that’s better, isn’t it?) had its back to the ‘camera’ so the picture wasn’t clear. The heartbeat was visible, though, and then it did a little jump! “How awesome!”

She’s officially due June 15th. She liked the 14th better, because every older person they told immediately said, ‘Oh, Flag Day.’ Socks conjectures that Flag Day used to be a big deal at one time, because we youngins wouldn’t have a clue when it is.

You’ll be glad to know Socks is HIV and STD free, and she doesn’t have the gene for Cystic Fibrosis, so Bear doesn’t even need to be tested for it; it’s one of those diseases that needs two carriers to be passed on. Oh, she’s also not anaemic, and doesn’t have to take an iron supplement. We think it is because she eats so well and would rather get her vitamins the natural way than in a pill.

She has switched from oatmeal and yoghurt in the mornings to Wheat Chex. I found this interesting as a few weeks ago she was talking about something called ‘muddy buddies‘ on FB. It was a craving thing, and that got her started on Wheat Chex for brekky. She knows what she needs! She says that since she has always listened to her body, eating now may be easier for her. She’s still not very pukey, unlike her whole family…

…which brings me to The Quote Of The Week, a new feature in my Socks update. (Those of you who watch Harry Hill’s TV Burp, please read this new title in his voice, complete with background singers.)

“I don’t know what all you pregnant women are bitching about. This pregnancy thing is a breeeeeeeze!”

After I got done laughing my hole off, she asked that I make sure the sarcasm was clear.

She’s only gained one pound (.45 kilos), but Bear told her that she’s ‘pooched out a little.’ Button is about 1.5 inches (3.81cm) and looks more baby-shaped. “A little like an alien, but not lizardy.” Button is growing tooth-buds, knees and ankles. Socks said the book tells her that every body part and organ are pretty much formed, and from here on Button nearly doubles in size every week. Important juices are being made in the stomach and kidneys, and if it is going to be a boy, this is when the testosterone starts flowing.

Bear still hasn’t come to grips with what is going on inside his wife. She mentioned fingernails to him and he started fanning himself as if he was going to faint. Then he got all panicky over trying to figure out how he was going to teach his child ‘life lessons.’ He wants to teach the important things, without screwing the kid up. Good luck, Bear!

Oh! I nearly forgot. The doc’s office gave her her first bag of free ‘new baby!’ samples and coupons. It was a culture-shock moment for Socks. Coupons, adverts for portraits, samples of … nursing pads? Bottle inserts specifically for storing breast milk? An itty-bitty diaper with Pooh Bear on it? She is “rallying against the typical baby bullshit” and doesn’t want this rubbish. The sheer amount of strollers for sale blows her away. There’s a ‘micro movement monitor’ that will let you know if the kid so much as farts in its sleep. Why would anyone want that? When are you supposed to sleep yourself??? Bear thinks the kid just needs a rag for its face and one for its arse, which is a bit naive, but apparently it is just crazy-mad the amount of marketing that is being directed their way now.

The worst, by far, are the breast pumps. There is a version called a double pump. Yes, that’s right, a milking machine. Just walk into your stall and stand there with both tits in it until Farmer John lets you out to pasture. Fuck off! She says one at a time is okay, but both? Hell no, she’s not a damn cow. There’s even a double pump you can walk around in while wearing it. Good lord, just what you want to see in Wal-mart. (I’m freaked out by the whole idea of breast feeding, BTW. Fine for you, but the idea of me doing that makes me want to scream.)

Okay! Long one today, no wonder I put it off so long. Oh, I’ve also been asked why I named her Socks. I came up with the name years ago, because she loves long, colourful socks – striped socks, argyle socks, even toe socks – and she always, always, wore peep-toe shoes to show them off. She doesn’t always wear peep-toe anymore, but she’s made herself sleeves out of socks to wear with short-sleeve shirts. The obstetric nurse loved them, too. So there’s why she is Socks. (She promised me pics of her in the sock-sleeves. Hint hint)

Oh. I’m totally, utterly, jealous of her new Vibram FiveFingers toe shoes. In red.

Socks has a medium green olive!


I know, what happened to the fruit? The similes are getting stranger and stranger.

I have to admit in advance that I somehow drank quite a bit on Oirish Tirsday. So my notes are pretty illegible, by page…four? If i wrote down that much, it seems I thought everything was funny as hell, too. But I’m going to start off with something that really shocked me.

It seems US schools are no longer teaching kids how to write in cursive: just printing. Socks learned this about three years ago, I learned it on Tirsday. WTF? Why on earth not? I suppose there’s an argument that we type more than print, and print more than write, but to not even teach it anymore seems a bit premature. And as Socks pointed out, silly. How does someone have a signature without cursive? How do you teach someone that bit of originality that says that you are you, if they can’t even hook their letters together? Are we moving into thumbprints or retinal scans? Will the postal delivery or UPS/FedEx person have a filthy, beaten up eyeball scanner instead of those disgusting electronic signature pads? Seriously, I’ve never seen one that didn’t look encrusted in other people’s hand sweat and coffee that the driver spilled. I really don’t like the idea of sticking my face onto something similar. And I’m not even germ-phobic. Or has the US moved on in the last 6 years and those pads are already obsolete?

