My cousin had her baby this week! She gave birth to an 8 pound something-ounce boy which she named Zacharias Joseph. I think "Zacharias" is a biblical name, or at least the original, unbastardized versions of Zachariah (which could also be biblical?) and, my favorite of the three, the greatly bastardized Zachary. Really, though, what do I know about all this, I don't read the bible and have yet to name something that's not a car. Anyway, she was in labor for twenty-four hours before she finally agreed to let them to do a c-section to extract the babe from where it had lodged itself in her cervix. I never thought I'd write a blog entry that involved my cousin's cervix. This has truly been a strange week.

Twenty-four hours of labor, though! Can you imagine? I sure can't. She kept pushing and pushing in a grand attempt to do the whole natural child-birth thing (no epidural, she said!), and then finally succombed to going under the knife when there was no other option other than to let the kid grow up- go to kindergarten, learn to drive, get married- from the tight embrace of her cervix. Here are the key differences between me and my cousin: I would never get to the point where twenty-four hours of labor had gone by before allowing my doctor to cut me open. After maybe fifteen, twenty minutes of unsuccessful pushing, I'd demand that they just get the kid out via c-section. I don't have the patience or groin muscles for that sort of thing. Furthermore, I'm planning on not only having an epidural but also having it well in advance of going into labor- like, two months-and then keep having it administered well after the kid is finally born- like, eighteen years. Also, I will not be sending text messages after I have begun the labor process. That's just craziness! I received two text messages from her while she was in the middle of all that, and I'm half-surprised that she didn't update her Facebook page during the ordeal. We are all way too connected these days.

I am super stoked to have a new baby in the family, though, and I am truly happy for my cousin. I won't be able to see little Zach Attack until Christmas, though, because Lisa lives in Virginia and is not coming "home" until the holidays. I will definitely have to make a big impression on this kid during our annual/semi-annual visits. I want him to know, and to always remember, that he's got a weirdo cousin/aunt-type-person in Illinois who's delirious with joy that he even exists.

I have been coughing like crazy lately. I wake up in the middle of the night coughing, and sometimes, during the day, I'll suddenly erupt into a fit of coughs so violent that it threatens to turn into explosive vomiting. It hasn't, yet, but there's been a few very close calls that have fortunately graduated only into very raunchy, hearty burps. The worst is when this happens at work. The very worst is when this happens at work while I'm on the phone or in mid-conversation with my boss. Ladylike!

I do know why I'm coughing so much- it's not like this is a Mystery Cough that can only be solved by a very expensive team of Ailment Detectives (i.e., doctors). You see, I have quit smoking. Just about. Here's the deal- I haven't bought a pack of smokes in over a month now, but I do still smoke occasionally (one or two a day, tops, only when peer pressure is applied). However, for all intents and purposes, I am officially considering myself a non-smoker. I think it's okay if I call myself this despite the occasional lapses. I'm only human, right? My body has certainly moved into non-smoking mode, as the cravings have all but subsided.

Furthermore, this ridiculous amount of coughing is only proof that my body is in non-smoking mode. According to several internet websites that utilize very poor citation, my cilia is growing back, and that's what's causing the coughing. Cilia is one of my favorite medical words, along with bilirubin, colitis, and coccyx. So, in comes my cilia, out goes the cough/burp/almost-vomit.

The thing about quitting smoking, though, is that you kind of feel like you're losing a friend. A shitty but somehow lovable friend who's wonderful to your face but then stabs you in the back with cancer, emphysema, and the ever-growing expense of the nicotine sin tax. There were a lot of good times with smoking, though. We went to bars together, had lingering breaks at work together, and got through long car rides together. Smoking calmed me down when human beings couldn't. Smoking helped me kill time and accompanied me on adventures in making small talk and meeting people. Smokers chit chat with each other outside of bars in ways that non-smokers could never do inside of bars. Smoking creates a bond- it says, "So you're an idiot, too, eh? Let's be buds."

Alas, it's over. I feel good. Confident in a way that I haven't in a very long time. I smell great, too- no more of that subtle smoking scent that crawls over my body just under the surface of my fruity body spash spray.

I'm also trying to give up caffeine. Kind of. That's a relationship that I'm not ready to sever just yet. I merely loved smoking. I'm fucking obsessed with caffeine; I stalk it, dream about it, have an unhealthy, deliciously overpowering infatuation with it that rivals how Glenn Close felt about Michael Douglas in Fatal Attraction. Breaking up with caffeine will not be easy. I will not be ignored by it, ever.

The summer is half over, and I've barely spent any time at all outside on our expensive new patio. I figured it would go down like this- I can really identify with that Smiths song that has the line "spending warm summer days indoors... writing frightening verse to a buck-tooth girl in Luxembourg." Okay, I can't identify so much with the writing verse to a Luxembourg chick, but you get the drift.

Actually, I can identify with almost all of that Smiths song, which I believe is called "Ask" as in "I hate to ask, but can you check the inside of my pants and tell me what size they are?" Picture that being asked by Chris, to me, inside the pants section of the Target. Anyway, if for some reason you don't know that song, you should go listen to it. I'll wait here.

