That Old Spice Guy was on Ellen and I’m sorry, but he is just TOO funny and cute. I love the ads; one of the few TV commercials to break out of the clutter in recent history. Also one of the few spots that my hubby and I don’t fast forward through.

This close to closing, that is. Tomorrow is the Big Day. We were supposed to close a few weeks ago but the bank we were working with was not answering our simple questions so we started the process all over again with another bank. Our builder kindly let us go ahead and move in. So we’re in the house but it won’t be officially ours until tomorrow.

This is my first time owning a home. Chris bought our last house before we had even met. I bopped around the country so much with jobs that I never felt settled in any one place long enough to buy. So tomorrow will be my first time experiencing the sign-your-life-away phenomenon that my friends have told me about. I hope it goes smoothly. And I hope my husband took the whole day off because maybe we could go to a matinee movie or a nice lunch after the closing to celebrate.

It’s funny, as we’re getting paperwork together for the bank and are in the midst of the mortgage process, I am reading “The Big Short” by Michael Lewis, which is all about the mortgage meltdown, credit default swaps and CDOs (which sadly, I have forgotten what that stands for). It’s a compelling book (he wrote “The Blind Side”) that absolutely reads like fiction – not just because what happened is UNBELIEVABLE but also because Lewis is a gifted writer. I’m about 39% done (haha – joke for you Kindle people) and so far, I’d recommend it without hesitation. I was afraid it was going to be one of those books I “needed” to read and would be a slog, but I promise you, the author breathes so much life into his characters (er, real people) and explains the technical stuff really well that it is practically a page-turner.

Have you seen these pictures making their way around the Internets?

Yeah, I know it’s childish of me to pile on but this is the kind of thing that spreads faster than strep. The days of protecting your image and brand are OVER. Not just for BP, but for all of us who own a business. You can’t protect it; you have to sit up, take your lumps like a man (pardon the sexism), own what you did if you screwed up, do everything you can to make it right. Don’t take shortcuts or b.s. your customer (I’m talking to you, Toyota and you, Sigg, and you, BP) because we’re onto you and we will tell all our friends who will tell their friends and so on and so on and so on.

And you will live in infamy forever.

I still have businesses tell me they don’t want a Facebook page or a blog because they’re afraid they’ll get negative comments. Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about? The COMMENTS? How about the actual issues your customers have? Address them. And you know what? When you address them forthrightly in a public forum, most people will forgive you and even reward you for doing the right thing.

Having said that, I think it’s too late for BP. What do you think? Any shot of damage control here or are they done?

(Cross posted over at my business blog, New Thought Marketing)

Roger Ebert doesn’t miss eating. He says, “I began to replace what I had lost with what I remembered,” and tells stories of root beer with his dad, favorite diners and tuna melts. His blog is a revelation.

Also, read this profile of him on Esquire that’s burning up the blogs. Beautiful. Touching, but not in a way that will make you cry. I wouldn’t do that to you (at least not without warning you first!).

Speaking of warning you: I warned you this blog was random-y. It’s about to become more so.

There’s a lot of press about postpartum depression. I mean, who hasn’t heard of Brooke Shields squaring off against Tom Cruise over it? I was prepared for postpartum depression. I’d struggled with depression before, mostly in my 20’s, but some in my 30’s, and knew that put me at a higher risk.

What I didn’t know is that you can also get depression DURING pregnancy — perinatal depression, it’s often called. I got it, big time, along with a big wallop of anxiety. So bad I had to see a psychiatrist and was treated for it with medication. Of course, this made me feel guilty and like I was going to hurt my baby. The doctor explained that the risks with the medication weren’t known, but they did know the damage that depression and anxiety could do to a developing fetus. Small comfort, right?

I took the meds and cried. My husband was wonderfully supportive. By mid second trimester, the hormones that were causing those problems went away, I guess, and I felt better. Just like the psychiatrist predicted. But the fact that I had depression during pregnancy put me at an even higher risk for postpartum so we were vigilant, watching for signs. Fortunately, I dodged that bullet.

I felt like such a bad pregnant woman. I hated being pregnant. I felt sick: you name it and I got it. I even got RLS (Restless Leg Syndrome) in pregnancy. The physical problems on top of the depression made for a pretty unhappy time. I remember crying on the couch and feeling soooo guilty that I wasn’t feeling happy. Everyone’s happy when they’re pregnant, right?

I knew I had depression and I knew it was triggered by something in my chemical stew. I’d been pregnant twice before (miscarriages); one pregnancy made it to 11 weeks and I didn’t have anywhere near this kind of anxiety. So the minute I sorted out that this wasn’t “normal” pregnancy hormone stuff, I marched my butt to my Ob and said “help.”

My son was born completely happy and healthy. I was thrilled and am thrilled every single day. He is such a delight. I can barely remember what it was like when I was pregnant to curl up on the couch and not want to read or watch TV or eat.

The New York Times has a piece out today about this and interviewed me for it. It really was hard to remember, even though it wasn’t that long ago. It’s like once the happy hormones kicked in, I developed amnesia about how awful it all was. I would not wish that on anyone. I agreed to be interviewed and photographed for the piece because I hope if you’re struggling, you’ll speak up, too. There is help. You will get through it and you will get better.

Now, for a funny story. Sort of. In my 7th month, I was getting my teeth cleaned. The hygienist told me she knew another woman named “Sherean.” “Really,” I asked, “is she Persian, too, like me?” The hygienist told me that her friend had died. “I’m so sorry,” I said and then I just had to ask how she died. “Postpartum depression after her third child.” Huh? You don’t DIE from postpartum, I said. “Suicide,” she said.

Thank goodness this was later in my pregnancy when I was over the perinatal depression but I was still paranoid I’d get postpartum. I laughed about it — how could you not — but it is a serious condition. Get help if you need it.

And don’t ever go to my dental hygienist.