I still remember learning to write ‘properly.’ I remember because I got really frustrated, to the point of tears, over the fact I couldn’t make a capital ‘O’ perfectly. Yes, I was an anal-retentive, perfectionist little smart ass even then. I also remember learning metric and thinking it made a lot more sense, another teaching they stopped ages ago. Y’all must really think kids are stupid over there. Anyhow; no cursive. We’re doomed.

Socks and I talked about holidays, because she’s got family back home that want her to come. This has stirred up a shitstorm of conflict for her: she’s starting a family, and the holidays are all about family, and since she’s awash in hormones she wants to have her own, relaxing holidays – and also have a big soppy family thing with all those she loves. Except family things have their own quirks, don’t they? Some good, some bad. I don’t envy her, I’ve only ever had a few around me for holidays and it’s no different here. I’d get completely weirded out by dozens of cousins and baskets of babies and oodles of elderly.

She likes Thanksgiving best anyway, and is doing that at her place this year. Yay!

Which brings me neatly into talking about food. We talked about how she will make a new recipe, love it, write it out and put it into her book…and never cook it again. Makes me ask now: what about Thanksgiving? Isn’t it a comfort to have the same meal every year, with perhaps a new dessert or two? Or is it only the spinach dip in the pumpernickel bowl that gets a repeat performance? I know Bear has made the turkey recently and I forget the secret… brined? This week she made gnocchi with kale and butternut squash. Unfortunately the sight of the packaged gnocchi slumping into the pan inspired a bout of yarking, so it was a no-go. Bear whipped up spaetzle and cabbage for her, aw. Apparently for the next day’s lunch, replacing the slimy gnocchi with cous-cous worked. I should offer them a guest spot on the blog to tell about what they cook. I can’t write about these things because a) I’m a picky eater b) they don’t sell most of the interesting ingredients here c) if they did sell it, I couldn’t afford it.

Oh, we learned about kale chips. If I can find kale, I’ll make them and let ya know. But they get massive thumbs up from Socks, Bear, and Miss Fierce.

So let’s see, the Olive Garden inside Socks has fully developed eyes, but they are fused shut like a kitten’s. There’s fingers and toes, too – but the special part of this week is that it is Gonad Week! That’s right, the bits are becoming bits. But at this point, Baby Olive can still go either direction. Bear apparently gets a little ‘grossed out by what’s happening inside his wife,’ the poor dear, so I’ll talk about it for her.

Otherwise, she’s eating more and better, not as exhausted or even simply tired. The hormones, however, are taking over. She says she’d slap herself if she wasn’t so happy, the way she feels about Christmas nostalgia makes her want to take a foot and shove it right up her own ass, and that she knows that she isn’t herself anymore, but it’s funny as hell.

Best quote: “Pre-baby Socks is watching pregnant Socks, and is constantly saying WTF while laughing and rolling her eyes.”

I think I’ll leave you with that one!

Socks has a (large) Raspberry!


Howdy! Oirish Tirsday was back on Thursday again, so another marathon phone call took place.

After we got my job-interview sagas out of the way, I asked how Halloween went at her place, as this is the first one she’s had there. She was tired, but manned the door for the eve.

Best Costume was won by a dad who was dressed as Bob Ross. Ya gotta love a man who picks Ross as a costume! She’d love to know, are they artists? Or was he just a quick thinker with an Afro and a palette sitting around?

Second prize went to a small boy dressed as Mario of SuperMario fame. She offered him the candy bowl and his response, said in the manner of Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons, was: “Oh. Skittles. I have not seen those for a very long time.” Poor little geek-kid. You just know he’s not going to grow out of that voice.

We also talked about how neither of us ever did a trick to anyone. Except, she said, once on her birthday she and her friends toilet-papered a house. But that doesn’t really count, because her dad drove the getaway car, and bought the TP for them to use.

So, on to the baby-growing update! She’s still in fruit stages of development, and this week BabySocks is a large raspberry. I can’t help wonder what the book is going to say when she is further along…will they be brave enough to say cantaloupe? Watermelon? Don’t tell me, Socks, I love the giggle every week when you tell me the new fruit.

Raspberry now has a head bigger than the body and looks less like a lizard. It is growing hands, knees, elbows, lips, nose, and eyelids. There’s some twitching movement, too, but nothing she can feel.

Speaking of feel, the container BabySocks is growing in is now the size of a grapefruit, but she can’t feel any bump or lump yet. Seems like you would, doesn’t it? I asked if she is in the habit of sleeping face-down, because that would probably have to change. But she doesn’t, so sleeping will still be comfy.

Socks is still nauseated, and/or has a sour stomach. Food is becoming an annoyance – not a big deal, but eating has to be thought out in advance. Things that sound really, really, good turn out to be ‘meh’ when on the plate; the happiness of mealtime is a bit lacking. Even her home-cooked mac n cheese was “Not as awesome as it sounded on paper.”