The thing about spending time on the patio, though, is that there's nothing to do out there. We have four of those canvas, collapsible sports chairs and half a table. We're getting the other half sometime soon, but I'm not in a hurry. We don't have a pool, we don't have one of those outdoor speaker systems designed as a bunch of rocks, we don't have anything interesting to look at except the other houses. So, all there is to do is sit. And read, I suppose, but I'd rather read indoors where I don't have to sit in a collapsible canvas chair. I guess some people get pleasure from just sun-bathing, but I'm Mediterranean. There's no need for that tanning nonsense. And what am I supposed to do while I'm sun-bathing? Just relax and think? Thinking is not relaxing.

We have had a few friends over a couple times this summer so far, but every time we've sat out on the patio, it's been because we've felt we've had to, because it's there. And without saying it out loud, we've always been pretty sure that we, and our visitors, are all thinking, "How much longer do I have to sit in this uncomfortable chair before I can go back in where the booze, the snacks, the music, and the Nintendo are?"

A couple times I've come home from work and have thought, "Maybe I should go sit outside and chill a bit before I start on dinner." But that thought is always passing, because, again, what am I going to do out there? And which direction do I face? The guy who lives behind us and to the left, he always sits outside and faces our house. I get the impression that he's watching us, as a matter of fact. His eyes burn into me like two lit cigars being pressed into the back of my skull. And I don't want to aggravate the situation by sitting out there and staring back. I don't want a stare off. And I'm not interested in staring at anyone else, either. So I just start on dinner instead, every once in a while glancing out the window at the patio and thinking, "Damn that's a nice patio we got."

Spent last weekend in Philly/New Jersey attending the world's longest wedding, seeing the sights, and hanging out with a bunch of smart people from Cal-Tech. We drove there and back. While cramming two fourteen hour car rides in four days didn't seem like a bad idea at the time we came up with it, let me tell you that I don't think we'll be doing THAT again. We barely survived, subsisting on fifteen year old music, free visitor center maps and brochures, energy drinks, and mindless chatter. And we made a vow to each other that we will never, under any circumstances, drive on the Pennsylvania Turnpike again. I think we made that vow six years ago when we drove out to Virginia, but this time we mean it. It's expensive to drive on that mother (thirty bucks just one way across), it seems to be perpetually under construction, and Pennsylvania- well, it's just too wide and boring.

We arrived on Thursday night and headed over to Dee's house for a kind of rehearsal dinner party. We ate Indian food, which for me was kind of a mixed bag, tastewise, politely refused Henna tattoos, and then sat around on the porch and listened to Dee's father talk about a myriad of topics including the unemployment rate, the best way to purchase a car, and Germany. It was a pretty nice time, and Dee's family was very hospitable. I especially appreciated the way people jumped in to explain the food when I stared at it rather dumbly. I've never really eaten Indian food before. I had no idea what I was looking at. I still couldn't tell you what it was that I ate. Oh, me. So uncultured.

Friday, we headed into Philly and saw the Liberty Bell (much smaller than I would have thought, totally cracked), a bunch of stuff relating to Ben Franklin, and almost went through Independence Hall but were too easily discouraged by the complicated ticketing system. We ate cheesesteaks from Jim's, walked along South Street, and then found ourselves deciding to see a movie since our bodies still had bed sores from the drive in, and it was much too painful to keep walking. We saw Food, Inc, which I highly recommend. It's already changed the way I eat.

Friday night, we hung out with some of Chris' old friends from Cal-Tech. They were all very nice, and it was great to see this one guy, Matt, again. However, I must say that there was something about this particular group of people that made me feel rather dull and uninteresting. The group included physicists and scientists and geologists and computer geeks and lawyers and even the daughter of a senator (which I thought was super cool), and then there's me. I work at a bank. I'm smart, but I'm by no means brilliant. The most interesting things about me can be directly related to the television shows I watch. I don't know- I was jealous of these people and their... accomplishments? Aspirations? Whatever.

Saturday was the wedding. Sweet fancy moses. First there was a Hindu ceremony, which lasted well over two hours. Then there was a break for lunch. After lunch, there was a Catholic ceremony, but the Catholic ceremony was delayed by an hour due to the bride not being ready. Have you ever met a bride so nice she's married twice... in one day? Now I can say that I have. After the Catholic ceremony, we had cocktails and appetizers and then went to the reception itself. I must say that the wedding was very lavish and, despite all the sitting and waiting, it was probably one of the nicest weddings that I've been to. Food and drink were phenomenal, and the whole affair was held at an upscale complex called The Mansion. Each part of the wedding took place in a different part of The Mansion, which was kind of cool. Very grand.

And then, Sunday, the drive home. I almost cried tears of joy when we pulled into our driveway after the hella long drive home. Why is it that the best part of any vacation is usually, for me, the moment of relief when my house is in sight? Maybe loving home is one of the many things that makes me dull and uninteresting- maybe I should be more interested in making the best out of a drive across a portion of the country, maybe I should see everything as an adventure to be embraced and learned from. I guess I did learn something, though. I learned how to use cruise control. Can you believe that I've never used cruise control before this weekend? Oh how I've been missing out.