She’s still tired, too, and can see a difference when she doesn’t get enough iron in a day. Zzzzz. Bear took her on a drive through the country to look at the autumn leaves, and she slept through them all. She was hungry, out of snacks and feeling ill from lack of food. But the restaurant he had planned on stopping at was closed. She said she felt terrible that she was spoiling the day by feeling sick and sleepy and didn’t want to tell him. As usual, more worried about others than herself.

All in all, not too bad, really! When she told Bear that she felt pretty good, and was surprised given her family’s pukey history, he leaned back, hooked his thumbs in his belt, and said, “I’m a cattleman. I can pick out a good breeder.”

And she not only let him live, she laughed.

Socks has a blueberry!


I’m behind on my Baby-Socks update. Halloween got in the way!

We didn’t have our phone call until Friday, and it was short as I needed to get our Halloween costumes together. So, my update will be a bit short this week.

Socks had another ultrasound done, and got to bring home another photo. Due date is confirmed at June 14-15. Currently, the wee one is the size of a blueberry! I love the way her baby books give her fruit similes.


She was shopping for a ‘pregnancy journal’ but they weren’t very good, nothing like what she wanted. So, she bought a new Moleskine and started her own. She works on it when watching TV, until she falls asleep… she did say she’s not as tired as she was, but still much sleepier than pre-Booberry. Nausea isn’t too bad, but she gets grossed out easily – even at cartoons. No cravings, really, but she not very interested in food right now. Except bacon. Mmmm, bacon! That in itself is a bit strange as she doesn’t eat bad things like bacon very often.

Her mom is finally reacting the way she was expected to all along – going bananas! Mr Socks (Bear), who is normally very shy, is telling people about their pregnancy all the time now. He’s even having conversations with male friends about “birthing plans.” I wish I could have eavesdropped on that conversation! Bear is also making sure she gets enough iron, because she can’t take those ginormous iron horse-pills right now.

So, over all – everything is fine, baby is perfect, she feels great, and her boobs have gotten 15 years younger. Yay for perky boobies! Enjoy ’em while they last 🙂

Please meet… Socks!


Hiiii! I have to talk about a very important subject. Very!

My best friend, Socks! Here she is, as illustrated by yours truly:


Isn’t she gorgeous on the outside? Well, the inside is so stunning you’ll lose all interest in plastic TV people and shallow fictional characters. I will never be able to do her justice using mere words, or a Brushes finger painting.

But, fuck it, I like a challenge. Here’s the smallest glimpse into why I have the best best friend in the world.

She fell in love with her next door neighbour when they were both kids. She never wanted anyone else, and she never would, or had to, settle for less. They’ve been married over a decade now. He is soooooo lucky.

She’s a fab artist in a bunch of different medium. Mediums? Shit, I thought I knew how to write. Different artistic materials that you use to make artistic stuff with. She’s so good my English fails me 😀 She’s so good she could teach, and has.

She sends REAL MAIL. Not a big deal? When’s the last time you got a real letter or postcard or package? How about one that is an original painting, and tells you how fantastic you are and how much fun the sender had in the act of creating and sending it? Yeah, it’s a big deal.

So far I’ve not gotten personal, but this is: she sends me things all the bloody way over here! It costs a fortune to send silly things like Peeps, or giant candy canes, or Kraft mac n cheese to another damn country, but she does. Things I can’t get here, and I mention without thinking about it… show up on my doorstep. I live 3,000 miles away from anything I ever knew, and everyone that I’ve known longer than seven years. She sends me bits of ‘home’ so I don’t get too sad and lonely. She’s the one who realised that I might need such things in the first place.

She puts up with Oirish Tirsday; our weekly phone call, that goes on for hours. Yes, we’re both married. But some things you can only talk about to a best friend. And she listens, sooooo much better than I do. Hence her sending me prezzies from ‘home’ that I bring up in passing, and immediately forget about.

She’s funny. I get to snort laughter more on an Oirish Tirsday than I do all week.

She’s a genuinely nice person, but not a doormat. She recently had to meet someone that did horrible things to her and her family. I never, ever, would have met with this jerk. Her hubby didn’t understand why she would, either. But because she was incapable of being even the tiniest bit of an asshole, they met…and it was fine. Even, perhaps, good. Wow, babe. You are way stronger than me.

She takes care of everyone, and I mean everyone, in her life. I worry about that, that it is too much for one person to handle. But I’m one of the ones she takes care of, and I don’t want her to ever stop.

There are some, just some, of the reasons why this gal rocks my world.

We talk, obviously, a LOT. About anything. Sex? well, duh. Self-analysis? yup. Art, writing, music, food, pets, our respective menfolk, family, the occult, cannibalism, murder, and poop. Actually, I think we talk about poop more than any other single topic. Hey, it’s a never-ending source of humour!

Back in January, a new topic came up. Children, babies, having them, why and why not. Well, it wasn’t a new topic. But it hadn’t been talked about in ages, because we’d agreed that kids are oooky.

And I think I’ll leave you hanging, here, as there is sooo much more to say still.